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ARELLA

It’s been seven days. Seven slow, tormenting days.

I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think.

I didn’t realize how much time I spent with Trey, until now, when I’m not.

He’s ruined me. And he’ll continue to ruin me. From now on, every doctor’s appointment I’ll attend alone, every kick I’ll feel from the baby, every time someone comments on my rounded belly, he’s all I’ll be thinking about.

I’ve always wanted to be a mom. I’ve dreamt of this moment since I was a kid, except I imagined this with a ring on my finger and the father-to-be at my side.

I’m terrified to do this alone. What will I tell my grandparents? How will I explain to my future son or daughter why they don’t have a father? How does anyone explain to a child that their father thought he was infertile and?—

Knock-knock-knock.

I jolt out of bed. Is it him? I rush to the door in my pajamas.

“Wipe that disappointment off your face.” Javina’s wearing a light jacket with the hood up to block the rain from all her black curls. She holds up a carton of ice cream. “Wanna have some rocky road while we plot his murder?”

I roll my eyes, mostly because when she called earlier, I told her not to come. Still, I motion for her to step inside. “We’re not going to kill him.”

“Of course we aren’t gonna kill him,” she says as she slips her shoes off. “We don’t stand a chance against him and those huge arm muscles. We’re gonna hire a hit man.” Her tone is so serious, I’m no longer sure she’s joking.

On the floor of my living room with the ice cream between us, I tell Javina about the blonde chick I saw Trey with. I choke up as I hash out the details of our fight, leaving out any parts that suggest I’m with child. I’m not ready to tell Javina yet. She’ll freak out, and I need to be in a place where I’m not also freaking out before I tell her.

“Toward the end, we were fighting quite a bit,” I say as I dig my spoon into the now half-gone ice cream.

“About what?”

“Mostly about him keeping secrets from me. For example, he was always up at three in the morning, talking on the phone. I don’t think he sleeps.”

“Wait.” Javina draws her thick eyebrows together. “You don’t think he sleeps, like, ever?”

“Ever.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I’ll tell you what’s impossible. One time, we were at a restaurant, and somehow, he knew there was a teenage boy getting beat up in an alley blocks away.”

Javina takes a moment to process that before saying, “What?”

“Exactly. Then, there was this whole thing where he kept asking—no, begging —me to move to Paris with him. Whenever I asked him why, he kept saying he’d tell me once we got there, otherwise, I’d leave him.”

“Again, what?”

“Oh, and let’s not forget that on the night he and my ex got into a fist fight, Trey left with gashes in his knuckles. When I saw him three days later, his hand looked brand new. I got so curious that two weeks ago, I asked if he’s an alien.”

Javina freezes with her spoon halfway to her lips. “And?”

“He claims he’s not. Apparently, he’s not a superhero or from the future either. Those were my other guesses.”

Javina gasps. “What if he’s a wizard?”

“Like from Harry Potter?”

“Nah. More like the ones from that show Charmed . They have magical powers and shit, and they hide it from society, but they don’t need to use any wands.”

I go in for another spoonful of ice cream. “I don’t think he’s a wizard.”

“Don’t completely rule it out, girl. That’s what the wizards want us to do. They live among us and don’t want us to know it.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I believe that alternate universes exist, so why not wizards?” She gasps with a hand to her mouth. “What if he’s from an alternate universe?”

Alternate universe? Hmm... Is that the explanation for all of Trey’s oddities? Maybe in his universe, never sleeping is normal. I’ll have to look into that later.

“I’m still pissed that you waited this long to tell me.” Javina waves her spoon in the air. “I warned him not to hurt you. I told him if he did, I’d rip his balls off with my bare hands.”

I don’t doubt that Javina would try to if given the chance.

She leans back against the front of my couch. “So, do ya think Trey was havin’ another woman over every time you were at work?”

Pfft. “I didn’t... until now.”

Shaking her head, she says, “I knew pretty boy was trouble.”

“What? You were the one who said, ‘If you don’t marry him, I will.’”

“I still would! We’d have the grandest, most expensive wedding ever. Then, once I was the sole beneficiary of his will, I’d make sure he accidentally fell into a mysterious cavern within three years. Can’t do it too soon, or it’ll be obvious it was me.”

Okay, maybe Javina and I watch too many true crime shows.

