Chapter 44 Chapter 44: Breaking from the Inside
Cathy's P.O.V
Hunter's voice comes through the door, muffled but concerned.
"Cathy? Are you okay in there?"
I stare at the bathroom door, my fingers still gripping the edge of the sink. My throat feels tight, like someone has wrapped their hands around it and won't let go. I want to answer him, but I don't know what to say. Am I okay? No. Will I ever be okay again? I don't know.
I take a shaky breath and turn on the faucet again, splashing more cold water on my face. The shock of it helps a little, brings me back to the present moment instead of drowning in memories of last night. I cup my hands under the stream and drink a little, trying to wash away the bitter taste in my mouth.
"I'm fine," I finally call out, though my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
I dry my face one more time, straighten my wrinkled dress as best I can, and open the bathroom door.
Hunter is standing near a small coffee table, placing a plate of food down carefully. He's changed from his formal clothes into a simple gray t-shirt and dark jeans. He looks comfortable, relaxed, like he belongs here. When he hears the door open, he turns to look at me, and I see the concern written all over his face.
"I made you some breakfast," he says gently. "Scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit. Nothing fancy, but I thought you might be hungry."
I look at the plate. The eggs are fluffy and golden, the toast perfectly browned, sliced strawberries arranged neatly on the side. It looks delicious, but my stomach churns at the thought of eating.
"Thanks," I say quietly, wrapping my arms around myself. "But I'm not hungry."
Hunter doesn't say anything. He just looks at me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching my face. Then he crosses the room in a few quick steps and pulls me into his arms.
I freeze, my body going rigid against his chest.
"I don't need this," I say, trying to push away from him. My hands press against his chest but he doesn't budge. "I don't need anyone's pity or consolation."
"Cathy," he says softly, but I shake my head violently.
"No, I mean it. I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I don't need you trying to fix this or make me feel better. I just need..." My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. "I just need everyone to leave me alone."
But Hunter doesn't let go. His arms stay wrapped around me, firm but gentle, holding me together when I feel like I'm falling apart. One of his hands comes up to rest on the back of my head, and that simple gesture of comfort is what breaks me.
The tears come suddenly, violently, like a dam bursting inside my chest. A sob tears from my throat and I grab onto Hunter's shirt with both hands, holding on tight as my legs threaten to give out. I cry and cry, great heaving sobs that shake my whole body. All the pain and humiliation and betrayal from last night comes pouring out of me in an unstoppable flood.
Hunter doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell me it's going to be okay or that everything will work out. He doesn't offer empty platitudes or false reassurances. He just holds me close, one hand stroking my hair gently while the other stays firm against my back, keeping me anchored.
I don't know how long we stand there. It could be minutes or hours. Time doesn't seem to mean anything anymore. All I know is that I cry until there are no tears left, until my body is empty and exhausted and wrung out like an old dishrag.
When the sobs finally slow and then stop, I'm left hiccupping against Hunter's chest, my face buried in his shirt. I can feel how wet the fabric is from my tears, and embarrassment starts to creep in.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice hoarse and raw. "I got your shirt all wet."
"I don't care about the shirt," Hunter says quietly. He pulls back just enough to look down at me. "Come on. Let's get you sitting down."
He guides me gently to the bed, his hand on my elbow like he's afraid I might collapse. I sink down onto the mattress, suddenly exhausted beyond belief. My whole body feels heavy, like I'm made of lead.
Hunter grabs a box of tissues from the nightstand and hands it to me. I pull out several and wipe at my face, blowing my nose. I must look absolutely horrible right now, but Hunter doesn't seem to care. He kneels down in front of me and reaches out, carefully pulling my tangled hair away from my face and tucking it behind my ears.
The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that fresh tears threaten to spill over. I blink them back and focus on breathing instead.
"Where am I?" I finally ask, looking around the room again. Now that I'm calmer, I can take in more details. The space is masculine but cozy, with dark wood furniture and simple decorations. There's a bookshelf in the corner filled with books, a dresser with a few framed photos on top.
