Page 26 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Fifteen

VIANGELO GRANT

I woke up to a headache and a room that revealed the aftermath of a wild night—empty bottles of liquor littered the dresser, while a single high-heeled shoe laid beneath a chair, as if it had given up the search for its partner.

A sprinkling of someone’s glitter sparkled across the carpet, catching the early morning light.

On the other side of the king bed, two women I didn’t know were knocked out—one facedown, her locks spilling over the edge of the pillow, while the other laid curled up, clutching the hotel robe tightly as if it were a lost lover.

The TV was still on, a silent loop of last night’s highlights.

The air was thick with an intoxicating mix of loud perfume, weed, stale tequila, and a haze of questionable decisions.

I slowly propped myself up, resting my elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands until the pounding eased.

The early morning light spilled through the curtains, but it did little to lift my mood. My phone rested on the nightstand, facing down as if it were hiding from me. With a deep breath, I flipped it over, my heart racing at the thought of not seeing the familiar name.

As I glanced at the screen, disappointment washed over me. There were no missed calls from Kamira—no "good morning" text that usually greeted me when we were separated. Even after any arguments we had, Kamira always made a point to send that small sign of affection—not that morning.

The silence hit different. It crept under my skin and sat there.

Despite that, I found myself scrolling through my notifications, half-hoping that some unreceived message would magically appear. After a few moments, I let out a frustrated sigh, locked the phone with a decisive click, and set it down gently.

I looked around the room again, and an overwhelming mix of regret and confusion washed over me. I had initially framed that as a “quick trip” with the boys. Yet beneath the surface, that was more than a 'spur of the moment' getaway; it was a visit to the very home of Taryn, my daughter’s mother.

I told myself that my primary reason for going out of town was to embrace my role as a father, to connect with the daughter I had never physically seen… not to end up in a room full of naked strangers.

I buried my hands in my hair, feeling the weight of my decisions pressing down heavily.

“What are you doing, man?” I asked myself, the words tasting bitter as they escaped my lips.

The reality was even more complicated than I had initially allowed myself to acknowledge.

Having a baby wasn’t even the icing on the cake.

There was so much more I had kept hidden from Kamira, the woman who deserved transparency and honesty.

One of those secrets—I was still married to someone else.

It wasn’t driven by love or a sense of duty; it was something deeper.

When I first entered the relationship with Kamira, I had other malicious intentions, but being with her spiraled into something more than I imagined. I fell in love with her. And if I was keeping it real, she was probably the only woman I’d truly loved.

Roman’s voice had edged in, that calm way he said things, like he’d been sitting on my shoulder the whole time.

If you’ve been hiding something that major in your closet, it’s far wiser to swing the door open yourself than to let somebody else barge in and drag the skeleton out.

I had reached for my phone again, opened the notes app, and typed a sentence I hated the shape of:

Kam, I need to tell you something.

Nothing else; anything else would’ve turned into excuses. I pondered on whether I should send it.

Not yet , I told myself. Not like this—hungover, strange women in my bed, the truth diluted with last night’s liquor.

One of the girls stirred, muttered something, and flipped her hair.

I slid out of bed, scooped my jeans off a damn lampshade—how the hell had they even gotten there—and slipped into the bathroom.

Looking into the mirror, I noticed my collarbone wore a smudge of lipstick I didn’t remember earning.

I turned the shower on full blast and stood under water hot enough to scrape skin until shame finally eased its grip.

After I dressed, I gathered the wreckage, including a business card with a heart over the name. I dropped the card in the trash, picked it back up, and dropped it again. My reflection was already judging me.

On the table by the window sat a small white bag from the boutique downstairs.

Inside was the only thing I’d done right in the last twenty-four hours: a delicate gold bracelet, baby-sized, with a single initial charm.

I’d bought it sober, in daylight, for my daughter.

That version of me—the one who showed up with balloons, a gift, and a promise that stuck—that was the man I wanted to be.

I texted Taryn.

Me: I’ll be there in about an hour. Need anything?

Taryn: Diapers… and your calm.

I actually smiled.

Me: Got both.

The group chat was already buzzing about brunch and “round two.” Same emojis, same bragging, same “who blacked out first” recap. I typed a quick Can’t. Got other business to handle.

I didn’t spell it out—didn’t need to. They probably read it and laughed, assuming I met a new bitch who had me pussy-whipped in one night.

Predictable.

They clowned me the way men always do—half jealousy, half tradition.

I let them.

Better they think I was wrapped up in some woman than know I was trying to untangle myself from the mess I’d made.

I thought about Terrence popping off at the bar— Don’t let her find out about your Tuesday nights. He’d deserved that glare I gave him. I hated seeing my sins turned into gossip and scattered in the air like confetti.

After drying off, I checked my phone again—still no text from Kamira. It shouldn’t have cut me the way it did, but it did.

Kamira was the constant. The “call me when you get there.” The “eat something.” The “I’m proud of you” when nobody else was looking.

Her silence felt like a preview of a life I didn’t want—one where I was right there in my patterns, and she was gone.

“I’m done,” I silently vowed.

The words hung there, heavier than the smoke of last night’s tequila.

That was it—the last time. No more lying, no more splitting myself into fiancé when the sun’s up and bachelor when it goes down. That man was dead.

I pulled the note back up to Kamira and added three words: I love you. Then I put the phone down, because if I kept typing, I’d start spinning… excusing. And she didn’t deserve spin; she deserved the whole truth.

The women woke up while I was lacing my shoes. One waved like we were old friends, no shame in her eyes. The other smiled like that was some kind of sitcom moment, laugh track missing.

“You leaving?” the one with the dreads asked, stretching lazily.

“Yeah,” I replied to the carpet. “Got somewhere important to be.”

“Text me,” the other said.

I didn’t answer.

In the hallway, the hotel felt too bright. The elevator mirror was less cruel than the one in the room. I looked like a man trying to find a version of himself worth keeping.

The plan was simple because it had to be.

Today: be a father. No sneaking, no performing.

Hold my daughter. Say her name until it’s a prayer.

Tell Taryn thank you for the way she’s carried what I shirked.

No lines crossed. No old habits. Just presence.

Tomorrow, or as soon as I step back in that house: be a man.

Sit Kamira down. Say it plain. One breath.

No buts. No “it was just” and “I was drunk.” Tell her about the baby.

Tell her about the other women. Tell her I’m done and mean it.

Don’t ask her to comfort me. Don’t ask her to save this.

Let her choose with all the information. Take what comes.

Kamira deserves that much. And if I lost her because I finally told the truth? I deserve that, too.