It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

She’s giggling as soon as he makes a face at her. Marshall is one of
Emmy’s favorite people, but I think we’d be hard-pressed to find a kid who
doesn’t love Marshall. “Is Allysa in the kitchen?”
Marshall nods. “Yeah. He’s in there, too,” he says, whispering. “We didn’t
mention you were coming.”
“Okay.” I set Emmy’s diaper bag down and head for the kitchen. I see
Ryle and Allysa’s mother sitting with Rylee in the living room when I pass
by. I wave at her, and she smiles, but I don’t stop to chat. I go in search of
Allysa.
When I walk through the kitchen door, I find Ryle leaning over the bar,
chatting casually with Allysa, but as soon as he makes eye contact with me,
his spine stiffens and he stands up straight.
I don’t react at all. I don’t want Ryle to think he holds any sort of control
over me anymore.
Allysa has been expecting me. She acknowledges me with a nod and then
she closes the lasagna in the oven. “Perfect timing.” She drops the pot holders
on the counter and points at the table. “We have forty-five minutes until it’s
ready,” she says, guiding both Ryle and me toward the table.
“What is this?” Ryle asks, looking back and forth between the two of us.
“Just a conversation,” Allysa says, urging him to take a seat. Ryle rolls his
eyes but reluctantly takes a seat across from both Allysa and me. He leans
back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. Allysa looks over at me,
giving me the floor.
I’m not sure why I’m not scared right now. Maybe Atlas already having
had a conversation with Ryle has put most of my concerns to rest. Having
Allysa and Marshall in the apartment with us also feels like a layer of
protection. And Ryle’s mother, even though she has no clue what’s about to
transpire. Ryle keeps his behavior in check when his mother is around, so I’m
grateful for her presence.
Whatever is giving me strength right now, I don’t sit and question it. I take
advantage of it. “You asked yesterday if I spoke to my lawyer,” I say to Ryle.
“I did. She had some suggestions.”
Ryle chews on his bottom lip for a few seconds. Then he lifts a brow,
indicating he’s listening.
“I want you to undergo anger management.”
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Ryle laughs. He stands up,
prepared to push in his chair and end this conversation, but as soon as he