The air in the cottage felt wrong the moment he stepped inside.
Heavy. Charged. As if one more word might shatter everything that had already been broken beyond repair.
“What did you just say?”
Ashton’s voice was low and unsteady, stripped of authority and certainty, like a man bracing himself for an answer he was terrified to hear.
My breath caught in my throat.
Seeing him there, standing in my doorway with two cups of coffee and a bag of breakfast clenched in his hand, struck harder than any accusation ever had. He had come back. The realization settled deep in my chest, heavy and undeniable.
Lynda scrambled to her feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Ashton, listen to me. You are misunderstanding everything. She is lying. She is trying to destroy us.”
Ashton turned to her slowly. The warmth she was used to was gone from his eyes.
“Leave, Lynda,” he said quietly. “I will deal with you later.”
Panic flashed across her face as she grabbed his arm. “Please. Do not listen to her. Do not let her manipulate you with stories. Let us just go. We can talk about this at home.”
His jaw tightened. His voice dropped into something sharp and lethal. “Take your hands off me. You have five seconds to leave before I say something I cannot take back.”
She froze. One last look crossed her face, not love but fear. Then she let go and backed away.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence crashed down between us.
Ashton moved toward me, each step slow and deliberate, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. I did not retreat. I folded my arms and planted my feet, bracing for the storm I had just unleashed.
I had never planned to say it. The secret I had buried for years had slipped out because the weight had finally become unbearable. What terrified me now was what would rise in its place.
He stopped inches from me.
“Look at you,” he snarled. “Standing there like you have won something. Yesterday you were falling apart. Today you are defiant.” His eyes burned into mine. “Now say it again. And if you lie to me, I swear I will tear the truth out myself.”
I did not flinch.
“I said,” I replied evenly, “that I never went through with the abortion.”
His breath hitched, sharp and violent.
“That I have your son.”
The words detonated between us.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. Veins stood out along his neck. For a moment, I could not tell whether he was about to explode or collapse.
“You kept my child from me,” he said hoarsely.
Rage fractured into something raw and devastating. Shock. Grief. Fury. All colliding at once.
And in that moment, I knew.
I was done being silent.
I was done hiding.
“I see it hurts,” I sneered, stepping closer. “Feeling helpless after realizing what your judgment did to me. You betrayed me. You chose to believe I could destroy us by being a cheater.”
