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Before I can muster a response, my father’s voice rings out, colder and harsher than I’ve ever heard. "You leave me no choice, Izzie. I can't endorse such disgrace under my roof – a tryst with a man much older, let alone my best friend!" His eyes bore into mine, his disappointment echoing in the room louder than his words. It’s as if a brutal winter has swept through the room, chilling any residual warmth there might've been.
He turns to the still reeling Zak and points towards the door with a shaking hand. "Both of you, out of my house, this instance!" His voice is a whip, cracking the peace with its outraged venom.
Each word falls over me like a cold, ruthless wave, scraping away the last traces of innocence, drowning what is left of my dignity in this chaotic mess. I scarcely recognize the tremor in my hands as I reach down for my luggage. Zak seems to recover, his eyes lock with mine briefly, searching for counsel my shocked state is incapable of delivering.
The house that was never really my home is now closed off to me. I am now an entirely unwelcome spare part.
Zak
The drive back to my penthouse apartment is eerily quiet, only the occasional whisper of tires against the smooth city streets slicing through the silence. Izzie sits huddled in her seat, staring blankly out of the frosted window, a ghostly image of the vibrant, vivacious woman I had fallen for.
Finally parked in the desolate underground garage, I help her out, her movements slow and mechanical, as if she were piloting a body not her own. Her face is a silent canvas of heartache, the once sparkling summer blue eyes dull, mirroring a storm she had yet to find a way out of.
As we navigate our way to the apartment, the grandeur of my penthouse draped in ambient lighting does nothing to lighten the looming gloom. It offers a striking contrast to the woman trembling in my arms. I help her into the living room, the plush carpet and soft cushions, reminders of a privileged life I had carved for myself, suddenly seeming insignificant in the face of Izzie's pain.
Her muffled sobs fill the room, the dam of her repressed emotions finally breached. Seeing her helpless, tormented, something within me stirs. I move to sit beside her on the couch, instinctively wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders.
I pull her closer, offering what crumbs of comfort I could. She melts into my embrace, burying her face into my chest, her tears wetting my shirt. The warm, comforting touch is a sharp contrast to the heart-wrenching sobbing and the icy reality outside these walls.
I run my fingers through her hair, each stroke an attempt to calm her, to reassure her she is not alone. I whisper soft reassurances into her hair, each word a testament of my will to support her, to carry this burden with her, our complicated status notwithstanding.
As her cries soften into sniffles, the tempest stirring in her starts calming, her gasping breaths turning rhythmic. She lies there, exhausted, her chest rising and falling in sync with each shallow breath, her feisty spirit momentarily quelled by the storm of emotions raging within.
As the stormy tide of the night ebbs, leaving us stranded on the shores of devastation, I can't help marvel at her strength. Here she is, crumbled yet unbroken, leaning on me while carrying a burden few could dream of.
Her eyes flutter closed after what feels like an eternity, her tear-stained face finally at rest. As I watch this brave woman, using me as an anchor where waves of despair threaten to drown her, I can’t deny the lurch in my heart, the whispering conscience reminding me of the deep connection between us - a connection I’d spent an entire summer denying.
We are going to be parents. To triplets, to be exact. The idea is overwhelming, a foreign concept I have never considered seriously. I don’t know how to think, or feel, or cope with this news.
I wish Izzie had shared this monumental revelation with me sooner. We've had countless quiet moments together, on drives to the old house we're renovating.
Her silence is understandable, I realize softly as I stroke her hair, given the difficult conversation we had last night. Reflecting on it, I recognize my attempt to salvage my friendship with Dave led me to hurt Izzie. I just hope I haven’t hurt her beyond repair, those things I said, they were lies. I was doing what I thought was right for once. But, look at the mess that has got us in.
It seems like now Izzie and I are tied together, while my relationship with Dave is certainly not doing well. I touch my tender face. His physical lashing out was expected, but his dismissal of his own daughter is something else completely. Mel’s words male my blood boil.
Nevertheless, I know Dave well, I figure he'd come around and I plan a visit to smooth things over.
For a while, we embrace the silence, Izzie nestled in my arms and my mind wrestling with our new reality.
When she finally stirs, her altered breathing pattern breaks the peaceful bubble we are in. Neither of us want to disturb these quiet moments amidst our chaos.
Finally, Izzie gets up and scans the room, blinking a few times to wake her eyes up. She looks exhausted.
“I can’t believe we’ve been working in an old house and this is what you come home to.” She's surprised and a little sarcastic. I smirk, pleased to be seeing a glimpse of my Izzie. Her sly remarks, a glimpse of the strong and witty Izzie I was falling more deeply in love with. I chuckle deeply.
“I’ll have you know that old house is looking pretty great now. Thanks to the work of one handsome man and his sidekick.”
She giggles then, and seeing her face transform into a smile makes my heart soar. I would do anything to keep her smiling.
She props herself on an elbow to get a better look at me. Even now I am taken aback by her beauty every time I see her. Her blonde hair falls effortlessly around her face and her big blue eyes look up at me. “Why do you care about that place so much?”
“I-“ I start.
She holds her hand up, interrupting me. “And don’t lie to me, I know there’s some deep reason.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. Now honesty seems the plausible path to take. She is right, I was about to lie to her — a quick excuse about the house being an enjoyable summer project. Appreciating her intuition, I admit she was right and prepare myself to divulge some deeper truths, the tales etched in the walls of the old house.
"Alright, let's talk," I begin, hardly recognizing the vulnerability in my own voice. Fear threatens to stifle my honesty, but the thought of Izzie returning to her reticent shell quickens my resolve. It seems she is more herself now, and I want my Izzie to stay. Also, a part of me craves for her to see me: the unfiltered, unfeigned version of myself.
