Here comes the gaslighting. He’s attempting to make me feel crazy for being scared, even though my fear is more than warranted. I stare at him for a moment, wondering if the argument is over or if he has more to say. I want it to be over, so I open the door to the stairwell.

“Lily, wait.”

I pause because his voice is much calmer, which leads me to believe he might be capable of a verbal disagreement rather than an explosive fight tonight. He walks back over to me with a pained expression. “I’m sorry. You know how I feel about anything related to him.”

I do know, which is precisely why I’ve had such conflicting feelings about Atlas potentially being a part of my life again. The simple idea of having to confront Ryle with that information makes me want to vomit. Especially now.

“It upset me to find out that our daughter’s middle name might have been something you chose to deliberately hurt me. You can’t expect something like that not to affect me.”

I lean against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. “It had nothing to do with you or Atlas and everything to do with me. I swear.” Just mentioning Atlas’s name out loud seems to get it stuck in the air between us, like it’s a tangible thing Ryle can reach out and punch.

Ryle nods once with a tight expression, but it appears that he accepts that answer. I honestly don’t know if he should. Maybe I did do it subconsciously to hurt him. I don’t even know at this point. His anger is making me question my intentions.

This all feels so grossly familiar.

We’re both quiet for a while. I just want to go to Emerson, but Ryle seems to have more to say, because he moves closer, placing a hand on the wall beside my head. I’m relieved that he doesn’t look angry anymore, but I’m not sure I like the look in his eye that has replaced the anger. It’s not the first time he’s looked at me this way since our separation.

I feel my entire body stiffen at his gradual change in demeanor. He moves a couple of inches closer, too close, and dips his head.

“Lily,” he says, his voice a scratchy whisper. “What are we doing?”

I don’t respond to him because I’m not sure why he’s asking that. We’re having a conversation. One he started.

He lifts a hand, fingering the collar of my jumpsuit, which is peeking out beneath my coat. When he sighs, his breath moves through my hair. “Everything would be so much easier if we could just…” Ryle pauses, maybe to think about the words he’s about to say. The words I don’t want to hear.

“Stop,” I whisper, preventing him from finishing.

He doesn’t complete his thought, but he also doesn’t back away. If anything, it feels like he moves even closer. I’ve done nothing in the past that would make him think it’s okay to move in on me like this. I do nothing that gives him hope for us other than foster a civil coparenting relationship. He’s the one always trying to push my boundaries and straddle the line of what I’m okay with, and I’m honestly tired of it.