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Home It Ends with Us CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 35

-Five
I smell toast.
I stretch out on my bed and smile, because Ryle knows toast is my
favorite. I lie here for a while before I even attempt to get up. It feels
like it takes the effort of three men to roll me out of bed. I eventually
take a deep breath, and then throw my feet over the side, pushing
myself up from the mattress.
The first thing I do is pee. It’s really all I do now. I’m due in two
days and my doctor says it could be another week. I started maternity
leave last week, so this is my life right now. I pee and watch TV.
When I make it to the kitchen, Ryle is stirring a pan of scrambled
eggs. He spins around when he hears me walk in. “Good morning,”
he says. “No baby yet?”
I shake my head and put my hand on my stomach. “No, but I peed
nine times last night.”
Ryle laughs. “That’s a new record.” He spoons some eggs onto a
plate and then tosses bacon and toast on it. He turns around and
hands me the plate, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head. “I
gotta go. I’m already late. I’m leaving my phone on all day.”
I smile when I look down at my breakfast. Okay, so I eat, too. Pee, eat,
and watch TV.
“Thank you,” I say cheerfully. I take my plate to the couch and turn
on the TV. Ryle rushes around the living room, gathering his stuff.
“I’ll come check on you at lunch. I might be working late tonight,
but Allysa said she can bring you dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, Ryle. The doctor said light bed rest, not
complete debilitation.”
He starts to open the door, but pauses like he forgets something.
He runs back toward me and leans down, planting his lips on my
stomach. “I’ll double your allowance if you decide to come out today,”
he says to the baby.

He talks to the baby a lot. I finally felt comfortable enough to let
him feel the baby kick a couple of weeks ago and since then, he stops
by sometimes just to talk to my belly and doesn’t even say much to
me. I like it, though. I like how excited he is to be a father.
I grab the blanket Ryle slept on the couch with last night and wrap
it over me. He’s been staying here for a week now, waiting for me to
go into labor. I wasn’t sure about the arrangement at first, but it’s
actually been really helpful. I still sleep in the guest bedroom. The
third bedroom is now a nursery, which means the master bedroom is
available for him to sleep in. But for whatever reason, he chooses to
sleep on the couch. I think the memories in that bedroom plague
him just as much as they plague me, so neither of us even bothers
going in there.
The last several weeks have been really good. Aside from the fact
that there’s absolutely no physical relationship between us at this
point, things feel like they’ve kind of gone back to how they used to
be. He still works a lot, but on the evenings he’s off, I’ve started
having dinner upstairs with all of them. We never eat alone as a
couple, though. Anything that might feel like a date or a couples
thing, I avoid. I’m still trying to focus on one monumental thing at a
time, and until this baby is born and my hormones are back to
normal, I refuse to make a decision about my marriage. I’m sure I’m
just using the pregnancy as an excuse to stall the inevitable, but being
pregnant allows a person to be a little selfish.
My phone begins to ring, and I drop my head into the couch and
groan. My phone is all the way in the kitchen. That’s like fifteen feet
from here.
Ugh.
I push myself off the couch, but nothing happens.
I try it again. Still sitting.
I grab hold of the arm of my chair and pull myself up. Third time’s
the charm.
When I stand, my glass of water spills all over me. I groan . . . but
then I gasp.
I wasn’t holding a glass of water.
Holy shit.

I look down and water is trickling down my leg. My phone is still
ringing on the kitchen counter. I walk—or waddle—to the kitchen
and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Lucy! Quick question. Our order of red roses was
damaged in shipment, but we’ve got the Levenberg funeral today and
they specifically wanted red roses for the casket spray. Do we have a
backup plan?”
“Yeah, call the florist on Broadway. They owe me a favor.”
“Okay, thanks!”
I start to hang up so I can call Ryle and tell him my water broke,
but I hear Lucy say, “Wait!”
I pull the phone back to my ear.
“About these invoices. Did you want me to pay them today or
wait . . .”
“You can wait, it’s fine.”
Again, I start to hang up but she yells my name and starts firing off
another question.
“Lucy,” I say calmly, interrupting her. “I’ll have to call you about all
this tomorrow. I think my water just broke.”
There’s a pause. “Oh. OH! GO!”
I hang up right when the first sign of pain shoots through my
stomach. I wince and start dialing Ryle’s number. He picks up on the
first ring.
“Do I need to turn around?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God. Really? It’s happening?”
“Yes.”
“Lily!” he says, excited. And then the phone goes dead.
I spend the next few minutes gathering everything I’ll need. I
already have a hospital bag, but I feel kind of gross, so I jump in the
shower to rinse off. The second burst of pain comes about ten
minutes after the first. I bend forward and clench my stomach, letting
the water beat down on my back. Right when I near the end of the
contraction, I hear the bathroom door swing open.
“You’re in the shower?” Ryle says. “Lily, get out of the shower, let’s
go!”

