Page 45 of Before Broken Vows

"I didn't know what to do. I thought if I told you, I'd hurt you or something would happen to you. And if I tried to stay, someone would come for me. And since I wasn't going to give up the baby," tears fall but I don't wipe them this time, "I took your father's money, used some of it to pay a shady doctor to forge medical abortion records, and disappeared. I changed my name. I kept moving. I learned how to be invisible."

Theo looks at me, his eyes dim, haunted by the bomb I've just detonated right in front of him. He scans my face like he's looking—or maybe hoping—for lies.

He runs his hand over his face, probably contemplating which of the hundreds of questions he wants to ask first. I slow my breathing and rein in my tears.

"You… you had my son?"

I nod again, eyes burning. "Yes."

"I wasn't going to tell you like this," I say. "But I don't even know if a better way exists."

He turns away suddenly, walking toward the door like he needs space. Like he's about to bolt.

"Theo—"

He lifts a hand to silence me without turning back.

I stay frozen.

"I know what this looks like," I say. "But I never stopped loving you."

He turns back, and for a second, I think I see it. The pain. The longing. The heartbreak we never got to process.

But something darker overtakes him before he gets a word out.

He shakes his head once.

And then, he leaves.

A few minutes later, I hear tires screeching away. I don't even need to look out the window to know it's Theo.

He's gone, leaving me, just like I had left him.

16

THEO

Idon't remember walking out of the house.

I don't remember grabbing my keys or slamming the door or the way my foot hit the gas pedal like I was trying to punish the car.

All I know is that I'm here now, parked on a ridge overlooking the ocean, engine still running, music off, lights off, heart racing like I'm about to go to war.

I close my eyes, and all I see is the woman who just shattered whatever was left of my life telling me something I never thought she would.

A son.

I have a fucking son.

We had a few conversations about kids in the months leading up to her leaving.

I told her it was a mixed bag. Before meeting her, I didn't really want kids, or at least I didn't think about them. Children—shit,even love—was too messy, made you too vulnerable. But she'd already made me believe in love, so who knows.

Xander.

The name pops into my mind. I told her that if I were to have children, I wanted a son, and I wanted him to have a strong name. Naming him after a conqueror like Alexander the Great would be perfect. She wanted Alexandros, but I told her no—it had to be Xander.

"Fuck!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel. The horn blares into empty air.