I don’t remember the elevator ride or the blur of people I pass. It’s just my own footsteps and the sound of him saying married over and over again until the word stops sounding like love and becomes more of a threat.
By the time I reach my office, the decision feels inevitable. I can’t let myself be swept away by his impulsive promises, not when I’ve seen what forever turns into once the shine wears off.
It’s not Oliver I don’t trust.
It’s myself.
I’ve spent my whole life running away from heartbreak, from disappointment, from anything that felt too real.
But this time, it doesn’t feel like escape.
It feels more like loss.
44
Oliver
The slam of the door as she slips inside the building reverberates through the parking garage, the sound bouncing off concrete and steel.
Long after she’s gone, I’m still standing here, stunned.
For what feels like an eternity, I can’t move. It’s like the oxygen has been sucked out of the garage along with her. My body knows before my brain catches up that something just broke, and I have no idea how to fix it.
One second, Rina was sitting beside me, my hand wrapped tight around hers, the future with our baby stretched out in front of us like something solid and real. Something we could build upon. And the next, she was walking away, her retreat feeling a hell of a lot like rejection.
I stay rooted by the Porsche, staring where she disappeared through the glass doors of the arena. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms, because every piece of me is screaming to chase and catch her, to hold her until she believes and understands I’m telling her the truth.
The image of her expression slams into me. The raw, unfiltered panic. The way her eyes pleaded for space.
As if she thought I was proposing because the baby forced my hand.
As if it were out of obligation and not a choice.
What did I do wrong?
I was offering her everything.
My heart.
My future.
Forever.
Not because of the baby.
Or because I had to.
But because I’d already chosen her.
Instead, she’d looked at me like I’d backed her into a corner.
I drag both hands through my hair, fingers locking against my skull, and breathe deeply. My pulse thunders in my ears, a relentless pounding that matches the memory still rattling in my chest. That fast, steady sound that gutted me in the best way possible.
Our baby’s heartbeat.
It’s branded into me now, etched into my DNA.
I’ll never be the same again.
