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CHAPTER TWENTY

CELINE

When I get home, everything I’ve learned over the past few days is ready to come bubbling out of me.

Since Tate’s disappearance, I’ve really tried to make it look like I have it together, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Maybe I’ve been lying to everyone, including myself, but right now, all I want to do is sleep. And cry. I want my mom to hold me and promise that somehow this is all going to be okay. That the man I knew wasn’t a con artist who had me fooled, that his family would’ve told me who he really was, that they love me like a daughter and would protect me if they thought he was capable of hurting me, of hurting our sons.

I need someone else to say these things to me because I’m not sure I’m capable of saying them to myself anymore. I’ve tried so hard, but my resolve is slipping. I need help. I need someone to be here for me, and it can’t just be me anymore.

I feel weak for even admitting that. I made it all of two days, and already I’m cracking under the pressure and weight of the pain. People have it so much worse than this.

They really do.

I shouldn’t be so weak.

I’m on the verge of tears when I walk into my house. The boys come running up to me before I see my parents lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, and I promise myself I can hold it together for just a few more hours. For them.

I sink to the floor and hug my sons, hoping I can love them enough for the two of us. Hoping someday I will be enough for them, that what their father has done to us won’t hurt so badly.

“Is Dad home yet?” Finley asks, releasing me to look around my shoulder like Tate might just pop out from behind the door.

“Not yet,” I say, rubbing a hand down his arm. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Otis has a new Sonic toy, and I want one too.”

I smile, wishing desperately it could always be this simple. That a toy could solve all of life’s problems. I squeeze his hand. “Sure. We’ll look for it, okay?”

He nods and bounds off to my dad. “She said yes!” He bounces up on his tiptoes, and my dad laughs, running a hand over his hair.

My in-laws walk out of the kitchen together then, and I hate myself because my immediate reaction is to be disappointed that they’re here, but why shouldn’t they be here? We’re their family too, and right now, we’re all they have. So I bite down the urge to pull my mom into my bedroom and spend the night crying, and instead put on the best brave face I can, and ask if they’ve already eaten.

To my relief—and to compound my guilt—Daphne and Lane picked up dinner from a restaurant on their way. While my dad helps the boys with their baths and to get ready for bed, I sit with Mom, Daph, and Lane, and eat in strained silence. They all just keep staring at me as if they’re waiting for me to fall apart, as if they can sense that I’m no longer holding it together as well as I’ve been pretending.

When I go to take our dishes away after our meal, Mom stops me.

“How are you?” she asks, studying my face.

I want to tell her the truth, but I can’t right now. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

“How did things go on your errands?”

“Fine.” I narrow my eyes at her, realizing she’s not waiting for me to crack after all. From the expectant looks on all of the faces in the room, I’d say they have something to tell me. “What is it? Just tell me.”

“Nothing, sweetheart. We just wanted to be here for you,” Daphne says. “With…today and everything. However we can. We want to support you.”

“Today?” The way she’s put emphasis on the word makes me think today is something special, but I have no idea what…

August 2nd.

Today is Tate’s and my eleventh wedding anniversary, and I had no idea.

“Our anniversary.” I sink down in the chair behind me. “I hadn’t even realized it was today. I signed all the papers at the bank, wrote out the date, and I never even realized…”

“The bank?” Lane asks, obviously concerned.

“Just errands,” I say, not wanting to get into it, and especially not with him. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” Mom says, rubbing my shoulder. “We’re sorry we brought it up. We thought you must know and that today would be really hard on you. We didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“Tate would want us to be with you while he can’t be,” Daphne says. “I know wherever he is, he wishes he was here.” She touches my shoulder next, and we’re a triangle of pain and sadness in varying degrees. “What can we do for you?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Really, nothing. It’s too hard to think about. I just…I think I want to be alone tonight.” Guilt tears through me as I worry I’ve come across as rude after all they’ve done for me. I stand up. “Truly, thank you, guys, for being here. For doing all of this. And all your help this week. It means…it means more than I can say. But I need to be alone tonight.”

“Of course,” Mom says. “Do you want us to take the boys home with us and give you some peace and quiet?”

If only she knew the quiet isn’t so peaceful anymore. “No,” I say quickly. “No, they should be here.”

Mom nods, looking around. “Okay. Well, I’ll just do the dishes and?—”

“No.” My voice is cracking and harsh, but I don’t care. “No, everyone, just go, please. Please, just go.” I’m going to lose it any second.

“Honey…” Daphne whispers, but it’s Mom who puts a hand up and leads her from the room. I’m so grateful for my mom at that moment, who seems to sense what I need even when I’m not sure. She ushers my in-laws out of the room and gathers my father, leaving the house without another word, and when I’m alone in the living room, watching them drive away from the window, I sink to the floor.

I can’t even make it into my bedroom before the sobs tear through me like ocean waves in a storm. I crumple into a ball, allowing the sadness to break out of the box I’ve kept it in and seep into my muscles and bones. My tendons and blood. Every ounce, every inch of me. Allowing myself to feel every shred of the rage, betrayal, confusion, and terrible sadness that I’ve repressed over the last few days.

I hate this.

I hate what this is turning me into. I hate that this is supposed to be a happy day, a day where we celebrate and spoil each other, and instead, I’m on my living room floor sobbing like a child.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

How could he do this to me? Didn’t he love me? Isn’t he hurting, too?

And our children! How could he do this to our boys? The boys who look up to him and love him more than anyone on this planet?

When did we stop crying like this? Throwing ourselves on beds like petulant teenagers and letting out our rage? Dropping to the ground whenever the world got to be too much and just having a tantrum? I’m surprised by how good it makes me feel to release this pain without fear of judgment.

When I finally stop crying, my sobs turning silent and muscles aching from exertion, I hear a soft vibration from across the room. I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands as I listen closely.

I stand up from the ground and cross the room, grab my purse from the coffee table, and pull out my phone. I’m sure it’s Mom checking in. For all I know, they didn’t actually leave and have instead sat out in the driveway and listened to my entire meltdown.

But when I spot the words on the screen— Unknown Caller —my heart sinks. I don’t want to do this again. I don’t want to deal with whatever sick prank this is.

I answer the phone, but I don’t say a word. Two can play this game. I just sit and let the seconds tick by, only the sound of my breathing filling the line.

Then, two words.

I swear my heart stops.

“Happy anniversary.”