Page 36 of One Last Thing Before You Go

It’s what I repeated to myself over and over again whenever I felt close to breaking. It was my North Star. My motivation. The ultimate goal, even though it had never been something I wanted until he told me I did. So I gave up my career, put myself through endless treatments and diets and tried absolutely everything to get pregnant—even though our doctors told us it would be close to impossible given my medical history. I was in constant pain, sick, run down… But it was all for the baby, so who cared, right? It would be worth it.

I knew motherhood was about sacrifices, and this would just be my first one.

Finn wanted me as his baby maker to continue his family line—something I didn’t even see until divorce proceedings, when certain messed up clauses came up from our prenup—and I had failed.

After two years, I barely recognized myself. I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t put my body and mind and heart through it all, only to be crushed with disappointment every time I got my period. How the combined IVF treatments and my worsening endometriosis were killing me. How I wanted a hysterectomy and he pretended to be supportive about it.

And then…

Upon seeing my discomfort, Knox’s eyes flash to mine. “Hey. Are you okay? Did he hurt you or something?” There’s a menacing tone in his voice, a protective one that makes me feel some kind of way.

“No, he didn’t hurt me,” I say softly, a small smile on my lips, because god, Knox is so sweet. “Not in the way you mean.”

“Good,” he almost growls.

“We were… having issues. I was going through some… Stuff. And… It’s a long story, but I quit my job for him. Left everything I’d built for him. I… pretty much did everything he wanted me to. In the end, though, we became two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit.” I make a disgusted noise, squeezing my eyes shut. Truly, in all of this, I am my biggest disappointment.

Sure, I wanted kids. But never at the expense of myself—and that’s how it all ended.

“Even so, he blindsided me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that one day, everything was fine, kind of,”—or as best as it could be when your marriage’s sole focus had become procreation—“and then I was randomly served with divorce papers by his attorney while I was at home alone. I mean that I suddenly had forty-eight hours to move out because the apartment was under his name. That I was broke because he’d frozen our joint accounts and I had nowhere to go.” I shrug nonchalantly, the apathy in my eyes a stark contrast to the actual agony I feel just at the memory alone.

“Whoa. Just like that? No warning?” I nod and he scoffs. “What a dick.”

“Yup.”

“Well, at least you didn’t have kids, right? Makes divorce easier.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at his statement, so I look away.

Thankfully, Knox doesn’t push for more. I’m sure he knows there’s more to the story, but he offers me the same courtesy I offered him.

There’s so much I’m ashamed of, so much I’m embarrassed by. So much that broke me and made it so that I had to come back to the one place I fought to stay away from, with my tail between my legs, feeling like I failed. I failed at being a woman, a wife, a professional, and had no idea how to move forward. And even though Knox and I aren’t anything to each other right now except for business partners—maybe friends—I still don’t want him to know about all of it.

It’s too much. I’m too much.

“Yeah. Easier.”

I cringe, wracking my brain for a way to get us to talk about something else—taxes, the current state of the economy, the latest feud between the Kardashian sisters, literally anything other than my divorce—but there’s no need:

“We’re almost there.” He points in the direction of a massive sign by the highway announcing the convention.

I exhale deeply, hoping that the topic will be forgotten, but knowing all too well he won’t be able to let it go forever.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LOTTIE

With an adorable frown on his face, Knox parallel parks, the picture of concentration. For some reason, part of me finds it crazy hot that he’s able to easily slide into a tight spot like that. Or maybe it’s not too much of a mystery why I find it hot. Ha.

Hiding my smile behind the back of my hand, I watch as he turns off the car and gets out. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and pulls out the box of books we brought to sell from the back seat with ease, as if they weighed no more than a feather.

“You have everything?” I ask, eyeing the heavy-looking box under his arm.

“Yeah.” He shuts the door with his hip, and I shove my hands in my trench pockets.