More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I don’t have the money to buy you all the flowers you deserve yet,” he said, sounding so solemn and formal I couldn’t help but smile at the contrast between his tone and the jar of colorful paper flowers in his hands. “So I made them instead.”
There must’ve been hundreds of flowers in there. I didn’t want to think about how long it took him to make them. “Happy birthday, amor.” His mouth lingered on mine in a long, sweet kiss. “One day, I’ll buy you a thousand real roses. I promise.” He’d kept that promise, but he’d broken a thousand more since.
No matter how much I tried to explain, he didn’t get why I was upset. It wasn’t about physical, tangible things like flights and dinner reservations. It was about a fundamental disconnect in our values and what we deemed important for a good relationship. I believed in quality time and conversation; he believed money could fix everything.
Even if it killed me, even if the easiest thing was to fall into his arms and sink into the memory of what we used to be, I had to go through with it. I was already a shell of myself. If I didn’t get out while I could, I’d dissolve into dust, nothing more than a collection of lost time and unrealized dreams.
“I should’ve.” Alessandra looked away. “That was my fault. I kept it all to myself when I should’ve told you how I was feeling. It’s not just about one trip or dinner. It’s not even about a dozen trips and dinners. It’s about what missing them represents.”
“You’ve made it clear, time and again, that I’m not a priority.”
“You know I would choose you.” “That’s the thing. I don’t.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Because you haven’t chosen me. Not in a very, very long time.”
“This is just one time. It won’t happen again.” Except it had. Just one time turned into two, then three, until we entered a new normal.
“Ask me again on another day, and my answer might be different. I would stalk you if it meant you’d talk to me again.” “How romantic.” “I’m past romantic, Alessandra. I’m desperate.”
“I’ve loved you for eleven years, Dom. I loved you so much I lost myself. Everything I did, everything I gave up and endured was for you. The late nights, the missed dates, the canceled trips. I believed in you and wanted you to succeed, not because I cared about the money, but because you did. I thought one day, it would be enough, and you would be happy with what we had. But you’ll never be happy, and I’ll never be enough.”
I’d meant my vows when I’d said them. I still did. But intentions couldn’t replace actions, and somewhere along the way, I’d mistaken the former for the latter.
“No murder before Christmas,” Dante warned me. “Vivian says it’s bad luck.”
“You look happy,” I said. “I don’t remember the last time I made you this happy.”
“There was no clear defining point between the before and after of our marriage. Somewhere along the way, the lines between happiness and resentment got blurred, and here we are.”
“What’s the difference between then and now, Dom? When we got married, you stood next to me and promised I’d never face the world alone.” Shards of glass embedded in my chest. “But I did.”
