So, I stormed out of her cottage.
I drove aimlessly for hours, barely aware of where I was going, until the familiar shape of my own house appeared in front of me. I drank until everything blurred, until anger dulled into exhaustion and regret, and sleep finally dragged me under. Even then, it was restless and shallow, filled with fragments of her face, her voice, and truths I had never meant to hear this way.
When I woke up the next morning, a pounding headache greeted me, so severe that not even the strongest Tylenol could dull it. My body felt heavy, my mouth dry, and my chest tight with a regret that refused to loosen its grip. My mind was fogged, struggling to separate memory from reality. I was a mess. Every plan I had so carefully crafted to bring Bailey back into my life had collapsed in a single night, reduced to nothing but broken glass and empty promises.
For eight years, I had lived with a lie.
I had been told Bailey cheated on me. That the child she carried belonged to my cousin. Then came the rumors, whisperedconfirmations that she had terminated the pregnancy. When I later learned the truth, that she had never cheated at all, I accepted the only explanation that made sense at the time. The baby had been mine, and she had chosen to end the pregnancy.
And I blamed myself.
I believed my anger, my accusations, and my rejection had driven her to that decision. I carried that guilt for years, convinced that I had played a role in losing our child. It was the reason I planned her return so carefully, the reason I sought forgiveness, the reason I was willing to beg if that was what it took.
But yesterday destroyed everything I thought I knew.
Bailey never had an abortion.
She carried our baby to term. She gave birth to our son. And she raised him alone, without my knowledge, without my presence, without a single word reaching me.
The truth crashed into me with suffocating force. All those years of grief, all that self blame, all the hope I had painfully rebuilt, it had never been the full story. I had not just lost Bailey. I had lost eight years of my son’s life.
A son who existed in the world while I mourned him as dead.
And the worst part was that I no longer knew who to hate. Bailey. The lies that destroyed us. Or myself, for believing them so easily and never questioning the truth harder.
The front door opened quietly, pulling me from my thoughts. My lawyer walked into the living room, documents tucked under his arm. His gaze swept over the piles of broken glass scatteredacross the floor, then lingered on my disheveled state. He shook his head but said nothing at first.
“This is just a draft,” he said finally, setting the papers on the table. “I managed to put it together on short notice.” He hesitated before meeting my eyes. “Are you sure you want to proceed with the custody plan, Ashton? You barely know the child. You have never even met him.”
“It is all her fault, Liam,” I snapped. “Hiding my own son for years. Who does that?”
“I understand you are in shock,” he said calmly. “But Ashton, just last year you were determined to clear her name. You planned everything for months. Knowing the history between the two of you and how she was wrongly accused, I am sure that fear is what drove her to hide him.”
“I do not care about her reasons,” I said flatly. “What she did is unforgivable. And I cannot imagine a future where I never know my son because she chose to disappear.”
“As your lawyer, I will follow whatever instructions you give me,” he replied evenly. “But as your friend, I would advise you to clear your conscience first. Talk to her. Then decide your next move.”
He paused, placing a firm, reassuring hand on my shoulder before turning and walking away.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving me alone with the silence and a choice I could no longer avoid.
Chapter 20
BAILEY
When I stepped into the coffeehouse, oversized black sunglasses hid my swollen eyes. Shanna stood at the counter. The moment she saw me, her expression softened. She did not ask questions. Instead, she came around the counter and pulled me into a hug.
She simply held me there.
The kindness almost broke me. We barely knew each other, yet she offered comfort without judgment. She must have heard about me almost spending the night in jail.
She kept bringing desserts to my table. A muffin. A slice of cake. Then apple pie. She said I needed the energy, but she ended up eating most of them herself while listening to my story. I talked. She listened. The relief was overwhelming.
Since Sissy was busy taking my son to visit her parents, I decided not to burden her. For now, Shanna was enough. She reacted only with soft murmurs, wide eyes, and the occasional shake of her head. For the first time in days, I felt lighter.
“She is not a good friend,” Shanna said quietly after I finished telling her about Lynda. “Friends do not betray each other like that. Taking her best friend’s boyfriend is pure selfishness.”
“Well… Ashton and I were already broken up,” I replied weakly.
