Page 173 of The Wright Man

"Angel, you don't have to te—"

"He has a baby. A little boy. Twenty-one months old." The words left my mouth like shards of glass. "I did the math. He got her pregnant barely a month after we lost Maleeka."

Maleek went still.

Dead still.

Then I felt it—his whole body vibrating with restrained rage.

"That motherfucker..." he hissed.

"He looked like her." My voice dropped to a whisper. "The little boy, I mean. Had her nose. Her chin. It took me back to the day I lost her. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I puked in the parking lot. I got in my car and tried to drive and... I almost didn't make it, Maleek. I almost didn't make it."

I was trying to keep it light. Trying to make it sound like it hadn't ripped me apart. But he knew me better than that. Saw right through the bravado.

He held me tighter. Like he was trying to piece me back together one armful at a time.

"You didn't deserve that," he murmured into my hair. "No one deserves that... but especially not you."

I didn't say anything.

Because deep down, I still wasn't sure if I agreed.

Tears welled in my eyes again before I could stop them.

"I kinda think I did."

Maleek stirred behind me. "Angel, you—"

"You were right," I whispered, cutting him off. "On my wedding day. You were right."

I didn't turn to look at him, couldn't. The shame was too thick in my throat.

"I hated you for it," I confessed. "I swear I hated you. But I knew even then."

The admission cracked something open in me. "I chose the wrong man," I continued, my voice barely above a breath. "I chose the illusion. Not even a good one. Because I was too scared to choose the better one. The real one. I didn't think I deserved it."

Silence stretched for a moment, then his arms tightened around me. He turned me gently, rolling me to face him.

"No," he said, eyes blazing, jaw tight. "I was wrong. I never should have left you. Not when I saw it. Not when I saw you losing yourself."

My smile was sad. Bitter. "So we were both wrong."

"And we were both right," he said, his gaze unrelenting. "We both chose wrong..."

I nodded slowly. "And we both paid for it."

He exhaled, like my words were both a release and a burden. "And I almost lost the only woman I've ever loved."

That silenced me. My breath hitched. His voice was low but certain, reverent like a prayer.

The words settled between us like something sacred.

He said it like a truth he could no longer carry alone. Like a sinner at the altar, asking for grace. Like a man confessing to the only person who could absolve him.

And it cracked something else wide open.

"Kiss me again." I whispered.