The days blur together, the next month dragging by with the same dull pull in my chest. I go to work, come home, go through the motions—but the thoughts never leave. No matter how many customers I smile at, no matter how many times I tell myself to stay busy, the same questions circle back into my mind like vultures.
A part of me wants to confront her, to look her dead in the eye and hear the truth from her mouth. Because if this babyishis, then it’s not just his life being torn open—it’s mine too, if I choose to stay with him. She and that child will always be here. A permanent shadow. Something I could never outrun.
But I can barely look at Levy without my lungs stalling—so how the hell am I supposed to face her? How am Isupposed to walk straight into something I don’t even know if I want to be apart of?
So I push the idea away, even though it lingers at the edge of everything—whispering that I’ll probably have to face it one day. Just… not today.
Right now, I can barely handle me.
My mind is a mess, my heart feels split in two, and I don’t even know what I want anymore. Before I can think about her—or the baby, or the future, or any future at all—I have to figure out if I even want one with him.
And that’s the part that terrifies me most—because after almost two months, I still don’t know the answer.
? ? ?
I recently picked up a job at the mall, doing makeup on women who mostly just wants a free glam session. It isn't my dream job, and most of the customers are dull—their stories looping like static. But I do love doing makeup. So, I figured it would be the easiest job for me to do until I figure out how to make more money.The associates are older women in their fifties, women who didn’t really get the art of makeup—but I guess it paid the bills. There’s a quiet joy in transforming a face, showing a girl a new version of herself with nothing more than brushes and powders. It’s pure art.
When I get home from work, the house feels calm—the kind of quiet I’ve been craving all day. I step into the living room to find Arina curled up on the couch, her favorite sitcom flickering across the TV. She glances up at me with a knowing smile, almost mischievous.
I narrow my eyes, arching a brow at her. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says lightly, still smiling. “Just good to see you.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I move past her. “Good to see you too.” My eyes linger on her for a beat, suspicious, but I let it go as I head down the hall. Arina’s been saying for weeks she’s tired of watching us bicker like an old married couple, and that we just need to sit down and actually talk. And maybe she’s right. But talking can’t change the fact that he practically has a whole other family now.
It feels like he’s just waiting for the right moment to go be with her. I can’t even think about it without going down that negative spiral—but fuck, how else am I supposed to see it?
The second I open my bedroom door, I understand the uneasy grin Arina tried to hide horribly. The room doesn’t look like ours anymore—it looks like something out of a romance movie. Red and pink hearts taped across the walls, strings of fairy lights draped from corner to corner, casting a soft, red glow that makes everything shimmer. Fresh roses fill the air with sweetness, heavy and intoxicating.
It’s November, but it feels like Valentine’s Day exploded in here. Arina had to have seen him setting this up. And she just sat around, waiting for me to walk right into it.
Gift bags are stacked neatly on the bed—small and big boxes wrapped in shiny pink and red paper, ribbons tied with obvious care. Scattered among them are folded love notes, each one marked with my name in his handwriting. I can see the effort in every corner, every detail.
For a moment, I just stand there, heart tugging in two directions—between the walls I’ve built these last months and the undeniable weight of how hard I can see him trying. I just stand there, letting myself feel the glow, the scent, the care I didn’t expect. It feels like walking into someone else’sfantasy—one where love fixes everything, where hurt never existed.
But for us, it’s complicated.
The sight pulls at something deep inside my chest, stirring a hurt I wasn’t ready to touch. My throat tightens, my eyes blur. Part of me wants to fall into it, to let his thoughtfulness drown out everything else. While another part of me refuses, reminding myself why this room looks like this in the first place.
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I wipe it away quickly and step inside, closing the door softly behind me.
When I turn around, Levy’s standing behind the door like he’s been waiting for the exact second I closed the door. A massive bouquet of red roses fills his arms, so big I can barely see his face behind it. Only his jeans and crisp Jordans peeking out beneath the blooms. The roses tilt slightly, bowing under their own weight, and for a second, all I can do is stare, caught between shock, sadness, and something I don’t even want to name.
A tear escapes anyway, sliding hot down my cheek. I swipe it away, but my breath betrays me. He shifts forward, lowering the bouquet just enough for me to see his face. His eyes are glossy, rimmed with exhaustion, but there’s something raw there—something that makes my lungs strain for air.
“Jainey…” His voice unsteady, like he’s afraid the moment might break if he speaks too loud. “I know I’ve ruined everything. I know I broke your trust. I don’t even deserve to be standing here, but I can’t let another day go by without showing you how much you mean to me.”
The roses tremble in his hands as he swallows hard, his words spilling faster. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’ve given me more love than I everthought possible, and I threw it back in your face. I hate myself for it—every fucking day. If I could take it all back—I would in a second.”
My body reacts before my brain can catch up, my fingers twitch at my sides, yearning to reach for him even when my mind screamsdon’t.
“I’m not asking you to forget,” he continues, voice breaking. “I’m not asking you to pretend it never happened. But I am asking you to see me now—right here—trying with everything I have left. Jaine, I don’t want her. I’ll be a father and I’ll step up because I have to, but I wantyou.Even if it kills me that I might lose you in the process, I need you to know—you’re the only one I love.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, my tears quiet but still wet on my cheeks. I don’t have a response—no words that feel right, no strength to argue or fully forgive. So I stay silent, staring at my hands clasped in my lap, heart guarded.
He steps closer, placing the bouquet gently on my vanity. He doesn’t say anything this time. He just stands there, close enough for me to feel his warmth. And for one dangerous, breathless second, I forget everything that broke us.
He lowers himself onto his knees, and my breath hitches. The weight of his eyes lifts to meet mine, searching. His hands reach for my ankle—careful, almost reverent—as he gently slips one shoe off, then the other. One by one, he peels my socks away, his fingers warm against my skin. Then he takes my foot gently into his hands, his thumbs pressing slow circles into the arch, the pressure firm, soothing.