“Hand me a towel.”
Ryle’s hand appears around the shower curtain a few seconds later.
I try to fit the towel around me before pulling the shower curtain
aside. It’s odd, hiding your body from your own husband.
The towel doesn’t fit. It covers up my boobs but then opens like an
upside-down V over my stomach.
Another contraction hits as I’m stepping out of the shower. Ryle
grabs my hand and helps me breathe through it, then walks me into
the bedroom. I’m calmly picking out clean clothes to wear to the
hospital when I glance over at him.
He’s staring at my stomach. There’s a look on his face I can’t
decipher.
His eyes meet mine and I pause what I’m doing.
There’s a moment that passes between us where I can’t tell if he’s
about to frown or smile. His face twists into both somehow, and he
blows out a quick breath, dropping his eyes back to my stomach.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
A pang shoots through my chest that has nothing to do with the
contractions. I realize this is the first time he’s seen my bare stomach.
It’s the first time he’s witnessed what I look like with his baby growing
inside of me.
I walk over to him and take his hand. I place it on my stomach and
hold it there. He smiles at me, brushing his thumb back and forth. It’s
a beautiful moment. One of our better moments.
“Thank you, Lily.”
It’s written all over him, the way he’s touching my stomach, the way
his eyes are looking back at mine. He’s not thanking me for this
moment, or any moment that came before this one. He’s thanking
me for all the moments I’m allowing him to have with his child.
I groan, leaning forward. “Fucking hell.”
The moment is over.
Ryle grabs my clothes and helps me into them. He picks up all the
things I tell him to carry and then we make our way to the elevator.
Slowly. I have a contraction when we’re halfway there.
“You should call Allysa,” I tell him when we pull out of the parking
garage.

“I’m driving. I’ll call her when we get to the hospital. And your
mom.”
I nod. I’m sure I could call them right now, but I kind of just want
to make sure we make it to the hospital first, because it feels like this
baby is being really impatient and wants to make its debut right here
in the car.
We make it to the hospital, but my contractions are less than a
minute apart when we arrive. By the time the doctor scrubs in and
they get me to a bed, I’m dilated to a nine. It’s only five minutes later
when I’m being told to push. Ryle doesn’t even have a chance to call
anyone, it all happens so fast.
I squeeze Ryle’s hand with every push. At one point, I think about
how important the hand I’m squeezing is to his career, but he says
nothing. He just allows me to squeeze it as hard as I possibly can, and
that’s exactly what I do.
“The head is almost out,” the doctor says. “Just a few more pushes.”
I can’t even describe the next few minutes. It’s a blur of pain and
heavy breathing and anxiety and pure, unequivocal elation. And
pressure. Such an enormous pressure, like I’m about to implode, and
then, “It’s a girl!” Ryle says. “Lily, we have a daughter!”
I open my eyes and the doctor is holding her up. I can only make
out the outline of her, because my eyes are full of too many tears.
When they lay her on my chest, it’s the absolute greatest moment of
my life. I immediately touch her red lips and cheeks and fingers. Ryle
cuts the umbilical cord, and when they take her from me to clean her
up, I feel empty.
A few minutes later she’s back on my chest again, swaddled in a
blanket.
I can do nothing but stare at her.
Ryle sits on the bed next to me and pulls the blanket down around
her chin so we can get a better look at her face. We count her fingers
and her toes. She tries to open her eyes and we think it’s the funniest
thing in the world. She yawns and we both smile and fall even more in
love with her.
After the last nurse leaves the room and we’re finally alone, Ryle
asks if he can hold her. He raises the head of my bed to make it easier

