My husband 8

Chapter 8 

I’d been running my flower shop in Richmond for almost a month now. 

Peaceful mornings, quiet streets, the smell of fresh roses and lavender, this was the kind of life I’d always wanted but never had. 

Garrick and little Cici would drop by now and then. 

She’d run between the pots, giggling and brushing her tiny fingers over the petals like they were her friends. 

And Garrick, he always brought this calm, gentle energy with him. 

Unlike Finn, he didn’t try to control the room the second he walked in. 

I thought I could stay invisible here. Just me, with my flowers, my peace. 

Then my phone rang. I saw the name and already felt my chest tighten, Dad. 

I answered with a small sigh. “Hey, Dad.” 

His voice came in sharp and annoyed, like usual. 

“What’s going on with you and Finn? He told me he hasn’t heard from you in weeks. Jillian, you’re a mother. You can’t just play 

these childish games and disappear.” 

There it was. The lecture. Always for Finn’s sake, never mine. 

I bit my tongue, then said calmly, “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll call him.” 

I hung up before he could say anything else. I didn’t have it in me to argue today. 

I stared at the phone for a moment, then hit Finn’s name in my recent contacts. 

He picked up fast. His voice came out cold, sarcastic. 

“Well, look who remembered she owns a phone. Took you long enough. Where the hell have you been, Jillian?” 

I kept my voice even. “Do you even care, Finn?” 

He scoffed. “If I didn’t care, would I have called your father?” 

I let out a small laugh. “You keep lying to yourself if that helps you sleep.” 

And I hung up, 

For a moment, I sat there in silence, my heart pounding. 

Maybe that was the first time I’d ever hung up on him. 

The silence after that felt… good. Strange, but good. 

1/3 

Chapter 8 

+25 Bonus 

I found out later from a mutual friend, who still had one foot in the Gallagher circle, that my absence caused a bit of a storm. 

Apparently, during dinner, Henry, Finn, and Madeline were sitting around the long oak table like some happy little trio. 

Henry, that spoiled little brat I raised, said, “Madeline, can you take me to school tomorrow? I want my classmates to see how 

pretty you are.” 

Madeline smiled, flattered, and gave him that fake motherly look she always put on when Finn was watching. 

But Finn frowned. “Why don’t you let the driver take you? Madeline’s busy.” 

Henry’s tone snapped sharp. “The driver never took me before! That woman always insisted on driving me. No matter how many 

times I told her I didn’t want her to.” 

Finn looked confused. “That woman? You mean your mom?” 

Henry rolled his eyes. “I wish she wasn’t my mom. You should see the moms at my school. They’re graceful, classy. When she 

came, I felt like a joke. Like I didn’t belong. 

Finn slammed his fork down. “Don’t you ever talk about your mom like that.” 

Madeline looked taken aback. 

Maybe a little jealous too, even if she tried to hide it. 

She cleared her throat. “It’s okay, Finn. I’ll take him tomorrow.” 

Henry grinned. “You’re the best, Madeline! I’ll tell everyone you’re my real mom.” 

And just like that, he ran upstairs, proud of himself, leaving Finn and Madeline in that awkward silence. 

I guess that was the moment Finn realized he had no idea how to control the monster he helped create. 

That night, Finn called me again. 

Curiosity got the better of me. I picked up. 

His voice was slow, slurred, and drunk. 

“Where are you?” he muttered. “Don’t make me ask twice.” 

I let out a laugh. “Wow. The big bad Mafia boss suddenly remembers me?” 

“Cut the crap, Jillian,” he growled. “Just come back. Let’s stop this stupid game and get things back to normal.” 

“Normal?” I said, almost choking on the word. “Finn, what you called normal was killing me.” 

“Don’t be dramatic.” 

“I’m serious. I’m not coming back. Not for you. Not for Henry. Not for anyone who didn’t care until I disappeared.” 

2/3 

Chapter 8 

“You think this is a joke?” His voice got sharper. “You’re my wife. You don’t just walk away from this life.” 

“I already did.” 

Then I hung up. Again. Twice in one day. 

That felt really good. 

I leaned back in my chair, looked around at my flower shop, my little safe haven, and smiled. 

The scent of fresh peonies and rain filled the room. 

I could still hear Cici’s laughter echoing from earlier that day. 

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I owed anyone an explanation. 

Not my father. Not my husband. Not even my own son, who treated me like I was nothing. 

And it turns out, freedom smells a lot like roses.