Page 112 of A Song for You

“Pa?” I ask, aware that my brothers are both gaping now.

My grandfather waves a hand, motioning for them to leave, but Carter stands tall. “I want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not your business,” my grandfather grits out.

Cash eyes me, but I can’t meet his gaze, my hands tremble as I wait for them to leave.

“Say it,” I whisper to my grandfather once we’re alone. “Whatever you know, just say it.”

My grandfather’s face falls. “He got Mia pregnant.”

I shake my head. “No.”

My grandfather reaches for me, but I pull back. “No! It’s a lie. He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Tears stream down my face as my heart cracks wide open.

“Sunshine, he fooled you. He fooled us all. He’s just like his father. You’re better off.” My grandfather stands resolute, but his words lack resolve.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I cry, wiping at my cheeks.

He presses his lips together and glances out the window. “Enough. You don’t want your brothers finding out you were involved with him. I’ll take them out. Cry it out and move on. He’s not worth it.” My grandfather looks back at me, his eyes swimming with devastation and his face drawn. He’s not telling me the truth. This can’t be true.

But my phone calls to Jay remain unanswered. As do my texts.

Six months later

“Honey, I’m home,” Sophie sings as she walks into the apartment carrying a paper bag filled with groceries.

As she pulls out the bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and an assortment of cheese, I can’t help but laugh. “You are so basic.”

She beams at me. Laughs and smiles are hard to come by, if I’m being honest. Her chest rises and falls as she takes a deep breath. Then she’s reaching into the bag again, her eyes downcast. She slides the magazine spread across the table without looking at me.

“What’s this?” I ask, my hand falling to my stomach subconsciously.

“Cynthia wanted to give you a heads-up before it runs. It’s going in this month’s edition.”

I press my lips together. There’s only one thing she’d want to run by me. Only one thing everyone has danced around for months. I watch out the window, refusing to look at what Sophie’s placed in front of me. “I’m sure it’s fine,” I mutter, standing to get a closer peek of the scene before me. A man and a woman walk down the street with a little girl between them, swinging her exuberantly. A couple holding hands heads in the opposite direction. As they pass, the woman looks back at the family wistfully. Three men in business suits chat animatedly, probably heading out for drinks or dinner after work. An entire world before my eyes. Paris.

“You should call him,” she says softly, closer now.

I frown. “I have called him. A hundred times. Probably more. He never picks up. What am I supposed to do, take out an ad in the paper?”

She sighs as she slides the magazine in front of me again. “He kind of did.”

When I finally look, my heart drops to my stomach. There, printed on the glossy page, is a picture of Jay with a woman on his arm. She’s looking up at him adoringly. I huff out a breath. “There’s certainly no point in telling him now, is there? I’m giving up the baby. I’ll live in Paris, and he’ll live in the US. He’ll never have to know. Clearly, he’s already moved on…” My voice cracks as I cradle my swollen stomach with one arm and point to the article with my free hand. “With her,” I mutter. “Grace Winters.”