It Ends with Us

What in the world is he doing?
I turn off the water and grab a towel, running it over myself. “Ryle!”
He still doesn’t respond. I pull my jeans on in a hurry and open the
door as I’m pulling my shirt over my head. “Ryle?”
The nightstand by our bed is tipped over. I move to the living room and
see him sitting on the edge of the couch, his head in one of his hands.
He’s looking down at something in his other hand.
“What are you doing?”
He looks up at me and I don’t recognize his expression. I’m confused
by what’s happening. I don’t know if he just got bad news or . . . Oh, God.
Allysa.
“Ryle, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
He holds up my phone and just looks at me like I should know what’s
happening. When I shake my head in confusion, he holds up a piece of
paper. “Funny thing,” he says, setting my phone on the coffee table in
front of him. “I dropped your phone by accident. Cover pops off. I find
this number hidden in the back of it.”
Oh, God.
No, no, no.
He crumbles the number in his fist. “I thought, ‘Huh. That’s weird. Lily
doesn’t hide things from me.’ ” He stands up and picks up my phone. “So I
called it.” He tightens his fist around the phone. “He’s lucky I got his
fucking voice mail.” He chunks my phone clear across the room and it
crashes against the wall, shattering to the floor.
There’s a three-second pause where I think this could go one of two
ways.

---

He’s going to leave me.
Or he’s going to hurt me.
He runs a hand through his hair and walks straight for the door.
He leaves.
“Ryle!” I yell.
Why did I never throw that number away?!
I open the door and run after him. He’s taking the stairs two at a time,
and I finally reach him when he’s at the landing of the second floor. I
shove myself in front of him and grab his shirt in my fists. “Ryle, please.
Let me explain.”
He grabs my wrists and pushes me away from him.
• • •
“Be still.”
I feel his hands on me. Gentle. Steady.
Tears are flowing and for some reason, they sting.
“Lily, be still. Please.”
His voice is soothing. My head hurts. “Ryle?” I try to open my eyes, but
the light is too bright. I can feel a sting at the corner of my eye and I
wince. I try to sit up, but I feel his hand press down on my shoulder.
“You have to be still until I’m finished, Lily.”
I open my eyes again and look up at the ceiling. It’s our bedroom
ceiling. “Finished with what?” My mouth hurts when I speak, so I bring my
hand up and cover it.
“You fell down the stairs,” he says. “You’re hurt.”
My eyes meet his. There’s concern in them, but also hurt. Anger. He’s
feeling everything right now, and the only thing I feel is confused.
I close my eyes again and try to remember why he’s angry. Why he’s
hurt.
My phone.
Atlas’s number.
The stairwell.
I grabbed his shirt.
He pushed me away.
“You fell down the stairs.”
But I didn’t fall.

---

He pushed me. Again.
That’s twice.
You pushed me, Ryle.
I can feel my whole body start to shake with the sobs. I have no idea
how bad I’m hurt, but I don’t even care. No physical pain could even
compare to what my heart is feeling in this moment. I start to slap at his
hands, wanting him away from me. I feel him lift off the bed as I curl up
into a ball.
I wait for him to try and soothe it out like he did the last time he hurt
me, but it never comes. I hear him walking around our bedroom. I don’t
know what he’s doing. I’m still crying when he kneels down in front of me.
“You might have a concussion,” he says, matter-of-fact. “You have a small
cut on your lip. I just bandaged up the cut on your eye. You don’t need
stitches.”
His voice is cold.
“Does it hurt anywhere else? Your arms? Legs?”
He sounds just like a doctor and nothing like a husband.
“You pushed me,” I say through tears. It’s all I can think or say or see.
“You fell,” he says calmly. “About five minutes ago. Right after I found
out what a fucking liar I married.” He places something on my pillow next
to me. “If you need anything, I’m sure you can call this number.”
I look at the crumpled up piece of paper by my head that holds Atlas’s
phone number.
“Ryle,” I sob.
What is happening?
I hear the front door slam.
My whole world comes crashing down around me.
“Ryle,” I whisper to no one. I cover my face with my hands and I cry
harder than I’ve ever cried. I am destroyed.
Five minutes.
That’s all it takes to completely destroy a person.
• • •
A few minutes pass.
Ten, maybe?

---

I can’t stop crying. I still haven’t moved from the bed. I’m scared to
look in the mirror. I’m just . . . scared.
I hear the front door open and slam shut again. Ryle appears in the
doorway and I have no idea if I’m supposed to hate him.
Or be terrified of him.
Or feel bad for him.
How can I be feeling all three?
He presses his forehead to our bedroom door and I watch as he hits his
head against it. Once. Twice. Three times.
He turns and rushes at me, falling to his knees at the side of the bed.
He grabs both of my hands and he squeezes them. “Lily,” he says, his
whole face twisting in pain. “Please tell me it’s nothing.” He brings his hand
to the side of my head and I can feel his hands shaking. “I can’t take this, I
can’t.” He leans forward and presses his lips hard against my forehead,
then rests his forehead against mine. “Please tell me you aren’t seeing
him. Please.”
I’m not even sure I can tell him that because I don’t even want to speak.
He stays pressed against me, his hand wrapped tightly in my hair. “It
hurts so much, Lily. I love you so much.”
I shake my head, wanting the truth out of me so he’ll see what a huge
mistake he just made. “I forgot his number was even there,” I say quietly.
“The day after the fight in the restaurant . . . he came to the store. You can
ask Allysa. He was only there for five minutes. He took my phone from me
and he put his number inside of it, because he didn’t believe I was safe
with you. I forgot it was there, Ryle. I’ve never even looked at it.”
He breathes out a shaky breath and begins nodding with relief. “You
swear, Lily? You swear on our marriage and our lives and on everything
that you are that you haven’t spoken to him since that day?” He pulls back
so he can look me in the eyes.
“I swear, Ryle. You overreacted before giving me the chance to explain,”
I say to him. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”
My words knock the breath from him. I see it happen. His back meets
the wall behind him and he stares at me silently. In shock. “Lily,” he
whispers. “You fell down the stairs.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
I calmly repeat myself. “Get out of my apartment.”

---

He remains frozen in place. I sit up on the bed. My hand immediately
goes to the throbbing in my eye. He pushes himself up off the floor. When
he takes a step forward, I scoot back on the bed.
“You’re hurt, Lily. I’m not leaving you alone.”
I grab one of my pillows and throw it at him, like it could actually do
damage. “Get out!” I yell. He catches the pillow. I grab the other one and
stand up on the bed and start swinging it at him as I scream, “Get out! Get
out! Get out!”
I toss the pillow on the floor after the front door slams shut.
I run to the living room and dead-bolt the door.
I run back to my bedroom and fall onto my bed. The same bed I share
with my husband. The same bed he makes love to me on.
The same bed he lays me on when it’s time for him to clean up his
messes.

---