It Ends With Us

by Colleen Hoover

  "I want a divorce."

  He blinks twice. My words hit him like voltage. He winces and looks back down at our daughter, his shoulders hunched forward. "Lily," he says, shaking his head back and forth. "Please don't do this."

  His voice is pleading, and I hate that he's been holding on to hope that I would eventually take him back. That's partly my fault, I know, but I don't think I realized what choice I was going to make until I held my daughter for the first time.

  "Just one more chance, Lily. Please." His voice cracks with tears when he speaks.

  I know I'm hurting him at the worst possible time. I'm breaking his heart when this should be the best moment of his life. But I know if I don't do it in this moment, I might never be able to convince him of why I can't risk taking him back.

  I begin to cry because this is hurting me as much as it's hurting him. "Ryle," I say gently. "What would you do? If one of these days, this little girl looked up at you and she said, 'Daddy? My boyfriend hit me.' What would you say to her, Ryle?"

  He pulls Emerson to his chest and buries his face against the top of her blanket. "Stop, Lily," he begs.

  I push myself up straighter on the bed. I place my hand on Emerson's back and try to get Ryle to look me in the eyes. "What if she came to you and said, 'Daddy? My husband pushed me down the stairs. He said it was an accident. What should I do?' "

  His shoulders begin to shake, and for the first time since the day I met him, he has tears. Real tears that rush down his cheeks as he holds his daughter tightly against him. I'm crying, too, but I keep going. For her sake.

  "What if . . ." My voice breaks. "What if she came to you and said, 'My husband tried to rape me, Daddy. He held me down while I begged him to stop. But he swears he'll never do it again. What should I do, Daddy?' "

  He's kissing her forehead, over and over, tears spilling down his face.

  "What would you say to her, Ryle? Tell me. I need to know what you would say to our daughter if the man she loves with all her heart ever hurts her."

  A sob breaks from his chest. He leans toward me and wraps an arm around me. "I would beg her to leave him," he says through his tears. His lips press desperately against my forehead and I can feel some of his tears as they fall onto my cheeks. He moves his mouth to my ear and cradles both of us against him. "I would tell her that she is worth so much more. And I would beg her not to go back, no matter how much he loves her. She's worth so much more."

  We become a sobbing mess of tears and broken hearts and shattered dreams. We hold each other. We hold our daughter. And as hard as this choice is, we break the pattern before the pattern breaks us.

  He hands her back to me and wipes his eyes. He stands up, still crying. Still trying to catch his breath. In the last fifteen minutes, he lost the love of his life. In the last fifteen minutes, he became a father to a beautiful little girl.

  That's what fifteen minutes can do to a person. It can destroy them.

  It can save them.

  He points toward the hallway, letting me know he needs to go gather himself. He's sadder than I've ever seen him as he walks toward the door. But I know he'll thank me for this one day. I know the day will come when he'll understand that I made the right choice by his daughter.

  When the door closes behind him, I look down at her. I know I'm not giving her the life I dreamed for her. A home where she lives with both parents who can love her and raise her together. But I don't want her to live like I lived. I don't want her to see her father at his worst. I don't want her to see him when he loses his temper with me to the point that she no longer recognizes him as her father. Because no matter how many good moments she might share with Ryle throughout her lifetime, I know from experience that it would only be the worst ones that stuck with her.

  Cycles exist because they are excruciating to break. It takes an astronomical amount of pain and courage to disrupt a familiar pattern. Sometimes it seems easier to just keep running in the same familiar circles, rather than facing the fear of jumping and possibly not landing on your feet.

  My mother went through it.

  I went through it.

  I'll be damned if I allow my daughter to go through it.

  I kiss her on the forehead and make her a promise. "It stops here. With me and you. It ends with us."

  Epilogue

  I push through the crowds of Boylston Street until I get to the cross street. I pull the stroller to a crawl and then stop at the edge of the curb. I pull the top of it back and look down at Emmy. She's kicking her feet and smiling like usual. She's a very happy baby. She has a calm energy about her and it's addictive.

