5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Willow

5 Months Later

No one has seen me for months, but strangely, it's exactly what I needed.

After the Super Bowl performance and the final leg of my tour, Dexter and I couldn't bounce back. The paparazzi, always a pain point in our relationship, were relentless afterward. They served as a reminder of him being in the dark—the secret I kept from him.

It hurt that this was the thing we couldn't get past. One of my dreams coming true and the man I loved couldn't co-exist. How screwed up is that?

Did I tell him I thought we could end up happily ever after? That he was the only person I ever thought about marrying? That this was a bump, but we could get over it? No. I didn't say anything like that.

At the end of the day, Dexter left me, on the day before my thirtieth birthday, and I let him. He packed up his things in our apartment in SoHo, and when he shut the door for the last time, I sat in the living room, silently crying, staring out the window at a day that was too bright for my mood. My heart broke open in our empty bedroom.

Part of me wishes I would've asked him to stay but the part being too scared to say the words won.

The press had a field day considering Dexter's departure from our apartment was far from graceful. Despite his aversion to the paparazzi, he didn't hold back, shouting about our breakup while they snapped photos. Another One Bites the Dust: Dexter Has Enough! Indie Musician Leaves Willow! was the first headline I saw, paired with a picture of Dexter, red-faced and annoyed.

Critics always come out in full force during times like this, but this time, the noise was deafening. Everywhere I turned, there was a tabloid asking When Will Enough Be Enough for Willow? or Has Willow Run Out of Men to date?

Whether it was magazines, blogs, or people shouting the same questions whenever I stepped outside, I couldn't escape it. Mentally, I needed a break. I needed to spend time with myself to figure out if I was worth staying for.

So, I did something Dexter would've been proud of. I hid. I desperately needed to do some soul searching.

I retreated to the first house I ever bought. It's nestled in the woods, about an hour from the city. The tree line serves as a much-needed, makeshift fence before the actual security perimeter. I was only 18 when I purchased this place, and we took every precaution to conceal my identity. Right from the beginning, I knew I needed a place that was just for me.

I wanted the ability to be somewhere no one knew about. I craved writing new music in peace, without anyone charting my every move in and out of the studios in the city. It's been a saving grace these last five months.

As soon as Dexter left his key and closed our apartment door for the last time, I packed my bags, and snuck out the back. The paparazzi had no idea I'd left.

I hired a new assistant, Emilie, to help me day to day. She brings groceries and anything I need from the city. Since there's no previous business tying us together, the press has no idea she's part of my team—she's one of my favorite parts of this whole thing .

Emilie, twenty-five and an ambitious college graduate from Michigan, took an unconventional path to graduate—she lived a little and did it on her own timeline. During the interview, I asked where she was from, and she showed me with her hands. Believe it or not, Michigan is legit shaped like a mitten. It was then and there I knew I wanted to hire her. She was the perfect pick to help me pull this off.

I needed to process this loss. The stability and comfort I knew—gone. The hope and promise of the future—non-existent.

Emilie and I hit it off right away, just like I knew we would. We have this way of bouncing between being friends and being professionals. Her knack of knowing what I want, before I want it, makes it easy.

Well, except for now.

"Dress is steamed and ready," Emilie says, standing between the patio chair, which I'm lounging in, and the pool. It's the end of July and it feels like summer has just started.

"Won't be necessary. Not going." I shimmy my shoulders, tipping my face to the sun.

I did commit to attend tonight's award show, but things change.

Emilie launches into her spiel, one that sounds like she practiced, similar to what I heard from Claire.

I hope it looks like I'm paying enough attention, but I've zoned all the way out. Instead, I watch the sun glimmer off the pool.

"Are you even listening?" Emilie cuts in, tossing a patio pillow towards me.

"I mean, sort of." I laugh and put the pillow in my lap. "Listen, it has nothing to do with you. I just don't want to go." I'm smiling and careful enough. I aim to be gentle because she's only trying to do her job.

Emilie throws her hands up before putting them on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg. "Can I say something? Something borderline unprofessional?" she presses .

I lean forward, definitely interested, and give her a nod—the green light to continue.

"I hate to be the one to call this out, but this, this right here—" She uses her hands to point to me and the empty house behind her. "—is exactly what Dexter wanted."

Ouch.

When I don't react, she continues. "You'd be perfect for him now. Locked up in your big house. The public is a thing of the past. You don't go anywhere or do anything. I don't understand it."

Part of me wants to tell her the truth. How the thought of getting close to anyone else makes me almost physically ill. How I'm sick of being left behind. How I can't take another hit.

I'm surprised it took her this long to bring this up. It's no secret I'm doing what Dexter wanted me to do, even though it was out of the question when we were together. I had hoped his love for me would outweigh the discomfort of dealing with the paparazzi and life in the public eye. It hurts that it didn't.

Even if I've thought this, it's always different hearing it from someone else.

In this moment, like so many these last few months, I'm thankful for her. I like how she gives me the occasional push.

"I didn't know you when you were with him, but I know enough to know you're letting him win," she says, going for the jugular.

My head jolts back in response. I press my lips together, trying to gather my thoughts, the ones that tell me, in my bones, she's right. Tucking my hair behind my ears, longer than it's been in years, I clap my hands under my chin.

"Fine." Emilie eyebrows raise as her eyes go wide. She freezes like she's a statue on my patio. "But you have to come with me." She gives me a thumbs up before running inside to get ready .

This wasn't on my agenda for today. Or this month. But here's something about me...

I hate to lose.