Chapter 2: Home Is Not a Refuge

She was the one who wanted me to settle down, to have a family. She wanted that for me. More than anything.

She’d say it over Sunday pancakes, or while folding laundry, or in the quiet moments before bed. "You deserve a good man, Lillian. A real home."

That year, she had a life-or-death surgery. He seemed safe. Solid. I couldn’t bear to go against her wishes, so I picked Carter from among my blind dates—a single father with a three-year-old daughter.

Hospitals have a way of putting things in perspective. I remember sitting in that waiting room, her voice in my head. Maybe this is what she needs. Maybe it’s what I need, too.

She didn’t want me to become a stepmom like her, but I told her—no one else made sense. If I had to get married, it had to be Carter Ellison.

He was the only one who seemed steady, unflappable. The only one who didn’t flinch when I told him about my past. I thought that meant something.

My mom hugged me and cried, "No love, no kids—this kind of marriage is the worst." Her arms were warm. Her tears hot against my cheek. She held me like she could keep the world at bay, just for a little while.

But I didn’t care at all. Not then.

Love was a luxury I’d never trusted. Kids, even more so. I thought I could build something safe, even if it wasn’t happy. That was enough. Or so I thought.

No love. No children. I could walk away, completely unscathed.

Freedom was my safety net. Turns out, pain finds you anyway.

Autumn’s appearance hit like a hurricane. Sudden. Messy.

It was sudden and messy, tearing through everything I’d carefully built. I could breathe again. But also, strangely, lighter—like the storm had cleared the air.

But what was shaken was never my marriage to Carter. The foundation had always been shaky.

For six years, Carter and I treated each other with respect, almost like polite strangers. Mostly my fault.

We moved through the house like actors on a stage, always in character. There were smiles, but they never quite reached our eyes. We shared a bed, but rarely shared dreams.

Like a deer at the creek, always alert, ready to run at the first sign of danger. That was me.

I lived with one foot out the door. Old habits die hard.

Carter complained, more than once, that I was never really there.

He’d say it over coffee, or in the quiet after dinner. "You’re always somewhere else, Lillian. Even when you’re right here."

We’d never even shared a real kiss. Not the kind that means something.

Last night, when we were together, he tried to kiss me. Really kiss me.

He was persistent, more than usual. The air between us was thick with things unsaid.

As usual, I dodged, but he pinned my hands and wouldn’t let up.

His grip was gentle but firm, his breath warm on my cheek. I felt trapped, but not in the way I expected.

"No—" I turned my head away sharply. I couldn’t do it.

My voice was tight, almost pleading. I couldn’t let him in, not all the way.

"For some women, their mouth is the last private place. Lillian, that’s you."

He said it softly, like he was trying to understand me. But it only made me feel more exposed.

He bit my chin—playful, but I flinched. Old memories surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.

"I’m not—" I couldn’t finish.

The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to explain, but didn’t know how.

"Let me in, all the way, okay? Lillian." He cupped my face in his hands. His eyes searched mine.

His eyes searched mine, looking for a crack in the armor. I looked away, heart pounding.

I struggled, pushing him away, even kicking hard, but he didn’t care—just pressed his whole body down on me. (His weight was insistent, not cruel. He wanted to be close, not to hurt.)

He wanted closeness, but all I felt was the urge to escape. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be over.

"I want all of you." He tried to kiss the tip of my nose again, making me tremble all over.

His words were tender, but they felt like a demand. I shivered, wishing I could disappear.

Looking into his eyes, full of deep affection, I just felt angry. I wanted to scream, to tell him he didn’t know me at all.

At that point, I already knew he’d met Autumn and was being ambiguous with her. I wanted to tell him he had no right.

The betrayal was fresh, sharp as a paper cut. I wanted to throw it in his face, but I held back, swallowing the words.

But I just sighed inwardly, relieved that he’d never truly possessed me. It was a small comfort, knowing I still had something left that was mine alone.

So when he openly put Autumn by his side, I turned and left without a second thought. No hesitation, no looking back.

When I finally fell asleep, I even felt a sense of closure. It was the first peaceful sleep I’d had in years.

It was like a long-dreaded shoe had finally dropped.

As for being the dignified and virtuous Mrs. Ellison—whoever wants that job can have it. Let them have the title, the parties, the endless obligations.

There was never any real conflict between me and Carter. We were more like business partners than lovers.

We even had moments of genuine connection. Sometimes, late at night, we’d talk about books, about travel, about the future.