“But if that’s you,” he points to Sienna on the picture, “who’s this little girl holding my hand?”
She giggles. “That’s my little sister, silly.” Drake looks up at me with a raised brow, but I’m even more confused.
“You don’t have a sister, bug.”
“Not yet, Daddy, but now you have a girlfriend, maybe I could get one for Christmas. I always wanted a brother and sister.” She traces her finger along the painting to the woman holding a baby. “That’s Miss Sparks with my baby brother, see.”
My heart drops to my stomach like a block of ice. It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the classroom.
Drake looks up at me with an even dopier grin on his face. “A baby sister and a baby brother, huh?” His grin widens. “Looks like I have my work cut out.”
My throat closes up. I scratch my neck, struggling to breathe. I should’ve known this was all too good to be true. He’s still young. Of course, he wants to grow his family. And Sienna, this beautiful little girl, deserves to have a sister and brother. Things I’m unable to give. Words clog at the back of my throat like grit.
Drake bends and kisses the top of Sienna’s head before taking the two steps towards me with a huge grin on his face, but it falters as he takes in my features. “Em, what’s wrong?” His calloused fingers sweep my cheek. “You’ve gone pale. Are you unwell?”
“Just a little dizzy.” I gaze into his eyes with unshed tears swelling behind mine.
“Hey bug, can you get Miss Sparks a glass of water?” Drake wraps his arms around me and holds me against him.
“Pumpkin.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “What’s wrong?” His brow pinches as he studies my face.
I can’t speak. If I do, he’ll be able to tell the heartache in my voice as my heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s not that I don’t want everything in that picture. I do. But I made peace with my fate years ago when I had a hysterectomy.
Sienna passes me a glass of water, and I take a sip. “Are you all right, Miss Sparks?”
I wave a hand as if batting away her question with a fake smile, not wanting her to worry. “Long day, that’s all.”
I’m far from all right. I’ll never be all right. I’m notwhole. I’ll never be whole, and I’ll never be able to fulfil the family dream he and his daughter have.
Drake lifts a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. “Maybe I should cook dinner tonight?” His brow pinches, his face pained, matching my own. He senses my anguish. “Bug, get your things together.” He turns back to me. “I’m taking you home. You’re not well.”
My bottom lip quivers as I curl my hand around the fabric of his t-shirt to steady me. “Do you want more kids?” I almost choke on the words, but I force them out, needing to hear his answer, even if it shatters me.
His brow furrows, startled. “Why do you ask?”
I gaze into his eyes, hoping his daughter’s picture isn’t his dream too. “I need to know, Drake. Please tell me.” My voice is low, my heart still hoping he says what I long to hear.
He swallows, the corners of his mouth softening as if he’s picturing it. “I guess… yeah. I’d love to have a kid with you.”
It’s like that final nail in my coffin, my knees buckle beneath me, and I sag against him, unable to hold my own weight.
He steadies me instantly, his sturdy frame catching me whenever I fall. He gazes down at me, concern etched across his rugged features. I know he’d stay if I told him the truth. I can see it already—the same pity I saw in my ex’s eyes, the same promises, the same resentment waiting at the end of the road. He’d stay until he couldn’t anymore. And I can’t live through that again.
He holds me tighter. “Do I need to wrap you in cotton wool?”
A tear leaks from my eye and runs down my face. “Maybe.” I feel so fragile right now, like I’m made of glass, ready to shatter. But I need to end this now before it goesany further. Before he finds out the truth and stays with me out of pity, only to resent me down the line.
He steadies me, big hands gentle on my hips, and presses a kiss to my forehead. Sienna stands by his side with her little backpack, folding in on herself like she knows something’s wrong even if she doesn’t.
“We can talk about this tonight,” he says, his voice soft, as if he’s trying to stitch me back together.
“I can’t make it tonight, Drake.” My voice trembles, and I hate how small it sounds as another tear slips free.
“Okay. We can reschedule.”
“I can’t make it tomorrow either.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. They’re sharper than I meant them to be, and they hit him in the face like a slammed door.
His features contort, confusion turning into concern. “Em—what’s going on?”
