Gretchen let out a sad, airy laugh. “When did we start lying to each other?”

Jax closed her eyes and shook her head. “Everything changed so much.”

“And I want a chance to change it again.” She walked over to Jax and took her hand. Jax pulled away. “I’m looking for a place we can go this weekend, just the three of us. Leave all of this behind and be a family so we can see if we can make this work. One last try.” Gretchen grew annoyed at Jax’s uncharacteristic silence, but she tamped it down to let her desperation show through. “We owe it to ourselves and to Caleb to try, and if last night was any indication, I think I’m right.”

“Gretchen…”

“I know you felt it, too. Our connection, the love between us. Last night felt like a new beginning to me.”

“It always does, and that’s the problem.” Jax stepped back and away from Gretchen. “This won’t be the first or tenth time we try to make it work. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. All these forgotten memories have you living in a fantasyland.”

Gretchen refused to believe it. She shook her head forcefully. “No,” she said with a raised hand, “I know you felt what I felt last night.”

“It’s not about that, goddamn it.” Jax’s voice started to rise, and she pointed between them. “It’s about this, the fighting every day. We were at each other’s throats constantly, and nothing helped. We tried counseling and trips and retreats, and nothing ever worked. We’d have sex and feel so in love and then hate each other in the morning. It was vicious and ugly, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“Things are different now,” Gretchen said, begging. “I’m different. What will it take? Less work? I’ll cut back my hours for good.” Gretchen turned back to her computer and opened it. Panic caused her fingers to shake as she typed. “I’ll email Omar right now and tell him I’ll be part-time.”

“It’s too late.”

Gretchen looked over her shoulder at Jax, and her heart shattered all over again. Jax’s expression screamed resignation and sadness. The tears running down to Jax’s square jaw punctuated the finality of her statement. “One more try, please,” Gretchen said, her voice crackling.

“We’ve had all the tries I can handle. You don’t remember them, but I do. I remember every painful word, the tear-filled nights, and the way you watched me leave. You don’t have any of that haunting you, and I fucking hate you for it.” Jax reached into her back pocket and pulled out folded papers. She dropped them beside Gretchen’s computer. “I signed them.”

Gretchen’s vision blurred from tears. “Please…”

“See if Amanda can start spending the night. I can’t do this anymore.” Jax turned and left.