It Ends with Us (It Ends with Us, #1)

by Colleen Hoover

No one is exclusively bad, nor is anyone exclusively good. Some are just forced to work harder at suppressing the bad.

“Just keep swimming.” But it gets really hard to swim when you feel like you’re anchored in the water.

He knows what he’s done. He’s Ryle again, and he knows what he’s just done to me. To us. To our future. I utilize his panic to my advantage. I shake my head and I whisper, “It’s okay, Ryle. It’s okay. You were angry, it’s okay.”

I allowed this to happen to me. I am my mother.

She’ll pity me. She’ll wonder why I never left him. She’ll wonder how I let myself get to this point. She’ll wonder all the same things I used to wonder about my own mother when I saw her in my same situation. People spend so much time wondering why the women don’t leave. Where are all the people who wonder why the men are even abusive? Isn’t that where the only blame should be placed?

I hate that I can empathize with her now.

The reasoning is the hardest part of this. It eats at me, little by little, wearing down the strength my hatred lends to me. The reasoning forces me to imagine our future together, and how there are things I could do to prevent that type of anger. I’ll never betray him again. I’ll never keep secrets from him again. I’ll never give him reason to react that way again. We’ll both just have to work harder from now on.

It’s sad that those are the first thoughts that run through our minds when someone is abused. Shouldn’t there be more distaste in our mouths for the abusers than for those who continue to love the abusers?

Do we all repeat the same words in our heads in the days after experiencing abuse at the hands of those who love us? “From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.” Maybe those vows weren’t meant to be taken as literally as some spouses take them.

None of that would have happened if I would have just let go of Atlas and thrown it all away. Ryle wouldn’t have had anything to be so upset with me about.

bedroom, I wonder what that must be like. To have no idea what might set you off or how bad your reaction will be. To have absolutely no control over your own emotions. For a brief moment, I feel a minuscule amount of sorrow for him. But when my eyes fall to our bed and I remember that night, my sorrow diminishes completely.

me. Even if you would have walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would not have the right to lay a hand on me,

His hand wraps in my hair and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m in the kitchen, and his hand is tugging my hair so hard it hurts. He brushes the hair from my face and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m standing in the doorway, and his hand is trailing across my shoulder, right before he bites into me with all the strength in his jaw. His forehead rests gently against mine and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night. I’m on this same bed beneath him when he slams his head against mine so hard I have to get six stitches.

But sitting here with my mother, I crave weakness.

He doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.”

I’m just not ready for that conversation yet and the least he can do for me right now is show me patience. The patience he still owes me from all the times he had none.

“What would you do? If one of these days, this little girl looked up at you and she said, ‘Daddy? My boyfriend hit me.’ What would you say to her, Ryle?” He pulls Emerson to his chest and buries his face against the top of her blanket. “Stop, Lily,” he begs. I push myself up straighter on the bed. I place my hand on Emerson’s back and try to get Ryle to look me in the eyes. “What if she came to you and said, ‘Daddy? My husband pushed me down the stairs. He said it was an accident. What should I do?’ ” His shoulders begin to shake, and for the first time since the day I met him, he has tears. Real tears that rush down his cheeks as he holds his daughter tightly against him. I’m crying, too, but I keep going. For her sake. “What if…” My voice breaks. “What if she came to you and said, ‘My husband tried to rape me, Daddy. He held me down while I begged him to stop. But he swears he’ll never do it again. What should I do, Daddy?’ ” He’s kissing her forehead, over and over, tears spilling down his face. “What would you say to her, Ryle? Tell me. I need to know what you would say to our daughter if the man she loves with all her heart ever hurts her.” A sob breaks from his chest. He leans toward me and wraps an arm around me. “I would beg her to leave him,”

we break the pattern before the pattern breaks us.

“You can stop swimming now, Lily. We finally reached the shore.”