“I know.”
I walked past them. Eli was with the driver in the car. I didn’t look back.
Cal sent me home with the driver. Said he had to take Syd to band practice. Upcoming concert prep. I didn’t argue.
Evening came slow.
I sat in the guest room alone. Window open. Ocean breeze cool on my skin. Hand on my belly. Thinking.
I used to dream of being a social worker. Helping kids like me, foster kids, orphans, ones who bounced from house to house with no one to claim them. I wanted to be the person who showed up. Who listened. Who fought for them.
I never finished high school. Dropped out at seventeen when Eli’s parents left him with me. No diploma. No GED. No college.
But maybe now…
Cal was rich. He could help. Pay for classes. Tutoring. Childcare. I could swallow my pride. Ask.
If he said no?
I had savings. Not much. Enough to start small. A bakery maybe. Somewhere quiet. Oregon. I always wanted Oregon, green, rainy, far from neon lights and paparazzi. Me, Eli, the baby. A little shop with cakes and bread. Fresh every morning. No cameras. No Syd.
Cal could pay child support after the divorce. We’d be fine.
I was still staring at the dark ocean when the door opened quietly.
I startled. Turned.
Cal.
He stepped inside. Closed the door soft. Didn’t turn on the light.
He looked disheveled—hair messed, shirt wrinkled, eyes tired. No alcohol smell. Just… him.
Eli was in the next room. His own space now. Door shut.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Just walked to the bed. Sat on the edge. Head down.
I waited.
“My head’s killing me,” he said finally. Quiet. “I don’t have anyone to go to.”
I crossed my arms. “Syd’s busy?”
“Probably with Jake. Fucking or blowing him. I don’t know.”
I sighed. “So I’m the second choice.”
He looked up. Eyes raw. “Please. Let me stay. Your scent… it calms me.”
I stared at him. He’d never sounded like this. Vulnerable. Small.
I should’ve thrown him out.
I didn’t.
“Fine,” I said. “But don’t touch me.”
