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“Absolutely not.”

Tate doesn’t flinch at my outburst. The doctor’s gaze zips between the two of us. She’s probably a fan. Everyone in this goddamn hospital seems to be. They must be wondering where Tate Brooks’s wife has been hiding. There are small traces of me online, but there’re no paparazzi hanging outside the house, or headlines about our separation. People have probably forgotten about me, and the world sees Tate as a single, attractive, A-list celebrity, free to do as he pleases.

My stomach sours at the mere thought.

I spent my time waiting to board my flight googling him. Apart from this recent incident, there isn’t much online about him outside of his tour and album release. There are a few photographs of him on the red carpet, but he’s always alone.

“Um, should I leave you two to discuss?” the doctor asks warily.

“That would be perfect,” I reply, right as Tate says, “Nah, we’re good.”

Our gazes clash. His face gives nothing away. He’s clearly exhausted. He looks thinner, deep purple smudges lining his eyes. Guilt riddles me. He hasn’t been taking care of himself.

There’s so much I want to say but don’t know how to put into words.

We find ourselves in a stare-off, and in typical fashion, neither backs down. Before everything combusted, this is how we’d settle petty arguments like who’d do the dishes or take out the trash. Menial things. By the end, we could barely look at one another.

I’m the first to break the connection, which is when I notice the doctor has stealthily left the room. When I turn to face Tate, his eyes laser in on my left hand. Shit.

“Where’s your ring?” His tone is ice cold.

I snap my hands behind my back.

“Tally Girl, where is your ring?” I can’t bear the hurt in his voice.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper, turning away.

Bedsheets rustle behind me. “So, why did you?”

Because the idea of you alone made me physically sick.

Because even though my heart is breaking, I miss you.

Because I had to see you.

“Talia.” His swollen tongue makes it sound more like Dalia, but hearing my name on his lips sends my nervous system into overdrive. “Why did you come here?”

Putting on a brave face, I peer at him over my shoulder. “I told you, your mom asked me.”

He nods slowly. “So, if my mom was fit to fly, you wouldn’t have bothered?”

I don’t answer him, knowing no good will come from it. “You can’t come back to Tennessee. You have a tour to finish. And we…we said⁠—”

“It’s my home. My decision. Where else am I supposed to recover? Momma doesn’t need her grown-ass son cramping her style.”

His mom would love having him under her roof, showing him off to her Bingo friends. “You must have another place to stay? An apartment in the city? Friends from the label?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Is everything okay?” a voice asks from the doorway. We both turn.

I have to hold in my eye roll as Tate’s manager swaggers into the room. I met him once, and once was enough. Tate didn’t see what I saw, and Howard charmed Tate, gushing about the perks and amazing opportunities a record deal would bring us.

To this day, I’ll never forget his words to me on the red carpet. We were attending a movie premiere, an evening I’d rather forget. And the morning after.

Tate is made for this. It would be a shame if you stood in his way. I see it all the time, and it never ends well for couples. Sometimes it’s easier to pull the plug now before it’s too late.