Iwake alone.
The realization hits before I'm fully conscious—no warmth beside me, no steady breathing, just cold sheets and morning light filtering through the curtains. I knew he'd leave. He said he had work. But some pathetic part of me hoped he'd come back after, hoped I'd wake to find him there.
Instead, there's nothing.
I drag myself out of bed, every movement heavy with exhaustion that has nothing to do with Maeve's sleep schedule. She's still sleeping, thank god, giving me a few precious minutes to pull myself together before the day starts.
The bookstore won't open itself.
By nine I've managed coffee, gotten Maeve fed and changed, and carried her carrier down to the office behind the counter. She's drowsy from her bottle, eyes drooping as I settle her in the portable crib Nia kept here for days like this.
"Sleep, baby girl," I murmur, brushing my fingers over her soft curls. "Just an hour. That's all I need."
She sighs, thumb finding her mouth, and I leave the office door cracked so I can hear if she wakes.
The morning passes slowly. A handful of customers browse the shelves—a college student looking for required reading, an older man searching for a birthday gift, a woman who spends twenty minutes in the romance section before leaving empty-handed. I ring up sales, answer questions, try not to check my phone every five minutes to see if Declan's texted.
He hasn't.
Around eleven, the door chimes. I glance up from the inventory spreadsheet I'm pretending to focus on, expecting another browser.
Instead, I see a woman.
She's beautiful in that polished, expensive way—designer clothes that fit perfectly, hair blown out smooth and shining, makeup applied with professional precision. But her smile doesn't reach her eyes, and the way she's looking at me makes my skin crawl.
"Can I help you?" I keep my voice professional, neutral.
She walks straight to the counter, heels clicking against the hardwood. Up close, I can see the calculation in her expression, the way she's assessing me like I'm a problem to be solved.
"You could leave my husband alone."
The words land like a slap. I blink, processing, trying to make sense of what she just said. "I'm sorry?"
"Declan." She says his name like it tastes bitter. "My husband. I know he's been spending time here."
The floor drops out from under me. Husband. Declan's married. Declan has a wife, and she's standing in my bookstore with a smile that's all teeth and no warmth.
"I—" My voice won't work properly. "I didn't?—"
"I can forgive it." She waves a hand, dismissive. "Men stray sometimes, especially when things get complicated at home. But now that we're expecting—" She places a manicured hand on her flat stomach, the gesture deliberate. "—I need you to back off."
Expecting.
The word echoes in my skull, drowning out everything else. She's pregnant. Declan's wife is pregnant with his child, and I'm the idiot who believed him when he said he cared, who let him back into my life, who almost?—
"I had no idea." The words come out strangled. "I didn't know he was married."
Her smile sharpens. "Well, now you do. So when he comes by—because I'm sure he will—send him home. Where he belongs."
She turns and walks out, leaving me standing behind the counter with my heart in pieces and bile rising in my throat.
I make it to the bathroom before I vomit.
Maeve wakes crying an hour later.I lift her from the crib on autopilot, my hands shaking as I prepare a bottle. She drinks hungrily, oblivious to the fact that my entire world just shattered around us.
He's married. He's been married this entire time—showing up at my bookstore, cooking in my kitchen, holding Maeve like she was his, telling me he never stopped caring. And I believed him. I let myself believe he was here because he wanted me, because we had a chance at fixing what I broke eight years ago.
But he has a wife. A pregnant wife. And I'm just—what? A distraction? A mistake? The woman stupid enough to fall for his lies?
