He winced. “I know I haven’t been perfect. I’ve been busy. Stressed. But I can change. We can go on a date? Just the two of us. Once you’re out of here, I’ll take you to that Italian place you like. We can start over. We can try for another baby.”
The audacity of it stole the air from my lungs. As if my son was a broken vase he could just replace at the store.
“You love me, Karylle,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ve always loved me. You wouldn’t throw that away over a misunderstanding.”
“What about me?” I whispered. “Do you love me, Nathan?”
“Of course I do,” he said.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
It was a soft kiss. Gentle. The kind of kiss that used to make my toes curl and my heart race. But now? It tasted like ashes. It tasted like Danica’s cheap perfume. It tasted like a lie.
He pulled back, smiling that charming, boyish smile that had fooled everyone.
“See?” he said. “We’re fine.”
I felt a bubble of laughter rise in my chest. It wasn’t happy laughter. It was dark, jagged, and bordering on hysterical.
Of course I do.
The lie was so smooth, polished by years of practice.
My mind drifted back, pulled by the undertow of memory to where this all began.