for both of us to sit on the bed. After I hand her to him, I lay my head
on his shoulder and we just can’t stop staring at her.
“Lily,” he whispers. “Naked truth?”
I nod.
“She’s so much prettier than Marshall and Allysa’s baby.”
I laugh and elbow him.
“I’m kidding,” he whispers.
I know exactly what he means, though. Rylee is a gorgeous baby,
but no one will ever hold a candle to our own daughter.
“What should we name her?” he asks. We didn’t have the typical
relationship during this pregnancy, so the baby’s name hasn’t been
something we’ve discussed yet.
“I’d like to name her after your sister,” I say, glancing at him. “Or
maybe your brother?”
I’m not sure what he thinks of that. I personally think naming our
daughter after his brother could be somewhat healing for him, but he
may not see it that way.
He glances over at me, not expecting that answer. “Emerson?” he
says. “That’s kind of cute for a girl name. We could call her Emma. Or
Emmy.” He smiles proudly and looks down at her. “It’s perfect,
actually.” He leans down and kisses Emerson on her forehead.
After a while, I pull away from his shoulder so I can watch him hold
her. It’s a beautiful thing, seeing him interact with her like this. I can
already see how much love he has for her just from the little time he’s
known her. I can see that he would do anything to protect her.
Anything in the world.
It isn’t until this moment that I finally make a decision about him.
About us.
About what’s best for our family.
Ryle is amazing in so many ways. He’s compassionate. He’s caring.
He’s smart. He’s charismatic. He’s driven.
My father was some of these things, too. He wasn’t very
compassionate toward others, but there were times we spent together
that I knew he loved me. He was smart. He was charismatic. He was
driven. But I hated him so much more than I loved him. I was blinded
to all the best things about him thanks to all the glimpses I got of him

when he was at his worst. Five minutes of witnessing him at his worst
couldn’t make up for even five years of him at his best.
I look at Emerson and I look at Ryle. And I know that I have to do
what’s best for her. For the relationship I hope she builds with her
father. I don’t make this decision for me and I don’t make it for Ryle.
I make it for her.
“Ryle?”
When he glances at me, he’s smiling. But when he assesses the look
on my face, he stops.
“I want a divorce.”
He blinks twice. My words hit him like voltage. He winces and looks
back down at our daughter, his shoulders hunched forward. “Lily,” he
says, shaking his head back and forth. “Please don’t do this.”
His voice is pleading, and I hate that he’s been holding on to hope
that I would eventually take him back. That’s partly my fault, I know,
but I don’t think I realized what choice I was going to make until I
held my daughter for the first time.
“Just one more chance, Lily. Please.” His voice cracks with tears
when he speaks.
I know I’m hurting him at the worst possible time. I’m breaking his
heart when this should be the best moment of his life. But I know if I
don’t do it in this moment, I might never be able to convince him of
why I can’t risk taking him back.
I begin to cry because this is hurting me as much as it’s hurting
him. “Ryle,” I say gently. “What would you do? If one of these days,
this little girl looked up at you and she said, ‘Daddy? My boyfriend hit
me.’ What would you say to her, Ryle?”
He pulls Emerson to his chest and buries his face against the top of
her blanket. “Stop, Lily,” he begs.
I push myself up straighter on the bed. I place my hand on
Emerson’s back and try to get Ryle to look me in the eyes. “What if
she came to you and said, ‘Daddy? My husband pushed me down the stairs.
He said it was an accident. What should I do?’ ”
His shoulders begin to shake, and for the first time since the day I
met him, he has tears. Real tears that rush down his cheeks as he
holds his daughter tightly against him. I’m crying, too, but I keep
going. For her sake.

