It was about my wife—her body, her safety, and the child she was carrying, completely unaware of the risk I had been reckless enough to introduce.
I told the board I needed to extend the project for another month. They thought it was strategy, deadlines, numbers. I let them believe that. But the truth was simpler. I needed time. I wasn’t going back to Michigan until I knew I wasn’t bringing consequences home with me.
I opened the email.
All results: Negative.
Relief came first—fast, sharp, almost violent in how suddenly my lungs seemed to remember how to breathe.
Then came guilt.
The clinic returned to me without warning. The other side of the city—a place I should never have had a reason to be in. The sterile smell of disinfectant. Plastic chairs bolted to the floor. The quiet weight of being the only man in the waiting area.
Women sat on either side of me. Some dressed carefully. Some looked exhausted. Some looked like they had done this before and hated that fact more than anything.
Different lives. Same consequences.
I remembered the looks. Not open judgment—just quick glances that lingered half a second too long.
A man in his thirties. Alone. Healthy on paper. Reckless in reality.
I locked the phone and set it face down on my tablet.
Outside, the site kept moving. Concrete curing. Steel rising. Deadlines advancing without concern for my personal reckoning. I stood, gathered my things, and walked back into the noise like nothing had happened.
But something had.
Boston stayed cold. The project stayed demanding. And I stayed exactly where I needed to be—long enough to remember who I never wanted to be again.
CHAPTER 6
Elena
After we finished dinner, we didn’t leave the restaurant right away. We just sat there in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
“About the money—” I said quietly.
Adrian immediately sat up straighter, as if my voice pulled him back into the moment.
I took a slow breath before continuing. “The money you lent her. Was it from your personal savings?”
He hesitated—just long enough for me to catch the flicker of guilt—before nodding.
“Unbelievable.” A short, disbelieving laugh escaped me. “Seems like you planned it very well, huh?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t plan anything. She came to me for help with her debt, saying she didn’t have a stable job.”
He swallowed, glancing away. “She said she was behind on her rent, that she could get evicted any day, and that she was still paying legal fees for the custody case. She said she just needed a few months to get back on her feet.”
I let out a low, mocking laugh. “Playing superhero, huh? So what now? Are you planning to help everyone who’s struggling like she is?”
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.
I leaned back, swallowing the ache in my chest as best I could. The truth was, this conversation hurt more than anything. But I needed answers. I needed to hear him say it.
“It’s not everyone. It’s her, right?” My voice cracked, edged with bitterness. “That’s why she gets your money. Your attention. Your time. Even your body.”
“Elena—”