“Anyway, enough about that asshat.” She licks her spoon clean, then tosses it onto my coffee table. “Tell me what’s up with you not being on the schedule at the daycare. All your shifts have other people’s names on them.”

I knew this topic was coming. I’ve been avoiding it. “Um, I got let go.”

Javina lifts an eyebrow like, No, seriously. What really happened?

I return her look with a deadpan face.

Finally, she gasps. “What? Why?”

“Remember last month when I was attacked by spiders?”

“How could I forget? After hearing you describe it, I’m still having nightmares. You’re lucky I’m even sitting inside this arachnid magnet you call an apartment.”

Whenever I see a black spot on the wall, I get a flashback of being attacked by thousands of spiders, and it suddenly gets hard to breathe. Thankfully, I haven’t found any creepy-crawlies yet, but that moment was so traumatizing that sometimes, everything around here looks like a spider.

I place the lid back over our ice cream. “Since I was gone for a whole week, our director said I needed to provide a doctor’s note. Company policy. Trey had one, but he lost it, so he wrote me a new one instead. Our director checked up on it, and apparently, the doctor never said I couldn’t go to work.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have done something.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to start a fight with our director in front of everyone.”

Javina scoffs. “That’s exactly what I’ma do on Monday.”

“No, Javie. Please, don’t. She was nice about it. She said she didn’t want to fire me but had to because of policies.”

“Fuck the policies. You’re one of the best we’ve got.”

“It’s okay,” I say, half meaning it. “I can find another job.”

“Have you started lookin’ yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve got some money stashed away, so I’ll be fine.” For now. Soon, I’ll need to have enough income to support myself and an expensive newborn.

Javina and I continue talking about life, movies, and her girlfriend until she can’t stop yawning. Eventually, the clock hits 1:00 a.m., and Javina leaves.

As I crawl back into bed, the heartache resurfaces like a tsunami. A minute ago, I was laughing at my best friend’s jokes. Now I feel like I could burst into tears with the simple thought of him.

Under the covers, I listen to the steady pour of raindrops on my window while I scroll through our old texts. What did I ever say to make him think I’d be capable of sleeping with another man behind his back? The only thing I gain from rereading our messages is a reminder of how in love with him I still am.

The second I finish reading our texts, my YouTube app is up, and I’m typing Flames in the Night into the search bar. The first video that pops up is their original song “Fired Up!” I tap it, then shove my earbuds in and turn the volume up as loud as it will go. A familiar drum solo rattles my brain, followed by Trey’s guitar riffs. This is the song they use as their upbeat opener for all their shows, so I’ve heard it plenty. It brings back good memories.

I finish that video, then scroll until I come across their cover of a Justin Timberlake song. I was there for this shoot, like I was for many others. This one stands out to me because in the middle of filming, Trey dropped to his knees in front of me and kissed me like his heart would collapse if he didn’t. I’ll never forget the intense way he looked at me when he came barreling through that bedroom door and seized my face without a single word.

I can’t get through the whole video because it’s a bunch of footage of Trey cuddling with some blonde actress playing his love interest. So I skip to the next video.

It’s about to play when Tap! Tap! Tap!

That can’t be the rain. I rip my earbuds out.

“Arella?” someone yells from outside.

The blinds are shut. I know who it is though. No one else ever calls me by my full name.

“Arella, please. I need to see you.”

Need? I hop off the bed and yank the blinds up. There he is, sopping-wet hair and all. I unlock the window and crank it open.

“What are you doing here?” I hate that there’s a screen between us. My racing heart wants to be near him, and this stupid mesh thing is in the way.

Rain pours over him as he slurs, “I knocked on your door, like, a ba-jillion times. Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t hear it. I was listening to—” I can’t admit that I was hopelessly listening to him sing me to sleep. “Music.”

“Will you let me in?”

I nod slowly, even though I want him in here so bad, I’m willing to break through this screen. Instead, I rush to the door.

I open it to find Trey more drenched than expected. His black T-shirt clings to his skin, outlining his defined pecs. Raindrops slide down his leather jacket until they hit the concrete. His jeans look like he just crawled out of the ocean.

When we lock eyes, a rush of emotions hits me like heavy sand dumped over my head. It submerges all my other emotions under its weight, replacing them with sadness, anxiety, and heartache. I mean, my heart was already aching, but now it’s throbbing.

