"Get out." The words scrape past my throat before he's even reached the door. "I don't want to talk to you."
He stops on the sidewalk, hands visible, posture careful. Like he's approaching something wounded that might bolt.
"I know. But I need you to hear me out."
"Hear what?" I yank the door open because having glass between us feels cowardly. Maeve's strapped to my chest in the carrier, has been all day because she screams when I put her down. She's been inconsolable since he stopped coming around. "That you're married? That you have a baby on the way? Thatyou've been lying to me for weeks while I let you back into my life like an idiot?"
"I haven't lied to you." His voice is steady, measured. The same tone he used to use when he was trying not to spook me. "Not once. But I need to explain?—"
"You clearly moved on." I'm backing into the store now, one hand on Maeve's back where she's starting to fuss. She recognizes his voice. Even through my anger and her exhaustion, she knows he's there. "You have a family. So leave us alone."
I move to close the door but he catches it, steps inside before I can shut him out.
"Zola. Please."
Maeve's fussing escalates into proper crying—those desperate, hiccupping sobs that mean she's been holding it together by a thread and just ran out of strength. She's been doing this all week. Crying for him. Refusing to sleep unless I'm holding her.
I'm bouncing her automatically, murmuring reassurances that aren't working, when Declan moves closer.
"Can I?—"
"No." But Maeve's wails are getting louder, more frantic. People outside are starting to look. And my arms are shaking from holding her all day, my back screaming from the constant weight. "You don't get to just?—"
He's already reaching for her, fingers working the carrier straps with practiced ease. Before I can stop him, he's lifting Maeve out and tucking her against his chest in one fluid motion.
She stops crying immediately.
Just—stops. Goes from inconsolable to that shuddering quiet of a child who's cried themselves out and finally found comfort. Her little fists curl into his shirt, her face pressed to his shoulder, body going boneless with relief.
The sight breaks something in my chest.
"Love, I need you to know it could never be anyone else." His voice is low, rough, meant only for me even though he's looking at Maeve. "I did get married. Six months ago. My uncle was dying and he asked me to, so I did because in eight years, I never wanted anyone else anyway. I thought to myself, what did it matter?
"But I never touched her." He looks up now, those dark green eyes hitting me with an intensity that steals my breath. "Not once. Not even at the wedding. We had separate rooms, separate lives. The marriage was just a piece of paper that made my uncle happy in his final months."
Maeve makes a small sound against his shoulder. Not distress—contentment. Like she's finally where she's supposed to be after days of being lost.
"That baby isn't mine." Declan shifts Maeve slightly, settling her weight more securely. "It's Dorian Vale's. She's been with him since before the wedding. The pregnancy is just proof of her affair."
"How—" My voice cracks. "How am I supposed to believe that?"
"Because I never lied to you." Each word is deliberate, careful. "Everything I told you was true. The marriage wasn't real. I made it clear to Bianca from day one that I didn't want her, that we'd never have anything real. She accepted that arrangement because it came with money and status."
He shifts his weight, one hand coming up to support Maeve's head where it's tucked under his chin.
"I'm getting an annulment. It's already in process." He reaches into his jacket with his free hand—the motion slow, telegraphed so I don't startle—and pulls out folded papers. "This is the agreement. Signed by both of us. She's moved out. She's with Vale now where she belongs."
I take the papers with numb fingers. Unfold them. The legal language swims in front of my eyes but certain phrases jump out:irreconcilable differences,marriage never consummated,both parties agree to dissolution.
Both signatures at the bottom. Bianca's looping and decorative. Declan's stark and precise.
"She came here." My throat is so tight it hurts to speak. "She told me she was pregnant with your baby. That you were expecting together."
"She was trying to scare you off." His jaw tightens. "Because she knew I'd never touched her and that baby was going to expose her affair. She was desperate."
Maeve's breathing has evened out. She's asleep against his chest, exhausted from days of crying for him. One tiny fist still clutches his shirt.
"I can take you to the house I had with Bianca." He says it quietly, like he's offering something. "Let you see it's empty. Never was 'our' house, really. Just a place I existed in while trying not to feel anything. But I'll show you if you need to see it."