“What if . . .” My voice breaks. “What if she came to you and said,
‘My husband tried to rape me, Daddy. He held me down while I begged him to
stop. But he swears he’ll never do it again. What should I do, Daddy?’ ”
He’s kissing her forehead, over and over, tears spilling down his
face.
“What would you say to her, Ryle? Tell me. I need to know what you
would say to our daughter if the man she loves with all her heart ever
hurts her.”
A sob breaks from his chest. He leans toward me and wraps an arm
around me. “I would beg her to leave him,” he says through his tears.
His lips press desperately against my forehead and I can feel some of
his tears as they fall onto my cheeks. He moves his mouth to my ear
and cradles both of us against him. “I would tell her that she is worth
so much more. And I would beg her not to go back, no matter how
much he loves her. She’s worth so much more.”
We become a sobbing mess of tears and broken hearts and
shattered dreams. We hold each other. We hold our daughter. And as
hard as this choice is, we break the pattern before the pattern breaks
us.
He hands her back to me and wipes his eyes. He stands up, still
crying. Still trying to catch his breath. In the last fifteen minutes, he
lost the love of his life. In the last fifteen minutes, he became a father
to a beautiful little girl.
That’s what fifteen minutes can do to a person. It can destroy
them.
It can save them.
He points toward the hallway, letting me know he needs to go
gather himself. He’s sadder than I’ve ever seen him as he walks
toward the door. But I know he’ll thank me for this one day. I know
the day will come when he’ll understand that I made the right choice
by his daughter.
When the door closes behind him, I look down at her. I know I’m
not giving her the life I dreamed for her. A home where she lives with
both parents who can love her and raise her together. But I don’t
want her to live like I lived. I don’t want her to see her father at his
worst. I don’t want her to see him when he loses his temper with me
to the point that she no longer recognizes him as her father. Because

no matter how many good moments she might share with Ryle
throughout her lifetime, I know from experience that it would only
be the worst ones that stuck with her.
Cycles exist because they are excruciating to break. It takes an
astronomical amount of pain and courage to disrupt a familiar
pattern. Sometimes it seems easier to just keep running in the same
familiar circles, rather than facing the fear of jumping and possibly
not landing on your feet.
My mother went through it.
I went through it.
I’ll be damned if I allow my daughter to go through it.
I kiss her on the forehead and make her a promise. “It stops here.
With me and you. It ends with us.”

Epilogue
I push through the crowds of Boylston Street until I get to the cross
street. I pull the stroller to a crawl and then stop at the edge of the
curb. I pull the top of it back and look down at Emmy. She’s kicking
her feet and smiling like usual. She’s a very happy baby. She has a
calm energy about her and it’s addictive.
“How old is she?” a woman asks. She’s standing at the crosswalk
with us, staring down at Emerson appreciatively.
“Eleven months.”
“She’s gorgeous,” she says. “Looks just like you. Identical mouths.”
I smile. “Thank you. But you should see her father. She definitely
has his eyes.”
The sign flashes to walk, and I try to beat the crowd as we rush
across the street. I’m already half an hour late and Ryle has texted me
twice. He hasn’t experienced the joy of carrots yet, though. He’ll find
out today just how messy they are, because I packed plenty in her bag.
I moved out of the apartment Ryle bought when Emerson was
three months old. I got my own place closer to my work so I’m within
walking distance, which is great. Ryle moved back into the apartment
he bought, but between visiting Allysa’s place and Ryle’s days with
Emerson, I feel like I’m still at their apartment building almost as
much as I’m at mine.
“Almost there, Emmy.” We make a right around the corner and I’m
in such a rush, a man has to step out of our way and into the wall just
to avoid being plowed over. “Sorry,” I mutter, ducking my head and
making my way around him.
“Lily?”
I stop.
I turn slowly, because I felt that voice all the way to my toes. There
are only two voices that have ever done that to me, and Ryle’s doesn’t
reach that far anymore.

