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“Three years, right?”

I couldn’t speak.

She laughed. “Congratulations.”

She walked toward the door. “You got three years with my husband.”

Her hand wrapped around the knob. “And I got to spend three years looking like a happily married fool while you got to spend them looking like a desperate one.”

She opened the door and turned back. “But I guess there’s one difference between us.”

I stared at her.

“I didn’t know, but you did… But understand something.”

I looked at her.

“You didn’t take a good husband from me. You inherited a liar, and whatever he did to me?”

She nodded toward the apartment. “He’s already proved he’ll do it to you too.”

She stepped into the hallway, then looked back one final time.

“And, Blair?”

I didn’t answer.

“The next time you build a whole home and future in your head with someone else’s husband… maybe check whether he still actually lives in a separate home with his wife first.”

The door closed behind her.

Caleb created two realities and moved between them whenever it benefited him. But Ravenna was right. I knew there was a wife. I knew there was a marriage. I knew there was a ring. I just preferred Caleb’s version of what all those things meant because his version allowed me to live in my delusion.

For three years, I’d called Ravenna fragile, depressed, dependent, and delusional. A woman who couldn’t accept that her marriage was over. And the entire time, there had only been one woman living inside a fantasy. Me.

I looked at my ring then slowly pulled it off. The skin underneath was pale. An empty little circle where hope used to sit.

I placed the ring on the coffee table. Three fucking years, I had spent all that time believing Ravenna was the woman standing between Caleb and me.

Turns out, Caleb had been standing between both of us the entire time.

25

Blair

I tried to convince myself I could wait to tell Nash until things between us became a little more defined. Which was bullshit because the more defined things became, the worse I felt.

Every good morning text made me feel guilty. Every FaceTime call that lasted two hours made me feel guilty. Every time he made me laugh, every time he kissed me, and every time he said something about a future date like it was already understood that there would be one, that little voice in the back of my head would say that I was a fucked up individual.

I couldn’t fucking take it anymore, so I texted him.

Blair: Will you be home tonight?

Nash: Yeah. Why?

Blair: Can I come over?

Three dots.