Page 218 - It Ends with Us

Chapter Twenty-Five

I smel l toast.
I stret ch out on my bed and smile, bec ause R yle kno ws toast is my
favorite.
My ey es flick open and the clarity smashes down on me with the

force of a hea d-on collision. I squeez e my ey es shu t when I rea lize
where I am and why I’m her e and tha t the toast I smel l is no t at all
bec ause my sweet and caring husband is making me brea kfast in bed .
I imm ed iatel y want to cry again, so I force mysel f off the bed . I
focus on the ho llownes s in my stomach as I use the bathro om, and tel l

mysel f I can cry after I ea t somet hi ng . I need to ea t bef ore I make
mysel f sick again.
When I walk out of the bathroom and back int o the bed room, I
no tice the cha ir ha s been turned so tha t it’s facing the bed no w
ins tea d of the door. There’ s a blank et thro wn over it ha pha zardly, and
it’s obvious Atlas was in here last ni ght whi le I slep t.
He was probably worri ed I ha d a conc ussion.

When I walk int o the kitchen, Atlas is moving back and forth
bet ween the fridge, the stove, the count er. For the firs t time in twel ve
ho urs, I feel an ink ling of somet hi ng tha t isn’t agony, bec ause I
remember he’ s a chef . A good one. And he’s cooking me brea kfast.
He glanc es up at me as I make my way int o the kitchen. “Morni ng ,”
he says, caref ul to say it witho ut too much infl ec tion. “I hope you’re

hu ng ry.” He slides a glass and a cont ainer of orang e juice across the
count er toward me, then he turns and faces the stove again.
“I am.”
He glanc es back over hi s sho ulder and gives me a gho st of a smile.
I pour mysel f a glass of orang e juice and then walk to the other side of
the kitchen where there’ s a brea kfast no ok. There’ s a new spaper on
the table and I beg in to pick it up. When I see the article about the

bes t busines ses in Boston print ed across the page, my ha nd s