Page 157 of Babies for the Big Shot

I should have known this would happen the moment she saw that photo.

The photo from the past.

Sara doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just meets my eyes, waiting for me to process whatever the hell it is I’m feeling. Her fingers twitch at the edges of the couch.

She knows what she’s done. Knows I’m not ready for it.

But then she nods, and it’s like a weight falls from the sky and lands right on top of me.

“I don’t know why you did that,” I snap as the emotion takes hold. I grab my plate and put it on the kitchen counter. “I didn’t tell you about it for a reason. Because I’m not ready to.”

I turn away from her, my breath coming too fast, and my chest feels like it’s closing in on me. My pulse pounds in my ears and I can’t shake the feeling that everything is spiraling.

But Sara doesn’t leave me in this space. She doesn’t let me retreat, doesn’t let me run. She’s moving toward me slowly, her voice quiet but firm.

“Nick, please,” she says, her hands resting lightly on my arm. “I’m not asking you to talk about everything. I just want you to know I found out.”

“She’s supposed to be living her life in secret. That’s the whole point!” I spin back toward her, the words spilling out of me before I can stop them. “You don’t get it, Sara. This,she, isn’t something I just talk about. It’s not some fucking story that’s nice and neat and has a happy ending. You think meeting her is going to change something? It won’t. It won’t fix anything.”

I can see the hurt flash across her face, but it’s quickly masked by determination. She doesn’t back down. She never does when it comes to me.

“I’m not trying to fix anything, Nick,” she says softly, her voice steady but full of that gentle defiance I’ve come to know too well. “But you can’t just keep hiding from this forever. You can’t keep pretending it’s not there, that it doesn’t matter. It matters. You matter.”

I slam my hand against the counter, my fist clenched tight. The urge to run, to get out of here, to not have to face any of this, is almost overwhelming. But I’m not sure if I’m more angry with her or with myself.

“I don’t need you to fix me,” I bite out. “I didn’t need you to find her. And I sure as hell didn’t need you to drag all of this back into the light.”

Sara’s face tightens, and her hands ball into fists in her lap. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Nick. I’m just trying to help you stop hurting yourself.”

I let out a frustrated laugh, bitter and hollow. “You don’t think I know that?” I shake my head, pacing now, feeling the frustration building. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it was like. How fucking hard it was to let her go. I thought if I just erased everything, if I just—if I just kept everything locked up, I could move on. And you just, you, walk right in here and open the door again. I’m not ready, Sara. I’m never going to be ready.”

Her eyes soften, but there’s still a fire in them, a desperation to reach me. “I get that you’re not ready. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

That’s all it takes.

I wasn’t ready for this, for the flood of everything I’ve buried to come rushing back. Not here, not like this. But it doesn’t matter.

My chest is tight, my throat burning, and before I can stop it, the sobs explode out of me. They tear through my body, violent and sharp.

I can’t breathe, can’t think, and I’m losing control of everything. Of myself. Of this. Of her.

It’s a sound I haven’t made in years. Ugly, raw, desperate. It’s coming from a place so deep inside of me that I don’t even know how to stop it. I don’t know how to put the pieces back together.

The worst part? It’s unexpected. I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t expect to fall apart, but here I am, choking on my own grief, and every word I never said, every regret I buried, is rising to the surface all at once.

Sara’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close. Her voice is a low murmur in my ear, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the brokenness flooding through me.

I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it.

“I let it go,” I choke out between ragged breaths, my chest aching, the grief wrapping around me in a vise grip. “I told myself I let it go. But I didn’t. I never did. I thought I could move on, but I can’t.”

I feel her body shift, feel her pull me in closer as if she’s trying to hold me together. But nothing can hold me together right now.

“Nick…” she murmurs, her fingers in my hair, brushing my forehead. I don’t know if she’s trying to comfort me or hold me back from falling apart even more.

Maybe both.

“I’m sorry,” I croak out, the words bitter and raw in my mouth. “I should’ve fought harder. Should’ve done more. But I didn’t. I let her go. And I never should have.”