Page 2 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Kyle ~ January 2013

One year. Exactly one year ago I met the love of my life on a day I thought was the worst I’d had in years.

Connecting flight cancelled. Credit card maxed. Job on the line. Chicago snow up to my knees and a gate agent telling me there was nothing she could do. I was five seconds from losing it.

My luck? Impeccable. I’d broken my lease in Queens, shipped half my stuff ahead, and signed for a new apartment in Austin sight unseen. Somewhere in the middle of that mess, someone skimmed my info. I lost my identity before I even got on the damn plane. Had to freeze everything. Every card declined but one and that one, I maxed trying to book a flight with a different airline, which also ended up getting cancelled.

So, there I was. No flight. No money. No patience. Less than two days away from starting a new job I couldn’t afford to lose. My hands were cold, my back hurt from hauling luggage through snow, and the terminal smelled like feet and panic.

And then she stepped in, five-foot-nothing. Blonde. Mouth like a firecracker. Jackie.

And somehow, from that mess, everything changed.

Texas wasn’t just the job anymore. It was her.

We’re touring another house tomorrow. Fourth one this week. My father gave me access to my trust fund the day I got married. Didn’t congratulate me. Didn’t shake my hand. Just said, “Don’t waste it.”

He was a force. Senior partner at one of the biggest firms in Manhattan. He didn’t need to be loud to be powerful, he was power. Walked into a room and people stopped mid-sentence. I watched him win cases, clients, rooms, people. Over and over. He taught me how to think, how to calculate ten steps ahead. How to win.

He may not have been emotional. But he showed me the way. And that was enough.

My mother, on paper, was a stay-at-home mom. But in reality? She was rarely home enough to be one. Always at luncheons, charity events, fundraisers. Always dressed to the nines, always smiling just right. She said she chose that life, but even as a kid, I knew better. She orbited around my dad like a moon trying to matter. She hosted his dinners, laughed at his jokes, smiled when he belittled her in public like it was foreplay. She was sweet. She was beautiful. But she lived in his shadow and called it a marriage.

I loved her. Still do. But I never wanted to be with someone like her.

When I got the offer in Texas, my dad was the one who told me to take it. “Start fresh,” he said. “Out there, you can build something real.” What he meant was: get out while you’re still sharp. Before someone slows you down.

I listened, took the job without blinking. I thought Texas would be all about working, long hours, climbing fast, nothing else. The place had a reputation, sure: red meat, loud voices, pickup trucks and politics. None of that bothered me. What mattered was the pace, the grind, the distance.

Before I even set foot in Austin, I met Jackie.

She wasn’t just sweet, she was sharp. Decisive. Certain. She lit up a room without trying and made people feel like they mattered. I didn’t even realize I was lonely until she looked at me like I wasn’t.

One year ago, I met her.

One month ago, I married her.

And today, I’m standing in our tiny kitchen waiting for her to get home. She said she had news. I could hear the quiver in her voice when she said it, so I think I know.

We haven’t been using protection. Figured if it happened, it happened. Let nature decide.

I’ve never felt ready for anything in my life. Not college. Not law school. But this? I think I’m ready.

Jackie’s twenty-one. I’m twenty-eight. That gap felt big when we met, but somehow, she’s the one who keeps me grounded. She’s calm when I’m sharp. Soft where I’m stone. Sometimes I think she’s the older one, not me.

Before we got married, my father insisted on a prenup. I said no. Jackie would never leave me. But he said, "Trust me," and the way he said it, like he had experience, like he’d lived it, made me listen. I let him approach Jackie. Let her know it was his idea, not mine. Let him guilt her into signing. I told myself it was to protect both of us, not just me. And anyway, we’ll never use it.

I hear the keys in the door just as I’m drying the last plate.

Jackie’s never quiet when she walks in, usually she starts telling me about her day at the door, but not today. Today all I hear is the sound of her boots being kicked off and her bag dropping to the floor. She flops down on the couch like she’s been holding herself together all day and finally let go.

I wipe my hands on the dish towel, toss it on the counter, and walk into the living room.

She’s dropped on the couch like someone pulled the plug on her. Legs folded, elbows on her knees. Her coat’s half on, half off. Bag on the floor. Boots still by the door, soaked from the slush.