I don’t get a chance to say anything before Trey steps inside and crushes me against him. His arms squeeze me so tight, I lose all the air in my lungs. With a little sigh, he buries his face into my neck. At first, I stiffen, but it’s not long before my body softens into him.

The sadness weighing me down is quickly replaced by a warm sense of belonging and hope. A trickle of peace runs from my shoulders to my toes. It’s an odd sensation, like an electric current rushing through me, except I think it’s coming from him.

We stand in my doorway while the rain drowns my front step behind him. No words. No movement. Just arms wrapped around each other’s bodies. I think we both needed this. I, for sure, needed this.

The scent of him is familiar—mostly. Manly cologne, his shampoo, and... alcohol? Has he been drinking?

“I missss you,” he slurs.

I suppose that’s my answer.

When I don’t respond, he asks, “Do you miss me?”

I’ve missed you since the moment I drove away. I waited seven days for you to show up, and every minute you didn’t felt like years in a dark abyss. What took you so long? Why didn’t you come after me? And why are you drunk?

I pull back. “Trey, why are you here?”

He wraps his arms around me tighter, crushing me against his chest again. “I wasn’t done yet.”

Tears threaten to burst from my eyes. Being held by him makes me feel whole again, so I don’t fight it. I’d stay in his embrace forever if I could, but I can’t. So I give him another minute before saying into his shirt, “You’re soaking wet.”

“Sssorry.” He lets me go, and I gesture for him to step all the way inside.

After he does, I shut the door, muting the rainfall, then turn to him.

He’s gorgeous—a towering muscular frame that was my safe haven for three months. Light stubble decorates his strong jawline. I used to run my fingertips through that stubble whenever we made out. I used to grip that firm neck whenever he’d scoop me up and carry me into his bedroom. Everything about him is familiar, except for the heavy anguish ingrained between his eyebrows. Selfishly, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who’s miserable.

He places a tender finger under my chin and lifts my head until my eyes meet his. “Were you crying, babe? Your eyes are all puffy.”

I draw back from his touch. It’s doing things to me. And if he calls me babe again, I might let him do anything he wants to me. “Why didn’t you take your car instead of the bike?”

“I didn’t take either.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“I walked.”

“You walked?” That’s at least a two- or three-hour walk.

“Yeah. I’m fucked up. I know better than to drive like this.” He runs his fingers through his dark-chocolate hair and shakes the water out. Little droplets sprinkle onto my arms, but I don’t care. I’m just relieved he’s here, and that the first person he thought to go to while in this drunken state is me.

Does that mean he wants to fix things? Do I want that? I think about it for all of two seconds before I almost laugh at myself. Who am I kidding? Of course I want that.

“Why didn’t you call an Uber?” I ask.

He scoffs a little. “I did. The dude drove me most of the way before kicking me outta his car.”

“Why?”

“He asked me questions like where I was goin’ and who I was tryna see. He said somethin’ about how taking a drunk man to a woman’s apartment meant trouble. So he forced me to get out and drove off.”

Mentally, I applaud the Uber driver. Taking a drunk man to a woman’s place can mean bad news. After surviving an abusive three-year relationship with a drunk, I know just how terrible those situations can get. However, with drunk Trey, I feel completely safe. I have full confidence that he would never hurt me. At least not physically. Emotionally, I’m stupidly wrecked.

“How much did you have to drink?” I ask.

His shoulders slump like I’ve caught him in a lie. Another invisible bag of heavy sand and sadness dumps over me—from him. “Please, don’t be mad.”

“How much, Trey?”

He glowers at the carpet. “Maybe, like, two bottles.”

“Of?”

“Vodka. Tequila. Bourbon.”

I squint at him. “You just named three things.”

“All righty then. So I had three bottles.”

My jaw drops. “You had three bottles of hard liquor? Like, all of it?”

“Probably. I don’t really remember...”

“How are you still standing?” There’s no way he had that much. That would kill him.

“I have a high tolerance.”

No one’s tolerance is that high.

After kicking off his shoes, he heads to my couch and falls onto it with a plop.

I cringe a little. “Trey, you’re wet.”

