There was movement on the other end. Keys. A door. For one brief, stupid second, hope rose.
“I’ll drive,” he said. “I’m coming now.”
Relief almost made me cry. Then another call cut in.
Roxanne.
I heard her voice through the speaker before he even answered. Loud. Weak. Dramatic.
“Dave… my stomach hurts so bad. I’m vomiting. I can’t stand it. I think something is really wrong with me…”
Silence.
Then David exhaled sharply.
“Belle,” he said, already distant. “You take him first. I’ll come later.”
Later.
I waited for him to say more. To choose. To remember he was a father. He didn’t. The line went dead.
I did not cry. I carried Ryle downstairs myself.
The family driver rushed to open the door when he saw Ryle’s condition. The car sped through the streets, the city blurring past like it was running from us.
Ryle whimpered against my chest. I rocked him gently, counting his breaths, pressing kisses into his burning hair.
“Stay with me,” I murmured. “Just stay with me.”
My phone vibrated again.
Messages.
Photos.
Posts.
My fingers went numb as I scrolled and every word stabbed.
Shameless. Cheater. Liar. Whore.