"You're at my apartment," Hunter says, settling back on his heels. "I brought you here last night."
I nod slowly, remembering the feel of his arms carrying me, his voice in my ear. But there's so much I don't remember, so much that's still fuzzy and unclear.
"Did you..." I start, then stop, not sure how to ask the question burning in my mind. How much did he see? How much does he know?
Hunter seems to understand what I'm trying to ask. He stands up and moves to sit beside me on the bed, keeping a respectful distance between us.
"Something felt wrong about the whole thing last night," he says, his voice careful and measured. "When Xavier rushed off with Caroline and you followed them, I had this gut feeling that I shouldn't just let it go. Even though you told me you had to handle it alone, even though you refused my help, I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen."
He pauses, running a hand through his hair.
"So I followed you. I got in my car and followed yours through the traffic and the snow. I stayed back far enough that you wouldn't notice, but close enough that I could keep you in sight."
My heart clenches in my chest. He followed us. Which means he saw everything.
"I saw when you pulled over to the side of the road," Hunter continues, his voice gentler now. "I parked a little ways behind you and waited. I thought maybe Caroline needed to get out or something. But then I saw you get out of the driver's seat and just stand there on the sidewalk. You were staring at the car and it was..." He stops, his jaw tightening. "I realized what was happening. And then you turned around and got sick and your knees gave out."
I close my eyes, the humiliation washing over me again. He saw it all. He saw me standing there while my husband betrayed me, saw me vomit on the street like some pathetic, broken thing.
"That's when I ran to you," Hunter says. "You were about to collapse face-first into the snow, so I caught you. You were barely conscious, mumbling things I couldn't understand. I picked you up and brought you here because I didn't know where else to take you."
"Thank you," I whisper, opening my eyes to look at him. "For helping me. For not just leaving me there."
"I would never leave you there," Hunter says firmly. "Never."
We sit in silence for a moment. The apartment is quiet except for the faint sound of traffic from outside. I can hear my own breathing, still a little uneven from crying so hard.
"What are you going to do next?" Hunter finally asks.
The question hangs in the air between us. I shake my head, staring down at the tissue I'm twisting between my fingers.
"I don't know," I admit. "I haven't thought that far ahead. I can barely process what happened, let alone figure out what comes next."
"Cathy," Hunter says, and there's something serious in his tone that makes me look up at him. "Running from the problem won't make it go away. You know that, right?"
I feel a flash of irritation. "I'm not running."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm trying to survive!" The words come out sharper than I intended. "I'm trying to figure out how to breathe when it feels like someone has ripped my lungs out of my chest. I'm trying to understand how my husband could do what he did and call it business. I'm trying to exist in a world that doesn't make sense anymore."
Hunter holds up his hands in a calming gesture. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you or make you feel worse."
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"But I need you to understand something. I have resources, Cathy. Far more resources than you have access to right now. Money, lawyers, connections, places you can stay. If you tell me what you need, if you open up about what you want to do, I can help you. But I can't do anything if you won't let me in."
His words aren't cruel, but they're direct, straightforward, and they hurt because they're true. I don't have resources. I don't have money of my own or a place to go or any idea how to navigate what comes next. Xavier holds all the cards, all the power, and I'm just the wife who was supposed to sit quietly and accept whatever he decided.
"I know you're not trying to be mean," I say quietly. "But it still hurts to hear."
"I know," Hunter says. "And I'm sorry for that too."
He turns to face me more fully, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's choosing his words carefully.
"I need to ask you something," he says. "And I need you to really think about your answer."
My stomach tightens with anxiety. "What?"
Hunter takes a deep breath, his eyes locked on mine.
"Are you going to divorce him?"
The question hits me like a physical blow. I open my mouth to answer but no sound comes out. Divorce. The word feels too big, too final, too real.
Am I going to divorce Xavier?
I stare at Hunter, my mind racing, my heart pounding, and I realize I have no idea what to say.