“I’m a human being,” she screamed back, her voice breaking. “I am a mother, yes, but I’m also a person with my own feelings, my own heartbreak, my own grief. And right now, Blake, I am drowning too. And I’m so tired of pretending I’m not. I am not a superhuman or a saint. I am just me, a woman who lost the love of her life. Do you think I don’t wake up every day with this ache in my chest that won’t go away?”

Her chest heaved, her fingers gripping that stupid wedding ring like it could bring him back. “And where were you? You think you get to stand there and judge me? You think you were some savior while she was falling apart? Were you there when she screamed into her pillow at night? When she came home crying, shaking, begging me to make it all stop?”

I was shaking now.

Her words hit like punches, one after the other.

“I tried⁠—”

“You left!” she yelled, cutting me off. “You walked out, Blake. And now you want to act like you’re the only one who cares?” She pointed at me, her voice hoarse. “She needed you, too. You think I don’t know what’s been going on between you and her?” she continued, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m blind? You think I haven’t seen the way you look at her? The way she looks at you?”

I choked on my own breath, my heart caving in, my hands shaking like they no longer belonged to me. “It’s not like that⁠—”

“Don’t insult me,” she cut in. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t love her. I may be a wreck, but I’m not stupid, Blake. I’ve known. I’ve known for a long time.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t speak.

The guilt clawed up my throat like bile.

“Just tell me where she is,” I choked out. “Please.”

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Please,” I rasped, my throat tight and dry. “Just tell me where she is so I can make this right.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, trembling. “You want to make it right? Then leave her alone. Let her heal. Let her breathe. You’ve done enough.”

“No,” I said through clenched teeth. “I need to see her. I need to look her in the eyes and tell her I’m sorry. So please, Jenna—just tell me where she is.”

Grief, fury, and exhaustion battled in her expression until she finally sat back down, her hands covering her mouth.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of our breathing. Then, slowly, she shook her head again.

And that was my answer.

She wasn’t going to tell me. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She was going to let me suffer.