“I’ll go unpack and relax on the bed then,” I say as I grip the doorframe to stay upright and keep myself from ripping her out of that chair and bringing her to bed.

“Here?” Shock coats the single word.

It takes me a moment to realize why the hell she’s asking me that and when I do, it’s like a bullet to the chest.

A mix of emotions swell in my gut and heat my blood. Anger is there, but the dejectedness is what cuts me the most.

“Is that all right?” I ask sarcastically.

She nods, conceding to let me stay in my own damn house, but the look in her eyes doesn’t fade. She really wants me out. She wants me to just leave? Did she think I wouldn’t fight for her? That I’d let this destroy us? It may ruin me, but I’d rather chew on broken glass than let it ruin us.

“I said I don’t want a divorce.” My words come out hard. I’m sick of this. “I want you,” I tell her with conviction and walk closer to her, not leaving any space between us.

“I don’t know what I want,” Kat responds in a murmur, gripping the armrests of the desk chair as her lips form a painful frown and her eyes gloss over. Like she’s on the verge of breaking. The last thread that was holding her together has snapped, leaving her falling. I’m not there to catch her, because I’m the one that pushed her over the edge. I hate myself for it.

It’s my fault, and this is all on me, but I’ll make it right.

“You don’t have to, Kat,” I say, softening my voice and move just a little closer. I need a chance. She’s vulnerable; I can feel it coming off of her in waves. Give in to me, baby.

I cup her cheek in my hand to lean down and kiss her, but she pushes back, quickly standing and making the chair slam against the desk.

My pride, my ego, whatever it is that makes me a man, is destroyed in this moment. My limbs freeze and the tension makes me feel like I’m breaking. Literally cracking in my very center.

I lick my lips, finally letting out a breath as Kat whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m just ...” She doesn’t finish, and I have to look up at her before I can stand upright again.

“You just what?”

“I don’t know, Evan,” she answers with desperation in her voice.

“Don’t think,” I tell her, grasping for anything to keep her from running. “Just let me make it better,” I offer and she stands there, in nothing but that T-shirt, and looks at me as if I’m both her savior and her enemy.