  "How old is she?" a woman asks. She's standing at the crosswalk with us, staring down at Emerson appreciatively.

  "Eleven months."

  "She's gorgeous," she says. "Looks just like you. Identical mouths."

  I smile. "Thank you. But you should see her father. She definitely has his eyes."

  The sign flashes to walk, and I try to beat the crowd as we rush across the street. I'm already half an hour late and Ryle has texted me twice. He hasn't experienced the joy of carrots yet, though. He'll find out today just how messy they are, because I packed plenty in her bag.

  I moved out of the apartment Ryle bought when Emerson was three months old. I got my own place closer to my work so I'm within walking distance, which is great. Ryle moved back into the apartment he bought, but between visiting Allysa's place and Ryle's days with Emerson, I feel like I'm still at their apartment building almost as much as I'm at mine.

  "Almost there, Emmy." We make a right around the corner and I'm in such a rush, a man has to step out of our way and into the wall just to avoid being plowed over. "Sorry," I mutter, ducking my head and making my way around him.

  "Lily?"

  I stop.

  I turn slowly, because I felt that voice all the way to my toes. There are only two voices that have ever done that to me, and Ryle's doesn't reach that far anymore.

  When I look back at him, his blue eyes are squinting against the sun. He lifts a hand to shield it and he grins. "Hey."

  "Hi," I say, my frenzied brain trying to slow down and allow me to play catch-up.

  He glances at the stroller and points at it. "Is that . . . is this your baby?"

  I nod and he walks around to the front of the stroller. He kneels down and smiles widely at her. "Wow. She's gorgeous, Lily," he says. "What's her name?"

  "Emerson. We call her Emmy sometimes."

  He puts his finger in her hand and she starts kicking, shaking his finger back and forth. He stares at her appreciatively for a moment and then stands back up again.

  "You look great," he says.

  I try not to give him an obvious once-over, but it's hard. He looks as good as ever, but this is the first time seeing him that I'm not trying to deny how gorgeous he turned out to be. A far cry from that homeless boy in my bedroom. Yet . . . somehow still exactly the same.

  I can feel the buzz of my text message going off in my pocket again. Ryle.

  I point down the street. "We're really late," I say. "Ryle has been waiting for half an hour."

  When I say Ryle's name, there's a sadness that reaches Atlas's eyes, but he tries to disguise it. He nods and slowly steps aside for us to pass.

  "It's his day to have her," I clarify, saying more in those six words than I could in most full conversations.

  I see the relief flash in his eyes. He nods and points behind him. "Yeah, I'm running late, too. Opened a new restaurant on Boylston last month."

  "Wow. Congratulations. I'll have to take Mom there to check it out soon."

  He smiles. "You should. Let me know and I'll make sure and cook for you myself."

  There's an awkward pause, and then I point down the street. "We have to . . ."

  "Go," he says with a smile.

  I nod again and then duck my head and continue walking. I have no idea why I'm reacting this way. Like I don't know how to hold a normal conversation. When I'
m several yards away, I glance back over my shoulder. He hasn't moved. He's still watching me as I walk away.

  We round the corner and I see Ryle waiting beside his car outside the floral shop. His face lights up when he sees us approaching. "Did you get my email?" He kneels down and begins to unstrap Emerson.

  "Yeah, about the playpen recall?"

  He nods as he pulls her out of the stroller. "Didn't we buy one of those for her?"

  I press the buttons to fold the stroller and then walk it to the back of his car. "Yeah, but it broke like a month ago. I threw it in the Dumpster."

  He pops the trunk, and then touches Emerson's chin with his fingers. "Did you hear that, Emmy? Your mommy saved your life." She smiles up at him and slaps playfully at his hand. He kisses her on the forehead and then picks up her stroller and tosses it in the trunk. I slam the trunk shut and lean over to give her a quick kiss.

