“He’s not exactly employed. Or didn’t he tell you?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s starting private practice. No ego soothing required.”
Amber’s mouth curves. “Oh,” she says lightly. “Is that what he told you?”
My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”
She picks up a makeup brush, twirls it idly between her fingers. “Meron let him go.”
“That’s not true,” I say.
“He violated professional boundaries,” she continues smoothly. “Dating a patient. It looked bad. The board didn’t love it.”
“That’s—” I stop. Because it could be true. Meron would absolutely leverage that, particularly if Amber told him to. “He didn’t leave voluntarily?”
Amber’s eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “Oh, sweetheart, he didn’t have a choice. How embarrassing to be the last to know.”
The room suddenly feels too small. I can’t breathe.
Faith clears her throat. “Amber, come take a better look at my eyeliner. It’s too black, isn’t it?”
Amber smirks at me before parting for Faith’s imaginary problem.
He lied.
But so did I. For months. Every phone call. Every kiss. Every time he asked gently about the boys’ father and whether he was in my life, and I said, “Not really.”
The weight of that guilt presses in on me from all sides. My hands shake.
He lost his job.
I couldn’t tell him the truth. No, scratch that. Ididn’ttell him the truth. I chose not to. And now, he’s unemployed because of me. Because of my lies.
The guilt I swallowed earlier morphs into something violent. I can’t breathe in here. “I need air,” I mutter.
“Perry—”
“I’ll be back.” I’m not even sure who I’m saying it to. Faith? Brie? Myself?
I can’t be this person anymore. Can’t keep lying to the man I love, just because he might hate me for the truth. It’s not protecting anyone—for fuck’s sake, he lost his job for the fakeversion of me. All I’m doing, all I have ever done, is fuck things up around me, and I can’t keep doing that.
I step into the hallway. That’s when I see him.
Cruising past with a tray of cocktails for the groomsmen, sleeves rolled, jaw tight, moving like nothing in the world has shifted.
I walk straight toward him. “Damian.”
He turns.
The words pour out of me. “You’re the father of my twins.”
The words hang there. Unfiltered. Irreversible.
He blinks. Just blinks. His hoarse voice scratches out, “I…I have to get these drinks to the groomsmen.” Then he walks away.
The hallway suddenly feels like it’s tilting. Not metaphorically. Actually tilting. Like the ground is unstable, and I’m the only one who can feel it shifting beneath my feet.
Damian doesn’t look back. He just keeps walking. Straight spine. Controlled steps. Tray steady in his hands like nothing seismic just tore through his life. He rounds the corner, and he’s gone.