When I look back at him, his blue eyes are squinting against the
sun. He lifts a hand to shield it and he grins. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, my frenzied brain trying to slow down and allow me to
play catch-up.
He glances at the stroller and points at it. “Is that . . . is this your
baby?”
I nod and he walks around to the front of the stroller. He kneels
down and smiles widely at her. “Wow. She’s gorgeous, Lily,” he says.
“What’s her name?”
“Emerson. We call her Emmy sometimes.”
He puts his finger in her hand and she starts kicking, shaking his
finger back and forth. He stares at her appreciatively for a moment
and then stands back up again.
“You look great,” he says.
I try not to give him an obvious once-over, but it’s hard. He looks as
good as ever, but this is the first time seeing him that I’m not trying to
deny how gorgeous he turned out to be. A far cry from that homeless
boy in my bedroom. Yet . . . somehow still exactly the same.
I can feel the buzz of my text message going off in my pocket
again. Ryle.
I point down the street. “We’re really late,” I say. “Ryle has been
waiting for half an hour.”
When I say Ryle’s name, there’s a sadness that reaches Atlas’s eyes,
but he tries to disguise it. He nods and slowly steps aside for us to
pass.
“It’s his day to have her,” I clarify, saying more in those six words
than I could in most full conversations.
I see the relief flash in his eyes. He nods and points behind him.
“Yeah, I’m running late, too. Opened a new restaurant on Boylston
last month.”
“Wow. Congratulations. I’ll have to take Mom there to check it out
soon.”
He smiles. “You should. Let me know and I’ll make sure and cook
for you myself.”
There’s an awkward pause, and then I point down the street. “We
have to . . .”
“Go,” he says with a smile.

I nod again and then duck my head and continue walking. I have
no idea why I’m reacting this way. Like I don’t know how to hold a
normal conversation. When I’m several yards away, I glance back over
my shoulder. He hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me as I walk away.
We round the corner and I see Ryle waiting beside his car outside
the floral shop. His face lights up when he sees us approaching. “Did
you get my email?” He kneels down and begins to unstrap Emerson.
“Yeah, about the playpen recall?”
He nods as he pulls her out of the stroller. “Didn’t we buy one of
those for her?”
I press the buttons to fold the stroller and then walk it to the back
of his car. “Yeah, but it broke like a month ago. I threw it in the
Dumpster.”
He pops the trunk, and then touches Emerson’s chin with his
fingers. “Did you hear that, Emmy? Your mommy saved your life.” She
smiles up at him and slaps playfully at his hand. He kisses her on the
forehead and then picks up her stroller and tosses it in the trunk. I
slam the trunk shut and lean over to give her a quick kiss.
“Love you, Emmy. See you tonight.”
Ryle opens the back door to put her in the car seat. I tell him
goodbye and then I start to head back down the street in a rush.
“Lily!” he yells. “Where are you going?”
I’m sure he expected me to walk to the front door of my store,
since I’m already late opening it. I probably should, but the nagging
in my gut won’t go away. I need to do something about it. I spin
around and walk backward. “There’s something I forgot to do! I’ll see
you when I pick her up tonight!”
Ryle lifts Emerson’s hand and they wave goodbye to me. As soon as
I round the corner, I break out into a sprint. I dodge people, bump
into a few and cause one lady to curse at me, but it’s all worth it the
moment I see the back of his head.
“Atlas!” I yell. He’s heading in the other direction, so I keep
pushing through the crowd. “Atlas!”
He stops walking but he doesn’t turn around. He cocks his head
like he doesn’t want to fully trust his ears.
“Atlas!” I yell again.

This time when he turns, he turns with purpose. His eyes meet
mine and there’s a three-second pause while we both stare at each
other. But then we both start walking toward each other,
determination in every step. Twenty steps separate us.
Ten.
Five.
One.
Neither of us takes that final step.
I’m out of breath, panting and nervous. “I forgot to tell you
Emerson’s middle name.” I put my hands on my hips and exhale. “It’s
Dory.”
He doesn’t immediately react, but then his eyes crinkle a little in
the corners. His mouth twitches like he’s forcing back a smile. “What
a perfect name for her.”
I nod, and smile, and then stop.
I’m not sure what to do now. I just needed him to know that, but
now that I’ve told him, I didn’t really think of what I’d do or say next.
I nod again, and then glance around me, throwing a thumb over
my shoulder. “Well . . . I guess I’ll . . .”
Atlas steps forward, grabs me, and pulls me hard against his chest. I
immediately close my eyes when he wraps his arms around me. His
hand goes up to the back of my head and he holds me still against
him as we stand, surrounded by busy streets, blasts of horns, people
brushing us as they pass in a hurry. He presses a gentle kiss into my
hair, and all of that fades away.
“Lily,” he says quietly. “I feel like my life is good enough for you
now. So whenever you’re ready . . .”
I clench his jacket in my hands and keep my face pressed tight
against his chest. I suddenly feel like I’m fifteen again. My neck and
cheeks flush from his words.
But I’m not fifteen.
I’m an adult with responsibilities and a child. I can’t just allow my
teenage feelings to take over. Not without a little reassurance, at least.
I pull back and look up at him. “Do you donate to charity?”
Atlas laughs with confusion. “Several. Why?”
“Do you want kids someday?”
He nods. “Of course I do.”

