“Congratulations. You get your inheritance, or your blank check, or whatever it is you were out for.”

“Stop. That’s not why—”

“Then why, Paul? Why have you kept me around all this time? Why have you pretended like you’re fully human, when clearly you’re still operating as half a man?”

He blinks, his head jerking back a little at my cruel words, but I don’t take them back. I want him to hurt the way that I’m hurting. I want to hold up the mirror and force him to face the coward that he is.

“I don’t want you to go,” he says roughly, moving quickly and pulling me to him before I can put distance between us. “Is that what you want to hear? You want to hear that I want you? That I need you? Because I do, Olivia. I need you.”

I place my hands on his chest, pushing slightly even as my eyes fill with tears. “I know.” My voice cracks. “That’s why I need to go. This isn’t right, Paul. Not for either of us. I thought you’d gotten rid of your crutch when you got rid of that damn cane, and when you lost some of the anger, but really you just replaced the old crutch with a new one. Now I’m the crutch.”

He shakes his head, not understanding.

I go up on my toes, pressing my lips to his, needing to touch him one last time.

Then I step back.

“I love you, Paul, but I won’t live for you.”

“Olivia!” His voice is desperate now, his face anguished, but I keep moving backward, even as the tears flow in earnest now down my cheeks.

“Goodbye, Paul.”

I walk away then. I’ve done everything I can for Paul Langdon.

The rest is up to him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Paul

“You’ll be okay, Mr. Paul.”

I’m pretty sure that Lindy is reassuring herself more than me. I cling to her words just a little bit anyway.

“Yes I’ll be fine, Lindy,” I say, forcing a smile. That’s something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. Forcing smiles. That’s when I even bother to try.

She puts her hand on top of a fat pile of papers. “I’ve pulled out all of my easiest recipes. Stuff you can make on Sunday to have leftovers all week, dinners you can make with pantry ingredients, and of course, don’t rule out breakfast for dinner—you make good eggs.”

I put my hand over hers and press, and her eyes jerk to mine in surprise. In all the years she’s been working for my family, I don’t know that I’ve ever once touched her, but at the moment it feels right.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For everything.”

Oh God. The woman’s going to cry, I can see it in the wobbly chin and the way she keeps staring up to first one corner of the kitchen ceiling and then the other.

“Maybe this isn’t the right decision,” she says, her voice a little watery. “Maybe . . .”

“Nope,” I say, leaning back and making my voice friendly even though my words are resolute. “You’ve earned your retirement, Lindy. You and Mick both have.”

And it’s true, but I don’t miss the timing of it. Almost two weeks to the day after Olivia left me, a disgruntled Lindy and Mick handed in their resignation letters. They said that telling me personally was just a courtesy, since it was actually my father who paid their salaries, and it was my father whom they’d truly resigned to.

But I know the real reason they cornered me in my office that day. It wasn’t a formality. It was to make a point.

It was their way of telling me that if I let Olivia go, I let them go too.

In other words, if I want to live alone, I do it all alone.

The kicker is, I can’t even see them as traitors. Sure, they stood by my side long before Olivia was even in the picture. And when I ran off all the other caretakers my father threw my way, they stuck by me through that too. On the surface, nothing about this scenario should be different. In theory, we should be able to go back to being the three of us, them staying out of my way and me treating with them with more civility than I show the rest of the world.

That’s no longer good enough for them, and I’m glad of it. They’ve always deserved more than sticking by a surly beast who on my worst days could barely muster up the word thanks.

“We won’t be far,” Lindy says, recovering her composure. “And you come for Christmas if you want. It’s only forty-five minutes, and you’ll always be welcome.”

“I’ll be fine, Lindy. I’m good.”

I’m not good. I’m so far from good, there’s not even a word for it. But I haven’t celebrated Christmas for two years, and I’m not about to start now. I could practically hear my dad’s disappointment over the phone when I told him not to come up for the holidays, and Lindy looks equally crushed.

When will they learn not to expect anything from me?

“Mr. Paul—Paul,” she corrects herself, realizing she no longer works for my family, and that I’m no longer twelve.

Don’t, I silently beg Lindy. But she doesn’t pick up on my silent cue. Nobody ever does.

Well, Olivia did. But she’s gone. Gone for about a month now, without so much as a text or email. I don’t even know where she is.

“Paul,” Lindy continues, coming around to where I sit at the counter and standing close, looking like she wants to touch me but refraining, “I know things are . . . bleak right now. It seems like everyone’s leaving you. But you understand, don’t you?”