It was a cold, heartless sound. “Well, I guess so,” he said, shrugging as he settled deeper between her legs. “But who cares about it? I don’t really care about the baby. She was the one who wanted it and kept begging for it. It was annoying.”
Annoying. My dead child. My grief. My love. It was all just an annoyance to him.
Denise pouted, tracing his jawline. “But do you love her?”
“Of course, I love my wife,” Brandon said instantly. The lie rolled off his tongue like honey. “So she cannot know about this. And your brother, my best friend, too? Got it?”
And then they kissed again, wet and hungry, devouring each other while I stood in the shadows, shattering into a million jagged pieces.
I couldn't help but laugh.
How could he say he loved me while fucking another woman?
I backed away, leaving them to their filth. The next day, I waited until Brandon left for work, kissing my forehead with that same treacherous mouth, telling me to rest, telling me he loved me. I waited until the sound of his car faded down the driveway.
Then I dressed. I put on my coat, hiding my trembling hands in my pockets, and walked out the door.