Page 63 of His Orders

But my hands are shaking now.

Not because of fear, but her. Because she’s looking at me like she wants to say something that will fix it, something that will erase what was just said. I watch her mouth part, then close, like the words are there and yet too heavy to lift. Her face is pale, her eyes wide, wet, full of the kind of sorrow you don’t fake.

“I was going to tell you,” she says again, her voice so low I barely catch it.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t know how,” she whispers. “I was scared. I’ve been scared from the moment I found out.”

“Of me?” The question hits the air like a blade, sharper than I meant it to be.

“No,” she says, quickly, too quickly, but I catch the hesitation buried underneath. She swallows hard. “Of what it would mean. Of everything changing. Of dragging you into something that didn’t feel fair.”

“You think I would have walked away?” My voice is breaking in places now, quiet but cracked down the middle. “You think I wouldn’t have fought for you? For the baby?”

She presses her hands to her chest, and for a second she looks like she can’t breathe.

“I didn’t want to ask you to carry this with me,” she says. “Not after everything with Daniel. I didn’t want the baby to be another tie, another trap. I needed to do this on my own for a while. I needed to know I could.”

“And what?” I ask, voice shaking now, the anger bleeding into something more hollow. “You were going to wait until I figured it out myself?”

“I thought I had more time,” she says, her words trembling. “I thought I could protect you.”

Behind her, Daniel laughs, soft and mocking, a sound that cuts through the moment like poison in water. I glance over and find him leaning against the car, blood still running from his nose, his lip split open, and yet he smiles like he won.

“You two look good together,” he says, clapping slowly. “Really. Very dramatic. You should’ve been an actress, Ivy.”

I turn toward him slowly, all my rage barely caged behind my ribs, but I don’t let it show. I step forward until I’m just a few feet away and say nothing, just look him in the eye.

“You have three seconds to get the hell out of here,” I say, “or I call the cops, and I promise you, I will make sure they search your car before they tow it.”

Daniel snorts but straightens. He dabs at his lip with the back of his hand, grimaces, then mutters something I don’t bother to catch. He pushes off the car, walks with a limp that looks more performative than real, and tosses a smug smile over his shoulder before disappearing into his car.

The second he’s gone, I turn back to Ivy. She’s still standing in the same spot, frozen like she’s afraid that if she moves, I’ll vanish too.

“Ethan, I didn’t lie because I didn’t trust you,” she says. “I lied because I didn’t trust myself to handle what came next.”

“And now?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Her chin trembles. “Now I do.”

I believe her. God help me, I believe her. But that doesn’t erase the ache hollowing out my chest. It doesn’t quiet the sound of her voice saying nothing when Daniel accused her.

I exhale slowly, not trusting myself to speak, and reach into my pocket for my phone. I pull up the rideshare app, key in the address to the rental, and order her a car without saying a word. When it arrives, I gently take her by the arm, not because I’mangry anymore but because I know if I linger, I might break down right there beside her.

She steps into the cab hesitantly, turns once to face me, her mouth trembling like she’s on the edge of saying something—something big, something final—but I close the door before she can speak. I lean down and give the driver a quiet instruction, double-check the destination, and then step back.

The car pulls away slowly, and I stand there, staring after it until the taillights disappear. Only then do I turn, my feet carrying me in the opposite direction, my hands shoved deep into my pockets like I can keep everything I’m feeling from spilling out.

I walk. I keep walking. Block after block, corner after corner, until the city swallows me whole and the cold sinks deep enough into my skin to anchor me again.

She is carrying my child. And she was never going to tell me.

24

IVY

The cab smells faintly of pine-scented air freshener and cheap vinyl, a combination that normally wouldn’t bother me, but tonight it curls in my chest like something sour. I sit back against the seat, coat still damp from where I clutched it too tightly, and stare out the window at a city dressed up for a celebration I cannot feel. Valleria glows with pre-Christmas charm, lights strung across awnings and wound around lampposts, every storefront window a carefully arranged vignette of warmth and cheer, as if someone tried to bottle nostalgia and spilled it all over the sidewalks. There are carolers at the corner of St. Andrews and Belmont, wrapped in plaid scarves, their mouths wide with sound I cannot hear from the inside of the taxi, their breath fogging the air in soft, joyful bursts.

---