Chapter 4

My phone rang almost immediately. It was Angel.

He was screaming, not in English, but in the rapid-fire Spanish he only used with his family, the language he reverted to when he lost all semblance of control. I couldn' t understand most of it, but the fury was universal.

"Speak English, Angel," I said, my voice cold and steady. "I don' t understand you when you' re hysterical."

"Don' t you dare tell me what to do!" he roared, switching to heavily accented English. "Don' t test my patience, Alicia!"

"Tomorrow," I said, cutting him off. "Nine a.m. At the courthouse. We' re filing the papers."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line before he hung up.

A moment later, I tried to call him back to confirm. The call wouldn' t go through. He had blocked me.

I sighed, a weary breath escaping my lips. It was his signature move. Whenever he was losing an argument, whenever he felt cornered, he would block me. In the past, I would have panicked. I would have called from a different number, sent frantic texts, driven to his office, my dignity an afterthought in the face of my desperate need to fix things.

I had loved him so much.

Now, I just felt tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion from seven years of loving a man who was incapable of loving anyone but himself.

I sank onto my lumpy mattress, the memories flooding back. He had pursued me relentlessly in college. He was charming, intense, and brilliant, with a fire in his eyes that promised to burn down the world. Back then, he was just a poor kid with big dreams, and I was the sharp, ambitious political science major who saw his potential.

He only had eyes for me. He treated me like a goddess, like the center of his universe.

We worked together, side-by-side, building his career from nothing. I wrote his speeches, crafted his strategies, networked with donors. We went from a tiny apartment with ramen noodle dinners to a City Council seat and a mansion in the hills.

But with every step up the ladder, he changed. The man I loved disappeared, replaced by a cold, ruthless politician who saw me not as a partner, but as an accessory.

Three years ago, he asked me to quit my job. "I need you at home, Ally-cat," he' d said. "My father' s health is failing, and my mother needs support. You' re the only one I trust."

It was a lie. He wanted me dependent. He wanted me out of the spotlight so he could shine brighter. Because I loved him, because I still believed in the man he used to be, I agreed.

He started staying out late, claiming he was working. The distance between us grew into a chasm. I knew something was wrong, but I held on, telling myself that as long as he didn' t cross the ultimate line, I could make it work.

But he did cross it. Faith Dudley, his high school sweetheart, his supposed "one that got away," moved back to the city. They didn' t just rekindle an old flame; they started a forest fire.

Our home became a war zone. The fights were endless, vicious, and draining. We grew to resent the very sight of each other.