It Ends with Us

Chapter Thirty
It’s rather convenient only having to take an elevator to get home from
Allysa’s, as much as I want to move out of my own apartment at times. It’s
still strange living there. We only lived there a week before we split up and
Ryle left for England. It never even had the chance to feel like home and
now it feels a little tainted. I haven’t even been able to sleep in our
bedroom since that night, so I’ve been sleeping in the guest room on my
old bed.
Allysa and Marshall are still the only ones who know about the
pregnancy. It’s only been two weeks since I told them, which makes me
twenty weeks along now. I know I should tell my mother, but Ryle will be
back in a few weeks. I feel like I should tell him first before anyone else
finds out. If I can just somehow hide my baby bump from her until he gets
back to the States.
I should probably just accept the fact that I’m more than likely going to
have to call him and tell him long-distance. I haven’t seen my mother face-
to-face in two weeks. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other
since she moved to Boston, so if something doesn’t happen soon she’ll
show up at my front door when I’m not prepared.
I swear my stomach has doubled in size these last two weeks alone. If
someone sees me who knows me well, it’ll be impossible to hide. So far, no
one at the floral shop has asked about it. I think I’m still on the cusp of “Is
she pregnant? Or just chubby?”
I start to unlock the door to my apartment, but it begins to open from
the other side. Before I can pull the jacket over to hide my stomach from
whoever is on the other side of the door, Ryle’s eyes land on me. I’m
wearing one of the shirts Allysa gave me and it’s kind of impossible to hide
the fact that I’m wearing a maternity shirt when he’s staring right at it.
Ryle.
Ryle is here.

---

My heart begins to smash against the walls of my chest. My neck begins
to itch, so I bring my hand up and rest it there, feeling the pounding of
my heart against my palm.
It’s pounding because I’m terrified of him.
It’s pounding because I hate him.
It’s pounding because I’ve missed him.
His eyes slowly crawl from my stomach to my face. A hurtful expression
takes over him, like I’ve just stabbed him straight through the heart. He
takes a step back into my apartment and his hands come up to his mouth.
He begins to shake his head in confusion. I can see the betrayal all over
his face when he barely forces out my name. “Lily?”
I stand frozen, one hand on my stomach in protection, the other hand
still flat against my chest. I’m too scared to move or say anything. I don’t
want to react until I know exactly how he’s going to react.
When he sees the fear in my eyes and the small gasps of breath I’m
barely inhaling, he holds up a reassuring palm.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Lily. I’m just here to talk to you.” He swings
the door open wider and points into the living room. “Look.” He steps
aside and my eyes fall to someone standing behind him.
Now I’m the one who feels betrayed.
“Marshall?”
Marshall immediately holds up his hands in defense. “I had no idea he
was coming home early, Lily. Ryle texted and asked for my help. He
specifically told me not to say anything to you or Issa. Please don’t let her
divorce me, I’m simply an innocent bystander.”
I shake my head, trying to understand what I’m seeing.
“I asked him to meet me here so you’d feel more comfortable talking to
me,” Ryle says. “He’s here for you, he’s not here for me.”
I glance back at Marshall and he nods. It gives me enough reassurance
to enter the apartment. Ryle is still somewhat in shock, which is
understandable. His eyes keep meeting my stomach and then flicking away
like it hurts to look at me. He runs two hands through his hair and then
points down the hallway while looking at Marshall.
“We’ll be in the bedroom. If you hear me get . . . if I start to yell . . .”
Marshall knows what Ryle is asking him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As I follow Ryle into my 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.
Ryle pushes the door shut, but doesn’t close it all the way. He looks like
he’s aged an entire year in the two months it’s been since I’ve seen him.
The bags under his eyes, the furrowed brow, the sunken posture. If regret
took human form, it would look identical to Ryle.
His eyes fall to my stomach again and he takes a slow step forward.
Then another. He’s cautious, as he should be. He reaches out a timid
hand, asking for permission to touch me. I nod softly.
He takes one more step forward and then places a steady palm against
my stomach.
I can feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, and my eyes snap
shut. Despite the resentment I’ve built up in my heart toward him, it
doesn’t mean the emotions aren’t still there. Just because someone hurts
you doesn’t mean you can simply stop loving them. It’s not a person’s
actions that hurt the most. It’s the love. If there was no love attached to
the action, the pain would be a little easier to bear.
He moves his hand over my stomach and I open my eyes again. He’s
shaking his head, like he can’t process what’s happening right now. I
watch as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of me.
His arms snake around my waist and he presses his lips against my
stomach. He clasps his hands around my lower back and presses his
forehead against me.
It’s hard to describe what I feel for him in this moment. Like any
mother would want for her child, it’s a beautiful thing to see the love he
already has. It’s been hard not sharing this with anyone. It’s hard not
being able to share this with him, no matter how much resentment I hold
toward him. My hands go to his hair while he holds me against him. Part
of me wants to scream at him and call the police like I should have done
that night. Part of me feels for that little boy who held his brother in his
arms and watched him die. Part of me wishes I would have never met him.