My Husband Wants An Open Marriage (Julie and Ryan)

CHAPTER 023: Do It

As I stand here, trapped between my mother's vice-like grip and the dark water below, a long-buried fear claws its way up through me. Every inch of my body wants to twis away, run from this hellish, familiar grip. But it's like being eight again, clinging to the hope that it's different this time, that she'll look at me with something other than contempt. "Let me go," I say. But her nails dig deeper into my skin

"Not until you make that promise."

My blood turns to ice. It's crazy because, at the same time, I want to laugh at how absurd this is. My own mother is standing here, threatening me on a bridge like something out of a thriller. But looking into her eyes, I know she's dead serious. Several memories can attest to that. Those cold nights when she'd shove me outside, locking the door from the inside because I'd dared to spill milk on the kitchen floor or did some other silly thing she deemed punishable. I'd stay there for hours, curled up on the floor, listening to her pace back and forth, shouting that I'd learn discipline even if it killed me.

And somehow, I survived. The trick is to always make her think she won.

"Mom," I try again, "please, you're hurting me. Just let me go..."

"Oh, grow up, Julie," she spits. "All these years, you've whined, cried, done nothing but bring shame on this family. And now, finally, when you have a husband-one that matters, one that actually makes you worth something-you can't even do that right." She pulls me so close I can smell the faintest hint of her perfume. "You're pathetic. And the craziest thing is, somehow, you've managed to charm Ryan into thinking he loves you. The man is obsessed with you. I don't know what he sees. I have five children and a good number of grandchildren, and yet you don't have any. But he's still here, fighting to keep you. Calling me like a maniac to talk sense into you. I don't know one man who could do that. For god's sake, what the man wants is a child. Let him have it. Let him fuck the entire world. At the end of the day, he's still yours. Stop pissing him off."

The words are like a slap. In that moment, I realize the name of the feeling I've had for my mother all these years. I wasn't sure of it before, but I am now. It's hatred. I hate her. She isn't going to break me, not

anymore.

"Do it." I say, staring her down. "Push me off. You'd be doing me a fucking favor because then I'd never

have to see your face again."

Her eyes widen, and I feel her grip loosen.

I see her for what she is-a sad, cruel woman with nothing left to hold over me. I've spent years seeing her as a monster, but right now, she looks so small.

"What are you waiting for?" I ask. "Push me off."

She gapes at me, mouth open as if to shout, but the words seem to catch in her throat. She yanks me back toward the railing, face twisted in fury. "You ungrateful little-" "Hey!" a voice calls from nearby.

We both turn around, and I see three figures jogging toward us, alarmed.

"What are you doing?" one of them shouts.

CHAPTER 023: Dolf

475 BONUS

My mother's grip finally breaks, and I stumble back. My heart hammers, but relief surges through me as the strangers close in.

"Is everything okay here?" one of them asks, a tall man with a firm look in his eyes.

My mother, always quick on her feet, smooths her dress. "Of course. I was simply...talking with my daughter."

The man looks at me, his gaze questioning, and I meet his eyes with a calm I didn't know I had. "She's lying," I say. "She was trying to push me off the bridge."

"Julie!" she says. "What nonsense! I was just having a conversation with you-tell them, tell them we were just talking!"

The man holds up his hand. "Ma'am, I think we'd better call the police."

"No!" She shrieks, taking a frantic step toward me. "You don't understand-she's my daughter! This is a private matter. We were just sorting out a family issue. Julie, tell them."

I stare back, the years of silence, of shame, boiling to the surface. "You're no mother of mine. I hope they throw you in jail and lose the key."

"Julie...you know you don't mean that," she tries again, her voice softer. "You're not thinking straight right now, sweetie. We can go home and hash this out, can't we? We're family." "Family? A mother doesn't threaten to push their own daughter off a bridge, Mom. You're sick. And I'm done."

I can see her scrambling, her eyes darting around, probably looking for an escape route. "Don't be dramatic, Julie. We can talk this through like adults."

"No, we can't. You don't get to manipulate me, scare me, control me, not anymore. We'll wait for the police. I'm going to enjoy every minute of watching them take you away.

She hisses. "You think you're so high and mighty? After everything I've done for you, you dare talk to me like this? I'm not afraid of you! You're nothing, you hear me? You're nothing without me!"

The flashing lights of a police car appear at the end of the bridge, and her face pales, panic flashing in her eyes. "Julie, please," she whispers, desperation creeping into her voice. "We can fix this. We just need to talk. Tell them this was a misunderstanding." But I feel nothing, just a hollow calm. I turn in the direction of the approaching car, already preparing a statement in my head.

While driving home, I keep replaying my mother's words over and over in my head, and I grip the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles pale. The closer I get to the house, the more angrier I become. And by the time I pull into my driveway and see Ryan's car parked, I throw my door open, ready to bring the house down.

Ryan's already waiting, his tall silhouette highlighted by the dim porch light.

"Julie!" he says, stepping forward as soon as I reach the porch. "What the hell happened? Your mother just called from the police station. Asking to use my lawyer."

23

CHAPTER 023: Dolt

I stop, letting my gaze roam over Ryan from head to toe. I take in every detail-the way his jaw is set, how his hands twitch. I try to steady my own breathing, to unclench my fists, to drain the fire scorching my insides. But the anger is a living thing, clawing to get out, and the more I look at Ryan, the harder it is to keep it contained.

I step forward. When I'm just inches from him, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, I say, "Did you instruct my mother to throw me off a bridge?"

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