I sit down next to her. Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She turns, eyes wide. Flushed. Breathing hard like she ran here, even though we both know she didn’t.

“I’m pregnant,” she says.

Just like that. No warning. No lead-in. No soft landing. My heart thuds once, hard. “That’s great,” I say, already meaning it, already thinking about what comes next. But my joy is shadowed by her behaviour, by the look in her eyes. The Jackie I know already named our kids, but she’s not smiling. Something’s off. Her mouth presses into a line, like she’s trying to hold back too many thoughts at once.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “I thought you wanted-”

She puts a hand on my arm. It’s not that. Her touch says slow down.

“I kinda thought I was pregnant,” she says, voice low. “It’s just… I’m… it’s...”

She stops. Takes a few breaths. Reaches into her bag and pulls something out. Handing it to me, she stays quiet. Ultrasound photo. Two little shapes. Blurry, but there. Close together, like they’re holding hands.

“The doctor said I’m about four weeks,” she says. “They couldn’t hear the heartbeat yet. But…”

She taps the photo. “They think it’s twins.”

I stare. “Oh god,” I say. Not even thinking. Just instinct.

She nods. “Yeah. I was expecting one. I could handle one. But two. I don’t know how we’re gonna handle two.” She looks at me like she’s bracing for panic. For doubt. For me to start pacing or problem-solving or going quiet the way I do when I’m overloaded.

But I just sit there, holding the photo. Two little shapes. Two tiny blobs that somehow feel bigger than anything I’ve ever dealt with in court or life.

And then it hits me, not fear. Not doubt.

Joy. Real, full-body joy.

I look up at her, and before I can even think, I’m on my feet.

She blinks, startled, and I reach down, grab her hands, and pull her up.

“Twins?” I say, grinning. “We’re having twins?”

She laughs, nervous and breathless. “Yeah, and I have no idea how we’re gonna survive.”

I don’t answer with words. I wrap my arms around her and lift her right off the ground, spinning her once in our too-small living room.

Squealing, she protests. “Kyle!”

I set her down gently, but keep my hands on her waist. “We’ll handle it,” I say, forehead resting against hers. “I swear to God, we’ll handle it. Whatever it takes.”

Her eyes go glassy, but the fear’s gone. She leans into me, her whole body letting go like she finally believes me.

“We’ve got this,” I say, softer now, brushing her hair back. “Two, four, ten. Doesn’t matter. You’re not doing this alone.”

Jackie nods, tears spilling over, but she’s smiling. Big and real. I can tell they’re happy tears. Hell, my eyes are wet too. I don’t say it. I don’t need to.

Leaning down I kiss her, soft at first but she pulls me in harder. Kisses me like something cracked open inside her. Like relief and love and fear all let go at once. Her hands are already in my hair, gripping tight.

I hold her just as close. Not because she needs me, but because she chose me.

When we break apart, I press my forehead to hers.

“We’ll do it together,” I say. And I mean it. Every word. Not like my parents. Not someone else raising them while I work and she plans. Not her orbiting me. We’re building something different. Something better.

Together.

That’s what I believe. Truly. I do. Jackie and I… we click because we’re similar in the ways that matter. Stubborn. Smart. We take things head-on. I hold onto that, until the morning of her six-week appointment.

We haven’t told anyone yet. It’s still ours, just ours. She hasn’t had morning sickness. No cravings. She’s tired, sure, but still going to class, still cracking jokes, still making late-night toast like nothing’s changed. I start thinking maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe it’ll be a breeze.

Then we get in that room. The tech hands her a paper drape and says she can undress from the waist down behind the curtain. Jackie nods, quietly disappearing for a minute. When she comes back, she’s in a gown, draped modestly across her thighs. She lies back again, cheeks flushed, but calm. The tech, maybe mid-twenties, friendly voice, pulls on gloves and gels up the wand.

Internal ultrasound, since it’s early. Standard at six weeks. I already looked that up.

I sit beside Jackie, and grip her hand. The tech inserts the probe, eyes on the screen. I watch too, pretending I have the slightest idea what I’m looking at.

