Page 96 of The Humiliated Wife

"I was going to say intense. But yeah, also crazy." Emma got up to grab the wine bottle, topping off both their glasses. "What did you tell the lawyer?"

"That I needed time to think about it."

"And what are you actually thinking?"

Fiona was quiet for a long moment, staring into her wine like it might have answers. "I'm thinking about Sunday mornings," she said finally. "About making coffee in that kitchen and reading the paper by the big windows. About the way the light comes in during the afternoon and hits the hardwood just right."

"You love that apartment."

"It was our home, you know?" Her voice cracked slightly. "Even if it was his first. We made it ours together. The books on the shelves, the photos on the walls, the way we arranged the furniture so we could both read on the couch without fighting over the good lamp."

Emma settled back into her chair, watching Fiona carefully. "But?"

"But it's also where he sat every night, judging me, thinking I was a moron.” Fiona's hands tightened around her wine glass. "How do I live there without thinking about that?"

"Maybe you don't," Emma said gently. "Maybe you make new memories. Better ones."

"Or maybe I'm just setting myself up to be dependent on him forever. Maybe this is just another way for him to control the situation."

Emma leaned forward. "Do you really think that's what this is?"

Fiona considered it. It wasn’t control. It was Dean giving her everything and walking away.

“No,” she admitted. "If this was some calculated ploy to win me back, it’d be easier to walk away." Her voice cracked. "But it’s not. He’s just... being decent."

She stared down at her wine glass, twisting it slightly between her fingers.

“I think he's genuinely trying to take care of me. And part of me thinks I'm an idiot for wanting to let him."

"Why would that make you an idiot?"

"I should be stronger than this. I should want to make it on my own, prove I don't need anyone. Instead, I'm sitting here thinking about how nice it would be to never worry about rent again. How good it would feel to have him still looking out for me, even from a distance."

Emma was quiet.

Fiona's eyes filled with tears. "What if I take it and he thinks it means I forgive him? What if he thinks it means there's still a chance?"

"Then you'll set him straight." Emma reached over and squeezed her hand.

"But what if..." Fiona's voice dropped to barely a whisper, shame coloring every word. "What if there is a chance? What if some terrible, stupid part of me still wants there to be?"

Emma didn't let go of her hand.

"I know I shouldn't," Fiona continued, the words tumbling out now. "I know what he did was unforgivable. I know I deserve better. But Em, when he held me on the porch the other night, it felt like coming home. And that scares me more than anything."

"Hey," Emma said softly. "Look at me."

Fiona met her sister's eyes, tears spilling over.

"Loving someone who hurt you doesn't make you weak or stupid," Emma said firmly. "It makes the situation complicated as hell, but it doesn't make you wrong for feeling it."

"Even after everything he did?"

"Even then. Hearts don't follow logic, Fi. If they did, half the love songs in the world wouldn't exist." Emma's voice was gentlebut steady. "The question isn't whether you still love him. The question is what you want to do about it."

Fiona wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"Then don't decide tonight. Take the apartment because you love it and you deserve it. Everything else... you can figure out later."