He shoots back up, stumbles over, and leans against me as I steady him. Tingles shoot down my legs from the warm hand he places on the small of my back. I’ve missed his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he slurs. “It’s just that I’ve been walking forever. I really need to sit.”

“How about you take off all your wet clothes first? I’ll wash them for you.”

He complies, first with his jacket, then his shirt. As soon as I see his abs, I realize this is a mistake. I can’t see him shirtless. It’s my kryptonite.

From his pockets, he drags out his wallet and phone, then drops them onto my coffee table with two light thuds. Then he yanks his jeans and socks off. I grab all his damp clothes and head to the front door to hang his jacket up to dry. When I turn around, he’s already got his boxers down.

I shut my eyes and throw my hands up. “Stop!”

“Huh?” A wave of shock rushes through my head.

“Put your boxers back on.”

“But you told me to take off all my wet clothes.”

“The boxers can stay.” I wait a moment before I reopen my eyes.

Trey stands magnificently before me, wearing only a pair of plaid boxers. He gestures toward my couch. “Can I sit now?”

“Sure.” With his clothes in hand, I head down the hall.

The world is cruel. Countless times, I’ve pictured him at my door with flowers, telling me he’s come to his senses. He’d say things like “I realized you never would have cheated on me” and “I’m ready to be a father.” We’d have the most amazing makeup sex and everything would be okay. Instead, the world drops him off here drunk, looking like a model for men’s underwear. What am I supposed to do with this?

In the hallway, I open the pair of closet doors where my washer and dryer hide. I throw Trey’s clothes into the washer with some detergent, then start the machine.

Footsteps thump against my carpet as a cloud of gloominess approaches me. I pretend not to notice him as he wraps his arms around me from behind and breathes a shiver down my neck. I have to grip the washing machine just to keep my knees from buckling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says with liquor breath.

Instead of melting into him the way I always have, I remain strong and keep still. I need to know what his intentions are before I allow myself to give in to him. The moment I do is the moment I give him permission to break me again.

After a few deep breaths, I gather enough willpower to pry myself out of his grasp, and then I stride into the bathroom. Trey and his cloud of gloominess follow me there.

I open the cabinet above the sink. “How do you feel?”

“Sad.” His gaze drops to the floor as he lingers in the doorway. “All the time.”

“I meant, how does your head feel?”

“Oh. Um, it’s all right. I’ll probably be hungover in the morning though.”

I shake out two pills from a bottle of ibuprofen and hold them out.

He pushes my hand away. “That’s not gonna do anything for me.”

I roll my eyes. He sounds like Javina whenever she’s had too much to drink. She thinks water doesn’t help either, but it totally does. “Just take them.”

“I’m serious, babe. Ordinary human pills don’t work on me.”

Ordinary human pills? What pills do work on him then? Superhuman pills? Maybe in the alternate universe he’s from, having superpowers is normal. Is that why I can feel his emotions right now? Oh my god. Am I carrying a superhuman baby inside me that can sense feelings?

Pushing down the panic in my chest, I stash the pill bottle back into my cabinet. I’ve still got the two tablets in my palm, though, just in case he wants to take them later.

With gentle hands, Trey pushes the hair from my face and cups my cheeks. My heart thrashes as he presses his lips to my forehead and gives me a light kiss. “I need you, baby.”

Oh, how four little words can stir up so much eagerness inside me. The irrational part of me is screaming, Yes, please! The rational part of me wants to smack him for trying to claim to be infertile. Maybe in his alternate universe, he is infertile. But in this universe, he’s definitely able to make babies.

“Trey, can you please explain why you’re here?”

Sighing, he lets me go and steps back. As if he didn’t hear my question, he asks, “Can I dry my hair a little? It keeps dripping down my face.”

“Sure.”

He drags my bath towel off the bar, then freezes. An invisible fist punches me in the gut. “What the fuck happened there?”

It takes me a second to register what his eyes are glued to. It’s a gaping hole in the wall below the towel bar—evidence of my ex’s lingering presence.

“Nathan,” I say, and it’s all the explanation he needs.

Trey’s face turns sour. “When?”

“A year ago, maybe?”

“I swear, if he ever touches you again, I’ll kill him.”

I’d think he’s just spitting out words, but the conviction in his tone and the anger radiating off him makes me think he’s serious.

