The words come out more defensive than I intended, like I'm asking permission instead of stating a fact.
Luan's voice cuts through from behind Artan, cold and clipped in a way that makes something in my stomach drop. "It's fine. You won't be needed."
The words land like a physical blow.
You won't be needed.
Replaceable. That's what I am. Fundamentally replaceable, a role that could be filled by anyone with basic cooking skills and a willingness to play along with whatever charade they're maintaining.
Foolish for thinking otherwise. Foolish for letting myself believe, even for a moment, that I might be something more.
The resolve to keep distance that I'd spent all night building hardens into something solid and unmovable in my chest. Crystallizes into certainty.
This is the right choice. The only choice that makes sense.
"I'll go with you," Erion says immediately, pushing off the doorframe with sudden energy. "I like shopping with you—"
"No." Artan's voice cuts through, firm and final in a way that brooks no argument. "You stay. Finish the discussion with Luan about the distribution routes. I'll go with Lily."
"That's really not necessary," I say quickly, hearing the edge of desperation in my own voice and hating it. "I can go alone. I'm just running errands. Nothing complicated."
Artan is already moving toward the door, already making the decision for me, already taking control of a situation I thought I could manage myself.
I don't have the energy to fight it. To fight any of this.
18
ARTAN
We're in a baby store and I feel completely out of my element.
The space is too bright, fluorescent lighting bouncing off white walls and pale wood fixtures until everything glows with an almost clinical cheerfulness. Soft pastels everywhere I look. Mint green and powder blue and the palest yellow, colors designed to soothe and comfort, to create an atmosphere of gentle safety.
Everything is rounded edges and miniature proportions. Tiny clothes hanging on tiny hangers. Furniture scaled down to doll-house dimensions. My hands look enormous and dangerous next to the delicate displays, too rough and too used to violence to exist in the same space as receiving blankets and stuffed animals.
But Lily is glowing.
She moves through the aisles with an expression I haven't seen on her face before, genuine joy radiating from every movement. Her fingers trail over soft blankets, testing textures with careful attention. She picks up little outfits and holds them up to the light, examining tiny sleeves and impossibly small pant legs with wonder in her eyes.
Her whole face has changed from the tight control she had back at the house, the careful blankness she's been maintaining since last night. That protective shell has cracked open, revealing something tender and unguarded underneath.
This is what happiness looks like on her. Uncomplicated. Pure. Free.
I want to see it more often. Want to be the reason for it.
A saleswoman approaches, middle-aged with a friendly smile. "Can I help you find anything?"
Her gaze moves from Lily to me and back to Lily's stomach, lingering there with knowing warmth. "When are you due?"
Lily blushes immediately, deep pink flooding her cheeks and spreading down her neck. "Oh, no. I'm not pregnant. This is for my nephew or niece. My brother's baby."
The image hits me before I can stop it, vivid and unbidden and achingly clear.
Lily pregnant. Her body changing with that specific purpose, curves becoming softer and fuller, that glow she has now madepermanent by biology. Carrying my child. Coming home to her every night knowing we created something together, something that's ours in the most fundamental way possible.
I let myself imagine it for a dangerous moment. A child with her eyes and my determination. The kind of life I stopped believing in years ago.
The kind of life men like me don't get. Don't deserve.