The tech frowns. Not dramatic. Just a flicker in her expression. Her eyes narrow a little, lips press together. Then she says, “I’m just going to step out and grab the doctor.”

She leaves before either of us can ask anything. I turn to look at Jackie who’s already watching me, her mouth tight. Gut clenching, I squeeze her hand, we got this. She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her grip on my hand.

After a few minutes, the doctor comes in. It’s an older lady, wearing a white coat. The tech follows behind her, giving us a tight-lipped smile.

“Let’s take a look,” the doc says, without much preamble.

Picking up the probe, she adjusts the angle, and we all watch the screen. Her face doesn’t change much, but her voice is steady.

“Well… looks like we’ve got some excitement here.”

Jackie stiffens. I don’t breathe.

The doctor moves the wand slightly and freezes the screen.

“See here? You’ve got two gestational sacs,” she says. “That’s what we expected.”

She points again. “But inside each sac, we’re seeing two distinct heartbeats.”

Jackie blinks. “So… still twins?”

The doctor smiles gently. “Two sets of twins. Identical in each sac. It’s rare, but it happens. You’re having quadruplets.”

My stomach drops. I blink hard, like maybe I read it wrong. But it’s there. Four heartbeats. All ours. My grip on Jackie’s hand tightens. She doesn’t pull away.

Mouth going dry, I ask, just to hear it again, “Four?”

The doctor nods. “Yes. Quadruplets. Two sets of identical twins.”

Jackie finally exhales. A sharp breath, shaky.

“Jesus,” she mutters. Then again, quieter. “Jesus.”

The doctor studies us both, then sets the wand down. “Why don’t I give you a minute,” she says gently. “We’ll talk more in my office.”

Jackie gets dressed in silence. She moves slowly, carefully, like the weight of what just hit us is sinking into her bones. I help her with her coat. My hands are steady. My mind is anything but.

We walk down the hall and sit in two chairs across from the doctor’s desk. She shuts the door behind us, sits down, and folds her hands.

“I won’t sugarcoat it,” she says. “Quadruplet pregnancies are high-risk. For the babies. For the mother.”

Jackie nods, not saying a word.

“The chances of premature birth are extremely high. NICU stays are almost guaranteed. There are risks of cerebral palsy, developmental delays, physical complications. For the mother… blood pressure, gestational diabetes, haemorrhage, preterm labour. And that’s with the best care available.”

I can feel Jackie leaning into me slightly. I don’t move.

The doctor continues, calm, clinical. “One option we do present at this stage is called selective reduction. It’s a procedure that reduces the number of foetuses to three even two. It significantly increases the chance of a healthy pregnancy and safer delivery. It’s not an easy choice, but it’s one some parents consider when faced with this kind of multiple pregnancy.”

Jackie’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Would it… would that hurt the others?”

“There’s risk,” the doctor says, carefully. “But it’s often done around week ten. We’d monitor closely. It increases your odds of carrying to term, or close to it.”

Silence.

Jackie finally looks at me. But I don’t let her speak.

“No,” I say, voice flat. Final. “We’re not doing that.”

The doctor opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “We’re not talking about statistics. We’re talking about our children. Our four children. That’s not a decision. That’s a line I won’t cross.”

Jackie doesn't argue. But I see something shift in her face, a tension.

In the car, it’s quiet until I break it. “I can’t believe that woman wanted us to kill two of our babies.”

Jackie stares out the window, hands folded in her lap.

“She didn’t say kill,” she says quietly. “She said it might be safer. That it could save my life, their life.”

I glance over. “Wait. You’re actually considering this?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

I pull the car to a stop at a red light, jaw locked.

“Which ones, Jackie?” I ask, voice sharper than I mean. “Do we just pick two to keep and pretend the others weren’t real?”

“Kyle,” she whispers, pained.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We said we’d do this together. So don’t talk to me about safety like we’re in a war zone. You’ve been fine. No morning sickness. No problems. No pain. This pregnancy’s been easy so far, and it’s going to stay that way.”

She goes quiet. Doesn’t speak for the rest of the drive.

Inside, I can feel myself spiralling, but I hold on to one thing: We’re not giving up our kids.

Not one. Not ever.

And we’re getting a new damn doctor.