"Yes."
"And he fired you. While you were pregnant."
"I didn't get to tell him. He wouldn't let me finish—"
"Where is he?"
The question is so calm it sends ice down my spine.
"Trevor, don't—"
"I'mnot asking as a request, Bailey. Where. Is. He?"
"It's Tuesday. He'll be at the office until seven, then probably the gym on Fifth—"
"Stay away from your phone for a few hours."
"Trevor, please don't do anything—"
But he's already hung up.
I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart hammering.
What have I done?
***
I pace Gretchen's apartment for the next four hours.
"Trevor can handle himself," Gretchen says, watching me wear a path in her carpet.
"What if he does something he regrets?"
"What if Daniel finally faces consequences?"
I check my phone obsessively. No calls. No texts. Nothing.
I imagine the confrontation. Trevor's protective rage. Daniel's cold control. Or maybe not cold anymore—maybe Trevor will break through that carefully maintained distance.
Part of me wants Daniel to hurt the way he hurt me.
Part of me hates that I still care what happens to him.
"Why do I still care?" I sink onto the couch. "After everything he did, why do I still care?"
"Because you loved him." Gretchen sits beside me. "That doesn't just disappear."
"It should."
"Maybe. But it doesn't."
My phone finally rings at 10 PM.
Trevor's name flashes across the screen.
I answer before the second ring. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." His voice is rough. Strained. "Are you?"