  "Love you, Emmy. See you tonight."

  Ryle opens the back door to put her in the car seat. I tell him goodbye and then I start to head back down the street in a rush.

  "Lily!" he yells. "Where are you going?"

  I'm sure he expected me to walk to the front door of my store, since I'm already late opening it. I probably should, but the nagging in my gut won't go away. I need to do something about it. I spin around and walk backward. "There's something I forgot to do! I'll see you when I pick her up tonight!"

  Ryle lifts Emerson's hand and they wave goodbye to me. As soon as I round the corner, I break out into a sprint. I dodge people, bump into a few and cause one lady to curse at me, but it's all worth it the moment I see the back of his head.

  "Atlas!" I yell. He's heading in the other direction, so I keep pushing through the crowd. "Atlas!"

  He stops walking but he doesn't turn around. He cocks his head like he doesn't want to fully trust his ears.

  "Atlas!" I yell again.

  This time when he turns, he turns with purpose. His eyes meet mine and there's a three-second pause while we both stare at each other. But then we both start walking toward each other, determination in every step. Twenty steps separate us.

  Ten.

  Five.

  One.

  Neither of us takes that final step.

  I'm out of breath, panting and nervous. "I forgot to tell you Emerson's middle name." I put my hands on my hips and exhale. "It's Dory."

  He doesn't immediately react, but then his eyes crinkle a little in the corners. His mouth twitches like he's forcing back a smile. "What a perfect name for her."

  I nod, and smile, and then stop.

  I'm not sure what to do now. I just needed him to know that, but now that I've told him, I didn't really think of what I'd do or say next.

  I nod again, and then glance around me, throwing a thumb over my shoulder. "Well . . . I guess I'll . . ."

  Atlas steps forward, grabs me, and pulls me hard against his chest. I immediately close my eyes when he wraps his arms around me. His hand goes up to the back of my head and he holds me still against him as we stand, surrounded by busy streets, blasts of horns, people brushing us as they pass in a hurry. He presses a gentle kiss into my hair, and all of that fades away.

  "Lily," he says quietly. "I feel like my life is good enough for you now. So whenever you're ready . . ."

  I clench his jacket in my hands and keep my face pressed tight against his chest. I suddenly feel like I'm fifteen again. My neck and cheeks flush from his words.

  But I'm not fifteen.

  I'm an adult with responsibilities and a child. I can't just allow my teenage feelings to take over. Not without a little reassurance, at least.

  I pull back and look up at him. "Do you donate to charity?"

  Atlas laughs with confusion. "Several. Why?"

  "Do you want kids someday?"

  He nods. "Of course I do."

  "Do you think you'll ever want to leave Boston?"

  He shakes his head. "No. Never. Everything is better here, remember?"

  His answers give me the reassurance I need. I smile up at him. "Okay. I'm ready."

  He pulls me tight against him and I laugh. With everything that has happened since the day he came into my life, I never expected this outcome. I've hoped for it a lot, but until now I wasn't sure if it would ever happen.

  I close my eyes when I feel his lips meet the spot on my collarbone. He presses a gentle kiss there and it feels just like the first time he kissed me there all those years ago. He brings his mouth to my ear, and in a whisper, he says, "You can stop swimming now, Lily. We finally reached the shore."

  Note from the Author

  It is recommended this section be read after reading the book, as it contains spoilers.

  *

  My earliest memory in life was from the age of two and a half years old. My bedroom didn't have a door and was covered by a sheet nailed to the top of the door frame. I remember hearing my father yelling, so I peeked out from the other side of the sheet just as my father picked up our television and threw it at my mother, knocking her down.

  She divorced him before I turned three. Every memory beyond that of my father was a good one. He never once lost his temper with me or my sisters, despite having done so on numerous occasions with my mother.

  I knew their marriage was an abusive one, but my mother never talked about it. To discuss it would have meant she was talking ill of my father and that's something she never once did. She wanted the relationship I had with him to be free of any strain that stood between the two of them. Because of this, I have the utmost respect for parents who don't involve their children in the dissolution of their relationships.