Trey rubs the towel all over his hair, then hangs it back up. It’s not the way I usually do it. I typically spread the towel out to make sure it conceals the hole. Trey’s version is messy and hugs the right side too much. I’ll fix it later.

“Would you like to sit down now?” I ask.

Trey nods with his hair sticking up in all directions. I open my mouth, about to offer him a comb, then I don’t. He looks cute like this.

He gestures for me to walk out first. I do and sense his cloud of despair follow me to the living room.

I set the pills on the coffee table. “I’ll leave these here for you to take later.”

His gloominess trails me to the kitchen, where I snatch a clean glass from the cabinet and fill it with some filtered water from the fridge.

I offer him the glass. “Drink up.”

Without hesitation, he accepts it and finishes it in three gulps. I can’t imagine what little time it took him to down that tequila.

“Thanks.” He pushes the empty glass toward me.

I fill it again. “Want some more?”

“Maybe later.” He stares at me with his captivating blue-gray eyes. If he keeps looking at me so intensely like that, I might fall under his spell again. Not that I’ve fallen out of it.

For the fourth time tonight, I ask, “Why are you here, Trey?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

My heart does a pathetic little happy dance. My head scowls at my heart for being so easily fooled.

Without a word, Trey takes my hand and leads me to the couch. When he sits, he gestures for me to sit as well. I don’t, and he doesn’t force me either. Instead, he takes my hands into his and kisses the tops of my knuckles. Whatever wizardry spell he’s casting on me, it’s working.

I plant myself onto the couch next to him. “You can sleep here tonight if you want.”

“I don’t wanna sleep.” He keeps my hands in his so tightly, it leaves no room for me to pull away, which is probably his intent.

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I wanna kiss you.”

My lips tingle, as does everything between my legs, betraying me. Thankfully, my brain takes over before my body can. “No kissing. You have to sleep off all that alcohol.”

He pouts a little, and it’s adorable. “Can we kiss in the morning?”

Finally, I draw my hands back and scowl at him. “Did you forget that we broke up?”

“Not for a second.”

I feel a little piece of his soul fall apart somewhere in that dark cloud above his head, and it makes me feel bad for him.

This man has been through a lot. Seeing his parents get murdered. Surviving his abusive uncle. Losing the only child who’s ever meant anything to him. They’re all reasons as to why he’s so guarded, has deep trust issues, and refuses to let people in. And don’t even get me started with his lack of self-worth.

I get it. It took me a long time to start healing from my abusive ex, and I’m still healing, so if there’s anything I can do to help ease Trey’s pain right now, I’m going to do it.

I hop to my feet. “Come. I’ll let you sleep in my bed.”

His eyes light up. “With you?”

Yes, please! “No.”

The light in his eyes goes dim. “I’ll stay here on the couch then.”

“It’s okay. You can sleep on the bed, and I can?—”

“Arella, what kind of man would I be if I took over a woman’s bed and forced her to sleep on these old cushions? The answer is no. I’ll sleep right here.”

With Trey, I’ve learned to pick my battles. We’re both as stubborn as the other, and I can tell this is a fight I’m not going to win.

I leave him for a moment, then return with the one extra pillow and blanket I own. It’s what Javina always uses whenever she stays over. When I hand them to Trey, he takes it, clutching my hand in the process.

“Cuddle with me.”

I almost burst into tears. All I’ve wanted for the last seven days is for him to want me. Here he is, acting like he wants me more than he wants his next breath, and I can’t bring myself to let him in. He hurt me—deeply. If we pretend like nothing happened and go back to the way things were, he’ll hurt me again. I can’t allow that.

Besides, there is no going back to the way things were. I’ve got his baby growing inside me now. No matter what happens from here, things will never again be the way they were.

“Please?” he begs. “It’s been really hard for me to fall asleep without you.”

I know how that feels all too well, so I give in.

We lie on the couch with my face pressed against his bare chest. Oh, the scent of him... He wraps the blanket around us, tucking it under my waist the way he always does. My body relaxes into him as a rush of calmness settles over me. This time, it’s not just his feelings. They’re mine too.

Trey leans back a little to look at me. “You wanna know something I’ve noticed?”

“What?”

“You’re still wearing the angel wings.” He grazes a thumb across the necklace he gave me. The golden wings feature a way-bigger-than-I-can-afford diamond heart in the middle. The tiny engraving on the back reads: Paris? T.G.