“Do you think you’ll ever want to leave Boston?”
He shakes his head. “No. Never. Everything is better here,
remember?”
His answers give me the reassurance I need. I smile up at him.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He pulls me tight against him and I laugh. With everything that has
happened since the day he came into my life, I never expected this
outcome. I’ve hoped for it a lot, but until now I wasn’t sure if it would
ever happen.
I close my eyes when I feel his lips meet the spot on my collarbone.
He presses a gentle kiss there and it feels just like the first time he
kissed me there all those years ago. He brings his mouth to my ear,
and in a whisper, he says, “You can stop swimming now, Lily. We finally
reached the shore.”

Note from the Author
It is recommended this section be read after reading the book, as it contains
spoilers.
•  •  •
My earliest memory in life was from the age of two and a half years
old. My bedroom didn’t have a door and was covered by a sheet
nailed to the top of the door frame. I remember hearing my father
yelling, so I peeked out from the other side of the sheet just as my
father picked up our television and threw it at my mother, knocking
her down.
She divorced him before I turned three. Every memory beyond
that of my father was a good one. He never once lost his temper with
me or my sisters, despite having done so on numerous occasions with
my mother.
I knew their marriage was an abusive one, but my mother never
talked about it. To discuss it would have meant she was talking ill of
my father and that’s something she never once did. She wanted the
relationship I had with him to be free of any strain that stood between
the two of them. Because of this, I have the utmost respect for parents
who don’t involve their children in the dissolution of their
relationships.
I asked my father about the abuse once. He was very candid about
their relationship. He was an alcoholic during the years he was
married to my mother and he was the first to admit he didn’t treat her
well. In fact, he told me he had two knuckles replaced in his hand
because he had hit her so hard, they broke against her skull.
My father regretted the way he treated my mother his entire life.
Mistreating her was the worst mistake he had ever made and he said
he would grow old and die still madly in love with her.

I feel that was a very light punishment for what she endured.
When I decided I wanted to write this story, I first asked my mother
for permission. I told her I wanted to write it for women like her. I
also wanted to write it for all the people who didn’t quite understand
women like her.
I was one of those people.
The mother I know is not weak. She was not someone I could
envision forgiving a man for mistreating her on multiple occasions.
But while writing this book and getting into the mind-set of Lily, I
quickly realized that it’s not as black and white as it seems from the
outside.
On more than one occasion while writing this, I wanted to change
the plotline. I didn’t want Ryle to be who he was going to be because I
had fallen in love with him in those first several chapters, just as Lily
had fallen in love with him. Just as my mother fell in love with my
father.
The first incident between Ryle and Lily in the kitchen is what
happened the first time my father ever hit my mother. She was
cooking a casserole and he had been drinking. He pulled the
casserole out of the oven without using a pot holder. She thought it
was funny and she laughed. The next thing she knew, he had hit her
so hard she flew across the kitchen floor.
She chose to forgive him for that one incident, because his apology
and regret were believable. Or at least believable enough that giving
him a second chance hurt less than leaving with a broken heart would
have.
Over time, the incidents that followed were similar to the first. My
father would repeatedly show remorse and promise to never do it
again. It finally got to a point where she knew his promises were
empty, but she was a mother of two daughters by then and had no
money to leave. And unlike Lily, my mother didn’t have a lot of
support. There were no local women’s shelters. There was very little
government support back then. To leave meant risking not having a
roof over our heads, but to her it was better than the alternative.
My father passed away several years ago, when I was twenty-five
years old. He wasn’t the best father. He certainly wasn’t the best
husband. But thanks to my mother, I was able to have a very close

