Page 147 of What Goes Around

“No,” I said immediately. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I’m not ready to open that door. And it wouldn’t be fair to pretend otherwise.”

He searched my face, like he was hoping I’d soften. Like he was waiting for me to change my mind if he just stood there long enough.

“I will wait,” he said.

I shook my head gently. “You shouldn’t.”

His shoulders slumped, hands sliding into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere past me.

“I’m sorry,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded once, jaw clenched.

I walked away before I could change my mind. Before my body could betray me. I could feel his eyes on my back the entire time.

Back at the hotel, I sent Payton a message.

I’m so sorry for leaving early. I wasn’t feeling well. Tonight was perfect. You were perfect.

Then I went into the bathroom.

I turned the shower to the coldest setting and sank down onto the tile, pulling my knees to my chest as the water crashed over me. The shock stole my breath, but I welcomed it. It grounded me in my body when my thoughts threatened to tear me apart.

Memories pressed in. Ones I worked hard to keep buried. My past. The years I didn’t talk about. And the child I avoided thinking about, because thinking about him hurt too much.

Tonight, the thoughts refused to stay away.

My chest ached. My throat closed. My nose burned as tears spilled freely, mixing with the icy water until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Today, I had rejected Nick.

And with that choice, I had also let go of the possibility that my child would ever come back

to me in this life.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and let myself cry, silently wishing that wherever he ended up, it would be somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he would be loved the way he deserved.

Even if it wasn’t with me.

Chapter 47: The Other Woman Arrives

Two weeks later, it was Brandon’s forty-sixth birthday.

In my past life I had not been invited; I had been in hiding, treated like a persona non grata. The drama surrounding me made my presence inconvenient.

This time was different.

The dinner was held in a private room at an upscale restaurant. The lighting was dim, the tables dressed in linen, the atmosphere carefully curated. The guest list was small enough to be called intimate, around ten people in total.

Family. Department heads. A few selectively chosen colleagues.

Marissa had organized every detail. She coordinated the menu, approved the wine list, confirmed the seating twice. She played the role flawlessly, the devoted wife and composed hostess.

As the guests began moving toward the table, Marissa paused, her eyes narrowing at the arrangement.

“Why is there an extra place setting?” she said, irritation already sharpening her voice. “I told them ten.”

She turned toward the waiter, ready to complain, when the door opened.