Prepare the divorce and ruin your husband by Mark Twain 25
Chapter 25
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“And his heart is inside you.”
Her face collapsed. She screamed, cursed, sobbed, smashed her fists against the glass.
“You killed him,” she shrieked.
I tilted my head. “No. You did. And now you get to live with it.”
I walked away without looking back.
That night, Ax sat with me on the balcony while Ryle slept inside.
“Are you going to leave again?” he asked.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I would stay forever.
“Yes,” I lied. “I will.”
He nodded like he already knew the truth I was too afraid to say out loud.
Six months later, I was whole. Strong. Deadly again.
Colt’s restraint was breaking. I felt it in every look, every almost-touch. One night, I
thanked him.
“For everything,” I said quietly.
He pulled me close, his voice rough. “Don’t thank me. Don’t leave me.”
His mouth was on mine before I could think. It was desperate, consuming, like he was trying to carve himself into my bones. I kissed him back, just as hungry, just as broken. That night, we held each other like we were afraid the world would rip us apart.
In the morning, Colt was asleep. Peaceful. Unarmed.
I kissed his forehead once. Silent tears fell.
I packed my bag. I took my son’s hand.
When we walked out of the villa, my chest screamed for me to turn back.
I didn’t.
Because loving him would have destroyed us both.
…
I stepped off the plane with Ryle right beside me, his small hand hooked into my coat while I dragged the suitcase behind us. My heart was pounding so loud it felt reckless, like it might expose me. Everything felt lighter though, quieter, like I had finally slipped out of a cage and locked the door behind me.
Ryle looked up at me, eyes bright. “Mom, is this really where we’re staying now?”
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“For a while,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Just us. No noise. No ghosts.”
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He nodded like he understood more than a kid his age should, and that alone made my chest ache.
I kept my head down as we walked, letting the airport swallow me whole. I thought about David. Roxanne. Colt. All the names that once owned pieces of me. I thought about blood and lies and how close I came to losing myself. Mostly, I thought about freedom. Not revenge. Not pretending. Just breathing and being dangerous in my own quiet way.
Then someone took my suitcase.
I looked up fast, instinct sharp, body already ready to break something if I had to.
“Ma’am, let me get that for you.”
Colt.
Calm. Clean. That unreadable smile that always made me feel like he already knew how this story ended.
My breath hitched before I could stop it. “You really need to stop doing that,” I said softly. “One day I might shoot first.”
His smile deepened as he lifted the suitcase easily. “I would still walk toward you.”
Once we were clear of the crowd, he stopped me gently. His voice dropped, slow and serious. “I told myself I would never let you walk alone again. Not you. Not your son. Not ever.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “I thought I wanted to disappear.”
“You did,” he said. “And you were allowed to. But disappearing does not mean being unprotected. It does not mean unloved.”
My throat tightened. I hated that he could still do this to me.
“I don’t know how to be soft,” I said honestly. “I only know how to survive.”
His hand brushed mine, light but deliberate. “Then we start there. Survival first. Happiness comes after.”
I swallowed. “You’re still stubborn.”
“And you still like it,” he replied.
I did.
The days that followed felt unreal. Colt rented a quiet place near the water, nothing flashy, nothing loud. Mornings were coffee and silence. Afternoons were walking with Ryle, ice cream on his chin, Colt trailing a step behind like a shadow that chose to stay
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gentle. At night, Colt taught me how to watch exits again, how to read a room, how to stay deadly without being cruel.
“You don’t have to lower your guard,” he told me once while Ryle slept. “Just let me stand beside you.”
One night on the balcony, city lights burning beneath us, Colt took my hand. He went down on one knee without warning, velvet box already open.
“Nadia Joseph,” he said quietly, like this was a truth and not a question. “Marry me. Not because of who you were or what you survived. Marry me because you scare the world and I want to build one that never tries to cage you again.”
Ryle gasped behind us. “Mom, say yes. Please. Uncle Colt makes good pancakes.”
I laughed through tears. “That’s a strong argument.”
I looked back at Colt. “Yes. But we do this my way. No secrets. No control. No pretending.”
His voice was steady. “I would never survive pretending with you.”
Fireworks lit the sky like the city itself was celebrating. Colt slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed my knuckles like a promise carved in stone.
When we returned to the villa, Ax was already there, leaning against the railing like he owned the place.
“Took you long enough,” he said. “I was about to send a search party.”
Ryle ran straight into his arms. “Uncle Ax!”
Ax laughed and ruffled his hair. “You got taller. That’s suspicious.”
I smiled. “I’m happy, Ax. Don’t ruin it.”
He softened instantly. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Later, Colt’s parents came. His mother held my hands and said, “You are home now.” His father nodded once, solid and approving. I had never known what that felt like. Being claimed without being owned.
One morning, I went to David’s grave alone. I placed white lilies down and whispered, “You were part of my story. You don’t get to be my ending.”
When I came back, Colt wrapped an arm around me. “You said goodbye.”
“I said thank you,” I answered.
Months later, the test turned positive.
“Colt,” I called, voice shaking.
He rushed in. I held it up.
He laughed, cried, and crushed me to his chest all at once. “We’re doing this right,” I
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said firmly. “No cages. No lies.”
He kissed my forehead. “On my life.”
…
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Five years later, our California home was loud with laughter. Colt sat on the couch with our daughter in his arms, Ryle sprawled beside him like he owned the place.
“Mom,” Ryle said, grinning. “Dad says I can learn how to drive a motorcycle.”
I crossed my arms. “He says a lot of things.”
Colt smirked. “He’s fearless. That’s your fault.”
I leaned in, kissing Colt slowly. “I was never meant to be soft,” I murmured.
“And yet,” he replied, eyes dark and full, “you chose us.”
Our daughter giggled, sunlight spilling over all of us.
I wasn’t a ghost anymore.
I was a woman who survived.
And this life was mine.
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