Page 4 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Kyle

It was gonna be a late night. That’s what I told Jackie. Technically, I wasn’t lying.

We had a case. Big one. But we wrapped by eight. The opposition’s biggest witness caved after three hours of being deposed, and my boss practically patted me on the back. I should’ve gone home. Jackie would’ve wanted that. Hell, maybe even needed it.

But when the guys said happy hour? I said yes. Just for a drink, just for a second. Because I needed it.

Because ever since Jackie listened to that damn lady doctor, everything’s been a problem. Her body hurts, her stomach’s tight, her head spins, every day it’s something new. She was fine, then she wasn’t.

I even called my dad a few weeks ago, just to see. He didn’t sound surprised.

“They all do this,” he’d said. “Your mother did it too. You can’t let her suck you in. Stay sharp. Let her ride it out.”

So, I did. I didn’t snap. I didn’t yell. I didn’t treat her like a child. I was there. I paid the bills, found the new doctor, made sure the damn ceiling didn’t cave in.

And what did I get? A wife who won’t touch me. Who cries when I say she’s strong and accuses me of ignoring her. Who lies in bed like a ghost and expects me to just deal with it.

One by one, the guys leave. Some to their wives, some to other women. I stay. Nursing my whiskey at the bar. Waiting.

She’s been eyeing me all night. Redhead. Tight dress. Expensive makeup. The kind of woman who pretends not to notice the ring and then acts shocked when she finds out later.

I shouldn’t do this; I should go home and… what? Listen to my wife complain about everything that’s wrong with her.

I’m a man.

She can’t seriously expect me to go without for months. Even as I think it, I already know how it sounds. But this isn’t about her. This is about keeping myself together. I feel like I'm trapped in my own skin and soon, I’ll snap. And if I snap, I’ll leave. And then what? She’s alone with four babies and no money? No way.

Just as I’m closing my tab, she makes her move. I catch the flick of her hair first, its deliberate, practiced. Then she’s up, crossing the bar like she owns it. Hips swaying like a metronome. Lipstick just smudged enough to look accidental. She stops in front of me, leaning in slightly.

“Hi.”

Jesus. Her voice is smoky, like a drag of something bad for you.

I don’t ask her name, don’t offer mine. There’s no future here. No name. No story. I don’t need any of that. She’s not Jackie. And right now, that’s exactly the point.

I love Jackie, I really do. But I need this. So, I ask, “Mine or yours?”

She blinks, like she didn’t expect me to skip the small talk, but then she smiles, like it’s a game she already won.

“Yours,” she says.

I smirk. “Better idea.”

Across the street is the Hilton. It’s unfamiliar, discreet. Too risky to take her home, I’d never do that to Jackie.

At the front desk, I flash the firm’s card. Business expense. Nothing more. Room 1406. In the elevator, she’s all over me. Like we didn’t just meet. Like this is something we’ve done before. Like it means something.

It doesn’t.

Inside the room, she starts unzipping her dress before the door even shuts. I walk to the window, pulling out my phone. One text to Jackie: Gonna be an all-nighter. Don’t wait up.

A lie. But it sounds believable enough. I stare at the message for a second. Then hit send.

She won’t ever find out, I tell myself. One night. Then it’s done. I’ll focus. I’ll be better. I’ll be what Jackie and the kids need me to be.

I put my phone on silent, just as arms wrap around me. I turn, my fingers work fast. Belt, shirt, pants off in seconds. She watches like she’s waited her whole life to be wanted like this. She hasn’t. Not by me.

I lift her, feeling her legs wrap tight around my waist, and toss her onto the bed.

We crash sometime around dawn, spent and half-drunk, my body is sore in all the right ways. She wore me out. I must’ve only gotten an hour, maybe less, because when the landline rings next door, it feels like I just shut my eyes.

“Fuck,” I groan, rolling over.

The room’s too bright, curtain cracked just enough to let in a punishing line of sunlight. My head throbs. My mouth’s dry. I reach out automatically, expecting her body next to mine, but all I hit is cold sheets.

She’s gone.

Guess she left quietly. Not a clinger, after all.

I sit up, blinking against the light. Room’s a mess with my clothes on the floor, room service tray half-picked through. Her perfume still lingers faintly, mixed with sweat and the hotel’s overpriced soap.

Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I rub my face. My back cracks when I stand. I hit the shower on autopilot, the water too cold at first, but I don’t bother fixing it.

I thought I’d feel guilty. Ashamed. Like I should be crawling home. But I don’t. Instead, I feel clear. Resolved.