relationship with him because she took the necessary steps to break
the pattern before it broke us. And it wasn’t easy. She left him right
before I turned three and my older sister turned five. We lived off
beans and macaroni and cheese for two solid years. She was a single
mother without a college education, raising two daughters on her
own with virtually no help. But her love for us gave her the strength
she needed to take that terrifying step.
By no means do I intend for Ryle and Lily’s situation to define
domestic abuse. Nor do I intend for Ryle’s character to define the
characteristics of most abusers. Every situation is different. Every
outcome is different. I chose to fashion Lily and Ryle’s story after my
mother and father’s. I fashioned Ryle after my father in many ways.
They are handsome, compassionate, funny, and smart—but with
moments of unforgivable behavior.
I fashioned Lily after my mother in many ways. They are both
caring, intelligent, strong women who simply fell in love with men
who didn’t deserve to fall in love at all.
Two years after divorcing my father, my mother met my stepfather.
He was the epitome of a good husband. The memories I have of them
growing up set the bar for the type of marriage I wanted for myself.
When I finally did reach the point of marriage, the hardest thing I
ever had to do was tell my biological father that he wouldn’t be
walking me down the aisle—that I was going to ask my stepfather.
I felt I had to do this for many reasons. My stepfather stepped up as
a husband in ways my father never did. My stepfather stepped up
financially in ways my father never did. And my stepfather raised us as
if we were his own, while never once denying us a relationship with
my biological father.
I remember sitting down in my father’s living room a month before
my wedding. I told him I loved him, but that I was going to be asking
my stepfather to walk me down the aisle. I was prepared for his
response with every rebuttal I could think of. But the response he
gave me was nothing I expected.
He nodded his head and said, “Colleen, he raised you. He deserves
to give you away at your wedding. And you shouldn’t feel guilty about
it, because it’s the right thing to do.”

I knew my decision absolutely gutted my father. But he was selfless
enough as a father to not only respect my decision, but he wanted me
to respect it, too.
My father sat in the audience at my wedding and watched another
man walk me down the aisle. I knew people were wondering why I
didn’t just have both of them walk me down the aisle, but looking
back on it, I realize I made the choice out of respect for my mother.
Who I chose to walk me down the aisle wasn’t really about my
father and it wasn’t even really about my stepfather. It was about her. I
wanted the man who treated her how she deserved to be treated to be
given the honor of giving away her daughter.
In the past, I’ve always said I write for entertainment purposes only.
I don’t write to educate, persuade, or inform.
This book is different. This was not entertainment for me. It was
the most grueling thing I have ever written. At times, I wanted to hit
the Delete button and take back the way Ryle had treated Lily. I
wanted to rewrite the scenes where she forgave him and I wanted to
replace those scenes with a more resilient woman—a character who
made all the right decisions at all the right times. But those weren’t
the characters I was writing.
That wasn’t the story I was telling.
I wanted to write something realistic to the situation my mother
was in—a situation a lot of women find themselves in. I wanted to
explore the love between Lily and Ryle so that I would feel what my
mother felt when she had to make the decision to leave my father—a
man she loved with all her heart.
I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been if my
mother had not made the choice she did. She left someone she loved
so that her daughters would never think that kind of relationship was
okay. She wasn’t rescued by another man—a knight in shining armor.
She took the initiative to leave my father on her own, knowing she was
about to embark on a completely different kind of struggle with
added stress as a single mother. It was important to me that Lily’s
character embody this same empowerment. Lily made the ultimate
decision to leave Ryle for the sake of their daughter. Even though
there was a slight possibility that Ryle could have eventually changed

for the better, some risks are never worth taking. Especially when
those risks have failed you in the past.
Before I wrote this book, I had a lot of respect for my mother. Now
that I’ve finished it and was able to explore a tiny fraction of the pain
and struggle she went through to get to where she is today, I only have
one thing to say to her.
I want to be you when I grow up.

