I straightened slowly. “Does she know you’re coming?”
Marcus’s eyebrows lifted slightly, like he was surprised the furniture could talk. “I don’t see how that’s your business.”
“You left her months ago. Blocked her number. Got engaged to someone else.” I kept my voice even. “Seems like showing up unannounced might not be the best move.”
Something flickered in Marcus’s expression. Irritation, maybe. The look of a man who wasn’t used to obstacles.
“I appreciate your concern for Grace.” His tone made it clear he didn’t. “But this is between her and me.”
Something hot rose in my chest, sharp and unfamiliar. I knew what protectiveness felt like. This was different.
Grace appeared in the doorway. Seven months pregnant now. There was no hiding it. The loose dresses she wore couldn’t disguise the round curve of her belly, the way her hand went automatically to rest there. Protective. Unconscious.
She saw Marcus and went still.
I watched his face cycle through emotions. Surprise first—genuine and unguarded. His eyes went from her belly to me, standing on the porch with sawdust on my hands, and something hardened in his expression.
“I see.” His voice was cold. “You moved on fast.”
Grace laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. “You proposed to another woman three weeks after you left me, Marcus. You don’t get to talk about moving on fast.”
“That’s—”
“It’s yours.” The words cut through whatever excuse he was building. “Seven months. Do the math.”
I watched him do exactly that. Watched the hardness in his face shift to shock, then calculation—the gears turning behind his eyes. And then, worst of all, something that looked like possessiveness. Like he was seeing something that belonged to him.
“Mine?” He looked at her belly like he was seeing it for the first time. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.” Her voice was steady. “You blocked my number. Changed your email. I spent three days trying to reach you, and you’d erased me so completely I couldn’t even tell you that you were going to be a father.”
Something flickered across Marcus’s face. Guilt, maybe. Or the performance of guilt.
“I changed my contact information after the breakup,” he said. “Clean slate. I didn’t know you were trying to reach me. If I had?—”
“You proposed to Emma three weeks after you left me.”
Marcus’s mask slipped, just for a second. Then it slid back into place: the reasonable man, the devoted almost-father, the one who always had an explanation.
“Emma and I…” He paused. Ran a hand through his hair. “It didn’t work out. I made a mistake, Grace. I was confused, and I hurt you, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
I stayed very still on the porch. My hands ached from gripping the railing.
“The engagement ended two weeks ago,” Marcus continued. “I’ve had time to think. About us. About what I threw away.” Hiseyes dropped to her belly. “And now this. Grace, this changes everything. We need to talk. About the baby. About us.”
Grace didn’t move. Didn’t invite him in—but didn’t send him away either.
“There is no us,” she said quietly. “You made sure of that.”
“There could be.” Marcus took a step closer. His voice softened into something that sounded almost sincere. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. But this is my child too. Our child. Don’t I at least get the chance to be part of their life?”
I watched Grace’s face. Watched the war happening behind her eyes. The part of her that remembered eleven years of history, of love, of the future they’d planned. The part of her that had spent months learning to live without him.
“You can stay,” she said finally. “We can talk. But I’m not promising anything.”
Marcus nodded—humble now, or acting humble.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