  I asked my father about the abuse once. He was very candid about their relationship. He was an alcoholic during the years he was married to my mother and he was the first to admit he didn't treat her well. In fact, he told me he had two knuckles replaced in his hand because he had hit her so hard, they broke against her skull.

  My father regretted the way he treated my mother his entire life. Mistreating her was the worst mistake he had ever made and he said he would grow old and die still madly in love with her.

  I feel that was a very light punishment for what she endured.

  When I decided I wanted to write this story, I first asked my mother for permission. I told her I wanted to write it for women like her. I also wanted to write it for all the people who didn't quite understand women like her.

  I was one of those people.

  The mother I know is not weak. She was not someone I could envision forgiving a man for mistreating her on multiple occasions. But while writing this book and getting into the mind-set of Lily, I quickly realized that it's not as black and white as it seems from the outside.

  On more than one occasion while writing this, I wanted to change the plotline. I didn't want Ryle to be who he was going to be because I had fallen in love with him in those first several chapters, just as Lily had fallen in love with him. Just as my mother fell in love with my father.

  The first incident between Ryle and Lily in the kitchen is what happened the first time my father ever hit my mother. She was cooking a casserole and he had been drinking. He pulled the casserole out of the oven without using a pot holder. She thought it was funny and she laughed. The next thing she knew, he had hit her so hard she flew across the kitchen floor.

  She chose to forgive him for that one incident, because his apology and regret were believable. Or at least believable enough that giving him a second chance hurt less than leaving with a broken heart would have.

  Over time, the incidents that followed were similar to the first. My father would repeatedly show remorse and promise to never do it again. It finally got to a point where she knew his promises were empty, but she was a mother of two daughters by then and had no money to leave. And unlike Lily, my mother didn't have a lot of support. There were no local women's shelters. There was very little government support back then. To leave meant risking not having a roof over our heads, but to
her it was better than the alternative.

  My father passed away several years ago, when I was twenty-five years old. He wasn't the best father. He certainly wasn't the best husband. But thanks to my mother, I was able to have a very close relationship with him because she took the necessary steps to break the pattern before it broke us. And it wasn't easy. She left him right before I turned three and my older sister turned five. We lived off beans and macaroni and cheese for two solid years. She was a single mother without a college education, raising two daughters on her own with virtually no help. But her love for us gave her the strength she needed to take that terrifying step.

  By no means do I intend for Ryle and Lily's situation to define domestic abuse. Nor do I intend for Ryle's character to define the characteristics of most abusers. Every situation is different. Every outcome is different. I chose to fashion Lily and Ryle's story after my mother and father's. I fashioned Ryle after my father in many ways. They are handsome, compassionate, funny, and smart--but with moments of unforgivable behavior.

  I fashioned Lily after my mother in many ways. They are both caring, intelligent, strong women who simply fell in love with men who didn't deserve to fall in love at all.

  Two years after divorcing my father, my mother met my stepfather. He was the epitome of a good husband. The memories I have of them growing up set the bar for the type of marriage I wanted for myself.

  When I finally did reach the point of marriage, the hardest thing I ever had to do was tell my biological father that he wouldn't be walking me down the aisle--that I was going to ask my stepfather.

  I felt I had to do this for many reasons. My stepfather stepped up as a husband in ways my father never did. My stepfather stepped up financially in ways my father never did. And my stepfather raised us as if we were his own, while never once denying us a relationship with my biological father.

  I remember sitting down in my father's living room a month before my wedding. I told him I loved him, but that I was going to be asking my stepfather to walk me down the aisle. I was prepared for his response with every rebuttal I could think of. But the response he gave me was nothing I expected.

  He nodded his head and said, "Colleen, he raised you. He deserves to give you away at your wedding. And you shouldn't feel guilty about it, because it's the right thing to do."