Page 27 of A Song for Another Woman

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“This is your home.”

The laugh comes then, small and exhausted. “No. This is a stage for photos and optics.”

His mouth trembles.

I look around at the high ceilings, the polished floors, and the entry table no one has ever thrown keys on because apparently even keys need a tray chosen by a decorator. I have lived here. I have slept here. I have waited here. I have never rooted.

“I’m going to June’s,” I say.

His eyes sharpen. “I’ll drive you.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll call a car.”

“No.”

“Emmy, it’s almost morning. You’re upset. Please don’t get behind the wheel like this.”

There he is: practical, worried, and reaching for the one piece of the situation he can manage.

“I’m taking Daddy’s truck.”

He looks toward the garage. The old blue pickup sits in the third bay, absurd beside Cade’s sleek black cars. I kept it because selling it felt like losing my father twice. Cade used to joke that the truck was one pothole away from a country song. Tonight, it's the only vehicle in this house that feels honest.

“Please,” he says, the word rough now.

I look back at him. He is Cade Tyler, loved by millions, wanted by rooms, lit by stages, polished by managers, andphotographed from the good side. He's also my husband in the foyer at four in the morning, terrified in his wrinkled shirt, finally looking at me like I am not guaranteed.

It hurts so much I nearly sit down. Instead, I slide my phone into my pocket.

“I’m not doing a public split,” I say.

He blinks. “What?”

“I’m not making a statement tonight. I’m not going on record. I’m not posting anything for people to chew on.”

“Emmy—”

“I’m not calling lawyers yet.”

His whole body reacts toyet. I see it, and I let him.

“I’m not fighting you over money. I’m not fighting you over houses. You can keep the Nashville mansion, the beach house, the ranch, whatever else Duke likes to list in profiles so people know how well the dream paid off.”

“I don’t care about any of that.”

“You did yesterday.”

He shuts his mouth, leaving the silence clean.

“You can keep the narrative too,” I say. “I’m sure Duke will know what to do with it.”

Pain moves across his face. “Don’t put him between us.”