Resources
If you are a victim of domestic violence or know someone who could
use assistance in leaving a dangerous situation, please visit:
www.thehotline.org.
For a list of resources for homeless individuals, please visit:
www.homelessresourcenetwork.org.

Acknowledgments
There may only be one name listed as the author of this book, but I
couldn’t have written it without the following people:
My sisters. I would love you both just as much if you weren’t my
sisters. Sharing a parent with you is just an added bonus.
My children. You are my biggest accomplishment in life. Please
never make me regret saying that.
To Weblich, CoHorts, TL Discussion Group, Book Swap, and all the
other groups I can turn to online when I need some positive energy.
You guys are a huge part of the reason I can do this for a living, so
thank you.
The entire team at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.
Thank you for your continued support and encouragement.
Everyone at Atria Books. Thank you for making my release days
memorable and some of the best days of my life.
Johanna Castillo, my editor. Thank you for supporting this book.
Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for being the biggest
supporter of my dream job.
To Ellen DeGeneres, one of only four people I hope I never meet.
You are light where there is darkness. Lily and Atlas are grateful for
your shine.
My beta-readers and early supporters of each and every book. Your
feedback, support, and constant friendship are more than I deserve. I
love you all.
To my niece. I will get to meet you any day now, and I’ve never
been so excited. I’m going to be your favorite aunt.
To Lindy. Thank you for the life lessons and the examples of what
it is to be a selfless human. And thank you for one of the most
profound quotes that will stick with me forever. “There is no such thing
as bad people. We are all just people who do bad things.” I’m grateful my
baby sister has you for a mother.

To Vance. Thank you for being the husband my mother deserved
and the father you didn’t have to be.
My husband, Heath. You are good, all the way to your soul. I
couldn’t have chosen a better person to father my children and spend
the rest of my life with. We are all so lucky to have you.
To my mother. You are everything to everyone. That can sometimes
be a burden, but you somehow see burdens as blessings. Our entire
family thanks you.
And last but not least, to my damned ol’ daddy, Eddie. You aren’t
here to see this book come to life, but I know you would have been its
biggest supporter. You taught me many things in life—the greatest
being that we don’t have to end up the same person we once were. I
promise not to remember you based on your worst days. I will
remember you based on the best, and there were many. I will
remember you as a person who was able to overcome what many
cannot. Thank you for becoming one of my closest friends. And thank
you for supporting me on my wedding day in a way that many fathers
would not have. I love you. I miss you.

Read more from #1 New York Times bestselling author
Colleen Hoover
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broken hearts—as rules get shattered and love gets ugly.
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A novel about risking everything for love—and finding your heart somewhere
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An unforgettable love story between a writer and his unexpected muse.
November Nine
ORDER YOUR COPIES TODAY!

JEN STERLING
COLLEEN HOOVER is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of Slammed, This
Girl, Point of Retreat, Hopeless, Losing Hope, Finding Cinderella, Maybe
Someday, Ugly Love, Maybe Not, Confess, and November 9. She lives in Texas
with her husband and their three boys. Please visit ColleenHoover.com.
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
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Also by Colleen Hoover
Slammed
Point of Retreat
This Girl
Hopeless
Losing Hope
Finding Cinderella
Maybe Someday
Ugly Love
Maybe Not
Confess
November 9

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or
real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are
products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or
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Copyright © 2016 by Colleen Hoover
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.
Cover design by Laywan Kwan
Cover photograph by Jon Shireman
ISBN 978-1-5011-1036-8
ISBN 978-1-5011-1037-5 (ebook)

It Ends with Us

It Ends with Us

Score 9.0
Status: Completed Type: Author: Colleen Hoover Released: 2016 Native Language:
Romance
It Ends with Us is a powerful and emotional story that follows Lily Bloom, a young woman who falls for a charming neurosurgeon named Ryle Kincaid. As their relationship deepens, she is forced to confront the painful truth about love, abuse, and resilience—drawing parallels to her own childhood and the trauma her mother endured. With raw honesty and heart-wrenching moments, the novel explores the complexities of domestic violence and the courage it takes to break the cycle. It’s a deeply moving tale of love, strength, and self-discovery.