Page 75 of Ascension

“Lovers,” I said evenly with pride. “And I’m not interested in a drink or a meal. I’m damn sure not interested in delayed apologies.”

James' hand found the small of my back again, steady, protective. “She’s got plans,” he said.

Jason laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure, man. No problem. Just thought I’d say hi.”

“You did,” Calla said smoothly, the faintest edge of authority in her tone. “Now we’re saying bye.”

Jason blinked, uncertain whether to be amused or offended. He muttered a quick “take care” before disappearing back into the crowd.

I exhaled, realizing only then how tight my chest had been. James didn’t move his hand. “You okay?” he asked, voice low enough that only I could hear.

“Yeah,” I said, though the word felt fragile. “Just… caught me off guard.”

Calla stepped in front of me, her hand brushing my cheek. “He doesn’t get to take up space here,” she said softly. “Not in your mind, not in your body, not in your day.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Thanks.”

James leaned down, murmuring, “He looked like he wanted to remember the woman he lost. You looked like someone who’d already moved on.”

That made me laugh, a small sound that broke the tension. “Guess I did.”

“No guessing, you have,” Calla said, smiling now.

The threeof us started walking again, the noise of the convention folding back around us, bright, chaotic, and alive. I felt the warmth of James' hand linger on my back and Calla’s shoulder brushing mine, the unspoken promise of safety between them.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, except for the city’s hustle and bustle. Calla was on her phone, scrolling absently. James sat beside me, one hand resting on my knee, the way he always did when he could sense my thoughts drifting somewhere dark.

But the silence gave my mind too much room. Jason’s face from earlier kept flashing in my head: the same easy grin, the same voice. Then suddenly, I wasn’t in New York anymore. I was back in that apartment, standing barefoot on cold tile.

Three years earlier

Fifteen weeks pregnant. Fifteen weeks of plans and baby name lists and whispered promises in the dark. Then, nothing. A cold doctor’s office. A hollowed-out ache where hope used to live.

After the miscarriage, I could barely get out of bed. The world went gray around the edges. Jason had said the right things: “I love you,” “We’ll try again,” “It’s not your fault.” I wanted to believe him, I clung to his words because the alternative was too cruel.

Then one night, I got up to get water, taking my glass with me. My body still felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. I remember padding down the hallway, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears. Jason was in the kitchen. His voice was low but clear, the kind of voice men use when they think no one’s listening.

I froze when I heard my name.

“…glad she lost it,” he said, almost laughing. “Now I don’t have to deal with all that drama, no baby mama, no broken-home nonsense. I can finally move on clean.”

For a second, the words didn’t make sense. They floated in the air, impossible. Then he said her name, Bri, the woman he was talking to. Told her he loved her. Told her he couldn’t wait to see her later, couldn’t wait to feel her wet pussy wrapped around him.

I didn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as my hands shook so badly the glass slipped and shattered against the floor.

He turned around, eyes wide, and I saw panic, not guilt, not sorrow, just the fear of being caught.

That was the moment something in me broke for good.

“Amiyah—”

I held up a hand, shaking. “Don’t.”

He froze. For a moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, ragged, uneven. Then I looked at him, really looked at him. The man who’d held my hand in hospital hallways. The man who said we’d try again—the man who’d whispered promises over my belly like prayers.

“You chased me, Jason,” I said, voice low and trembling. “You wanted me. You’re the one who swore I was it. I wasn’t even looking for you; I was good alone.”

He started to say something, stepping toward me, but I kept going. “You begged me to trust you. To build something with you. And then you turn around and call me a—” My voice cracked. “A baby mama? A broken home? Do you have any idea what that feels like? To lose a baby and find out you never wanted it in the first place?”