Maybe that’s where the portal to his alternate universe is and he was trying to take me there with him. It would make sense since he said if I knew the reason behind why we had to go to Paris, I wouldn’t go—and he’s right. I have no desire to leave this universe for an alternate one. Not even for him.

“I guess I forgot to take it off,” I lie. I’ve refused to take off this necklace because doing so feels like disconnecting from him, and I’m not ready for that yet.

He caresses my cheek with his fingertips. “I like that you’re still wearing it.”

I grab his hand and hold it against my chest. “Why don’t you try going to sleep?”

“Do you ever think about me?” he asks as if I didn’t say anything.

I clear my throat to give myself time to decide if I should lie or not. “Sometimes.” All the time.

“I think about you constantly. You’re like a never-ending song that keeps replaying in my mind. I can’t stop writing lyrics about you either. Every single song I write sounds like a miserable ballad.”

Boy, do I want to hear one of those! “Go to sleep, Trey.”

He doesn’t obey. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened. I want you to know that if the situation was different, I’d ask you to marry me. We’d raise this baby together to be the best little boy or girl the world has ever known. I’d ask you to give me more babies. We’d have a whole bunch of ’em. I’d grow old with you and support you in any dreams you want to make come true.”

Tears prick the surface of my eyes. I want that. All of it. How can I have it?

Trey’s tone goes husky. “The problem is that I can’t. Can you understand how much it hurts to know that you’re pregnant when I biologically cannot have babies with you? Mental images of you fooling around with another man are tearing me apart from the inside out. I constantly feel like I’m suffocating because my chest aches too much for my lungs to work.”

That does it for me. I gasp for air as a cry ripples through me. I can’t imagine how much it burns to think you’re infertile, then find out your girlfriend is pregnant. If I were him and believed what he believes, I wouldn’t be here. To him, it’s obvious that I slept with another man.

When I said he should be prepared to pay child support, it probably sounded like I was after his money. I only said that because I was angry. I didn’t actually mean it. If I were him, I’d hate me. No wonder he’s so broken.

What breaks me, though, is that not once has he stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, this baby is his. How can he be so sure he’s infertile? Did a doctor say so? Did he get a vasectomy? Was he born that way? Does he think people from his alternate universe can’t have children with the people in this universe?

Suddenly, any hope I had of us getting back together vanishes. If I were him with all the baggage from his past and the knowledge he has, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

Trey places a tender kiss against my temple. “Oh, angel, please don’t cry.”

I can’t help it. I’ve been crying for a week, and feeling his pain mix with mine is only making it worse.

He kisses my temple again. “Remember when we were at your thinking spot under that big oak tree? You told me that when you love someone, you put their happiness before your own. I want you to be happy, baby. It’ll kill me, but if you wanna go be with him, go be with him. If that’s what makes you happy.”

Wait... Did he just admit he loves me? He’s shown me he loves me, but he’s never verbalized it.

I don’t have much time to process it, because he keeps going.

“I just want to know what I did wrong, first. What did I do to make you feel like you needed him instead of me? Did I not give you enough? Should I have paid more attention to you? Should I have made you feel more beautiful or bought you more things?”

I’ve never felt like I needed anything more from Trey than his presence. He’s given me everything I’ve ever wanted and more. He gave me a man who listened to me. A man who truly cared about my hopes and dreams. Someone I felt safe with and protected by. Most of all, he gave me someone who made me feel loved in bed—not used and abused. Trey has made me feel the most loved I’ve ever felt, without ever saying the words I love you. How could he think he didn’t give me enough?

“I think I need closure,” he says, choking up. “I need a reason to let you go, because obviously, knowing that your heart is with someone else isn’t enough. Tell me you’re better off without me. Tell me you’re happier when you’re with him. Tell me you don’t want me anymore. Maybe then I’ll be able to move on. I just can’t take this pain anymore. I need it to be over.”

And there it is—the real reason he’s here. Closure. He needs me to give him a reason to let me go. If that’s what he came for, I’ll give it to him. Maybe then we can both move on. Unfortunately, it’ll be separately, but at least we can move on.

Maybe in the future, if we’re ever able to mend this rift, we can do a paternity test and things will work themselves out from there. But for now, I just want his heart to stop aching.