I feel… done. Like I needed last night to finally understand that I don’t want it anymore. It was good, fun even, but it doesn’t compare to Jackie. With her, I feel love. Real love. Like every second means something. And I let myself forget that. Forgot why I fell for her in the first place.

She deserves better. And whether or not I believe every one of her pregnancy complaints, I need to show up. Step up. Be the partner she expects me to be. The one she deserves.

I’m still pissed she even considered terminating two of the babies, but I know she loves them. Doesn’t know I know she already picked names. I overheard her talking to her mom once. Jemma. Iris. Duke. Finn.

Not weird names, thankfully. She’s got good taste.

Chuckling, I towel off, feeling light. I grab my clothes from the pile near the window, whistling as I fish my phone out of my pants.

The screen lights up.

54 missed calls.

Jackie. Her mom. Her dad. Her brother. Her Sister.

My stomach drops. The buzz is gone in a flash. I hit the last number, Jackie’s dad’s and throw the call on speaker as I yank my clothes on.

He picks up on the first ring. “Kyle.”

“What happened?”

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice is sharp.

“I… fell asleep at the office. What’s going on?”

A pause. Then: “The babies are here. Get to the hospital.”

The line goes dead.

For a second, I can’t move. Then I grab my shoes and bolt. Slam the door behind me and jab the elevator button.

It’s at the damn lobby. Of course it is.

Screw it. I take the stairs. Fourteen flights. I barely feel the burn as I run down, legs pumping, heart slamming against my ribs. Every floor I pass feels like it’s taking too long. Like I’m already too late.

I hit the ground level and shove the stairwell door open, bursting into the lobby. People look up, startled, but I don’t stop. Don’t even think. I don’t bother checking out. Let them charge me extra. The card’s on file.

Outside, the sun’s high. Blinding. I squint against it, running across the street to where I parked the car. My hand’s shaking as I dig for my keys.

I yank the door open, slide in, and jam the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, tires screeching as I peel out of the lot.

Please. Please. Let my family be okay.

I whisper it again, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles go white.

My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, unknown number. Probably the hospital.

I let it ring. “I’ll be there soon,” I mutter.

I don’t remember the rest of the drive. I just remember the panic, the street lights bleeding together, and the way my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking on the wheel. I blow through a yellow light two seconds too late, swear under my breath, and gun it toward the hospital entrance.

No time to park. I swerve up to the main loop, right where the ER drop-off is and throw it in park with the engine still running. Jumping out, I slam the door behind me. That’s when I see them, my in laws, Robert, standing out front, phone pressed to his ear. And Cory, pacing near the curb.

“Where is she?” I bark, already crossing the sidewalk.

“Room 306. Recovery,” Robert says quickly.

I toss the keys at Cory. “I left it out front.”

Then I’m gone. Legs moving before my brain catches up.

Nearly eight hours late. God, what the fuck was I thinking, putting my phone on silent with a pregnant wife at home.

Room 306. Recovery.

I stop short just inside the doorway.

She’s there. Jackie.

Lying small in a sea of white sheets. Her mother is holding a cup with a straw to her lips. Her face is pale, eyes half-closed. Her skin, Jesus, she looks wrecked. Fragile in a way I’ve never seen.

She looks up. And in that moment, I want to disappear. I want to tear out of my own skin and start over.

Because I know exactly where I was when she needed me. Who I was with. What I was doing. She looks straight at me, like she already knows. But she can’t. Please God, I’ll never do it again, just don’t let her find out.

I rush to the bed, guilt curdling in my gut. “What happened?”

"My water broke," she answers flatly.

I reach for her hand, but she pulls away like I’ve burned her. I deserve it.

“What were you doing?” I ask. Did she fall and I wasn’t there.

“Sleeping,” she snaps. “What were you doing?”

I look away, afraid that if she sees my eyes, she’ll see everything. The guilt. The self-hatred. The lie I’m choking on.

“We had a big case,” I say, voice low. “I fell asleep at the office. I’m so sorry, Jackie. I…”

But she’s not listening. She just shakes her head. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.

The door creaks open, and Dr. Stevens steps in. Clipboard in hand. His expression is composed, but I see it, right there in his eyes.

Dread coils in my chest.

“You’re stable now,” he says, his voice gentle, practiced. “Vitals are good. Bleeding’s under control. But there’s something we need to discuss before we talk about the babies.”

Jackie straightens as best she can, but I see her wince.

