Wrong. Like I’m a bad guess. Like our baby is a mistake on a page he can cross out.
My throat burns. I nod once because nodding is easier than screaming. I slide out of bed and dress with my hands shaking so hard I can barely get my sandals on. My keys sit on the table. I snatch them up, more for something to hold than because I’m leaving. I don’t even know where I would go.
I turn back and he’s watching me like he already doesn’t deserve to look.
“Say it,” I demand, voice rising. “Say whatever the hell this is. Because you don’t get to just… to just drop this on me and stare at the ocean like it’s the one breaking my heart.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t fight for me. He just stands there with that wounded expression like he’s the victim.
And something in me detonates.
“Are you kidding me?” I choke out. “You come in here last night bleeding, you let me patch you up, you let me kiss you like I can fix it, and then you wake up and decide you’re done?”
His jaw tightens. Still no explanation. Still no truth.
My eyes sting. I blink hard, furious at myself for even threatening to cry in front of him. “When you leave,” I hiss, and I can hear myself going sharp and vicious like a blade, “don’t come back.”
He flinches again. Good.
“Don’t you dare come back, Matteo.”
He takes a step toward me and for one stupid second, my body leans into him, instinctive, desperate, and traitorous.
Then he does the thing that makes me want to burn the whole island down. He kisses the top of my head. It’s a soft, gentle kiss. A goodbye kiss.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I don’t shove him because I’m afraid if I touch him, I’ll beg. And I willnotbeg.
He brushes past me, and I smell him, the familiar mix of sun and salt and coffee. It makes me sick.
I spin toward him unable to control myself. “That’s it?” My voice breaks. “That’s all you have? I can’t? I’m sorry? After everything you said?”
He pauses at the door, but he doesn’t turn around.
He doesn’t look at my stomach.
“I’m doing what I have to.”
And then he leaves. The click of the door is the loudest sound I’ve ever heard. For a moment, I just stand there, keys clenched in my fist so hard the metal bites into my skin.
My mind races, trying to make sense of it. Trying to find the mistake, the trigger, the moment I missed.
Was it the baby?
Was it me?
It doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, he still chose to walk out on me. Onus.
The burner vibrates like a hornet in the hollow of the couch, drawing me from the dark thoughts of the past. I let it buzz. Then buzz again and again. Da’s number flashes across the cracked screen, each time sending more guilt lancing through my chest. But I don’t answer.
Because I already know what he’s going to say.
And the memories are too raw, too real right now. I heave in a breath and shove them down. Hard.
Another missed call.
I know exactly why Da is calling. He’ll ask why I’m taking my time. He will tell me I’ve humiliated him. He’ll tell me what everyone else in the business will tell me if I don’t move fast enough: that hesitation is a luxury I can’t afford. That if I don’t finish it, someone else will finish it for me. He’ll name Donal as my replacement with a clipped finality that makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up.
I pace the tiny living room like an animal on a short chain, boots scuffing the floor. The cheap curtains do nothing to mute the city, a taxi horn, somewhere distant, a dog barking. The whole city is loud and alive, and I am an intruder in my own silence. I drop down on the couch to force myself to stop the incessant circling, but my hands fidget with the edge of the armrest instead. My thumb rubs the outline of the locket against my chest without thinking.