“You had a significant amount of internal bleeding when you came in,” he says. “We did everything we could to manage it conservatively, but your uterus wasn’t contracting the way we needed it to. You went into haemorrhagic shock.” I glance at Jackie, her face is stone. Still, silent.

“We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy,” he says. “It was the only way to stop the bleeding and save your life.”

Jackie jerks like she’s been punched. “You mean… you took out my…”

He nods slowly. “We had no choice. You had a condition called uterine atony, your uterus stopped contracting entirely after delivery. The bleeding was severe, and you were losing blood too fast.”

Her mom tightens her hold on Jackie, whispering something, but I only hear the rush of blood in my ears. Jackie’s hand floats to her stomach, still swollen beneath the blanket.

“We saved your ovaries,” he adds. “If you ever want more children down the road, surrogacy is a possibility.”

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. My wife, my strong, stubborn, shining Jackie, just had her whole future ripped from her. And there’s nothing I can do or say to help her.

She doesn’t say a word. Not to me. Not to anyone. Just keeps her eyes on some point past all of us. Like she’s floated away.

“The babies?” she finally says, voice paper-thin.

Dr. Stevens switches gears. “Your daughters are doing well. At 28 weeks, their lungs are underdeveloped, but they’re responding to ventilation. We’ve started both on CPAP, continuous positive airway pressure to help them breathe, and we’re giving them surfactant to improve lung function. They’ll be in the NICU for a while, but they’re stable.”

Jackie nods, and a few tears slide down her cheeks. I reach for her again. She doesn’t respond.

“The boys were smaller. Less weight, shorter gestation response.” he says, voice slowing. “Your son, Baby C has a condition called persistent pulmonary hypertension of the newborn, PPHN. One of his blood vessels hasn’t transitioned properly after birth. We’ve started him on oxygen and nitric oxide therapy to help oxygenate his blood. He’s critical but stable.”

Jackie’s lips tremble. So, I ask, “And the other?”

Dr. Stevens glances at her me, then back at Jackie.

“Baby D was born in the ambulance. They didn’t have the neonatal equipment onboard to intubate a baby his size. The paramedics did everything they could… but by the time they got here…”

He looks at the floor. “I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

The world stops.

Jackie lets out a sound, one I’ve never heard before. Low and long and cracked straight down the centre. Like something ancient and wounded tearing out of her. She folds in on herself, arms locked tight around her middle like she’s trying to hold her body and her world, together.

I cover my face. I don’t deserve to cry. I don’t deserve to be here.

Her mother holds her, whispering something, rocking her gently. And I just stand there. Frozen. Useless.

Dr. Stevens lingers a second, like he might say more, but then he turns toward the door.

I follow him out into the hallway.

“Doc,” I say.

He stops and turns. His eyes are kind. Tired. And full of something that guts me, pity.

I step closer, barely able to get the words out. “If… if they had gotten here in time. If he’d been born here… would he have made it?”

Dr. Stevens takes a breath, slow and steady. “Mr. Greyson, don’t torture yourself with what-ifs.”

“No,” I say, my voice cracking. “Please. Just tell me. Would he still be alive?”

He looks away for a second. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re heavy. Honest.

“If he’d been delivered here, with full equipment, a full team… maybe,” he says quietly. “He could’ve had a chance.” He pauses. “But he was the smallest of the four. There’s no way to know. Some babies fight through. Others… don’t. Even if everything had gone right... there’s no guarantee.”

I nod, but it’s automatic. Numb. Like my body’s moving and my brain hasn’t caught up. I don’t even know what I was hoping to hear. That nothing would’ve changed? That fate had its hands in this from the start? That this wasn’t my fault?

But it was. She was screaming. Fighting for her life. And I was… I wasn’t here. Our son might be alive if I hadn’t been so selfish. If I had just… been here.

I press my back to the hallway wall, breathing hard. My heart pounds so loud I swear it echoes. Shame claws through me, bitter and deep.

My son died.

And I wasn’t there. I didn’t even know. I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I don’t even deserve to ask for it.

All I know is that something in me cracked wide open the second I saw Jackie in that bed.

And now, I want to be the man I promised her I’d be. But it might be too late. I betrayed my vows. I betrayed my children. Not just as a husband. Not just as a father. As a man.

I wasn’t there when she needed me most. And because of that, one of our sons is gone.

I can’t undo it. Can’t take it back.

But I swear to God, I will never let her carry anything alone again.

Not the grief. Not the guilt. Not one more goddamn second of this life.