Chapter 33 Aisling
AISLING
Morning comes like a punishment. I wake to a hollow ache behind my eyes and the taste of last night still clinging to the back of my throat.
The room is quiet in a way that feels deliberate, like the house itself has decided to hold its breath. Raf’s side of the bed is cold, untouched.
He didn’t come back.
For years, I imagined how it would feel if we ever truly fought. I imagined anger, maybe even vindication.
I never imagined this crushing, nauseating guilt that coils in my stomach and refuses to let go.
I stare at the ceiling and try to remind myself why I did what I did.
I was eighteen, pregnant, unmarried, in love with a man who had just told me there was no future for us—a man who walked away without looking back. I did what I thought was right.
That truth should steady me, but it doesn’t.
Instead, images from the past week intrude mercilessly.
Raf kneeling on the floor with Riley, pretending to be whatever animal she picked for the day. Raf letting her paint his fingernails.
Raf listening intently to her rambling stories like they were sacred texts. Raf’s face softening every time she laughed.
He loves her. The realization slices deeper than I expect. I deprived him of that love. I deprived him of her first steps, her first words, the million tiny moments that stitch a parent to a child.
And yet… if I had said anything, my life would have imploded. I would have been ruined in every sense of the word.
My parents saved me.
They gave me a future where Riley could grow up protected, cherished, unburdened by scandal.
I chose her, and I would do it all again.
A sickening wave of nausea hits me, and the room tilts dangerously as a tumult of emotions rises in my gut.
I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching. My stomach convulses violently, emptying itself in waves that leave me shaking and weak.
I grip the porcelain until my knuckles ache, sweat slicking my skin.
When it passes, I sit back on my heels, breath ragged, but the relief is immediate.
Perfect. On top of everything else, I’m sick.
It might be food poising—but considering the clammy chill that clings to my skin, it’s more likely the stomach flu. Damn it.
I rinse my mouth and catch my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes are bloodshot, my face pale. I look wrecked.
Hand pressed to my queasy stomach, I go in search of my phone to call my parents.
Downstairs fifteen minutes later, the house hums faintly with activity, voices, footsteps. I hesitate at the top of the stairs, bracing myself before descending.
Raf is in the kitchen with Riley, and the sight steals what little breath I have left. Riley is perched on a stool, swinging her legs, happily devouring toast while Raf stands nearby, arms crossed, jaw tight. He doesn’t look at me when I enter.
“Morning,” I manage.
Riley beams. “Sissy! You’re awake.”
Raf’s head snaps up. His eyes meet mine briefly, sharp and guarded, then flick away.
I force a smile. “Bug, can I talk to you for a minute?” I lead Riley into the sitting room and kneel in front of her. My hands shake as I smooth her hair. “Mamma and Papa are going to come get you today, okay?” I say gently.
Her face falls. “Why?”
“I’m not feeling very well,” I admit. “And I don’t want you to catch anything.”
She considers this, her expression serious. “But then who will take care of you?”
My heart melts. “Raf is here with me,” I say softly, though I can’t imagine him as the caretaking type—and I doubt he has any inclination to worry over me at this stage in our broken relationship. “But I’ll see you very soon. I promise.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, fierce and warm. I close my eyes and breathe her in, committing everything about her to memory.
“Okay, bug,” I whisper. “Go get your things.”
Releasing me, she scampers from the room to do as I say.
When I straighten, Raf is standing in the doorway.
“You’re sending her away?” he asks coldly.
I swallow. “I’m sick. And things are… tense.”
“Tense,” he repeats flatly.
I rise to my feet, exhaustion pressing down on me. “I didn’t want her caught in the middle.”
“You didn’t think to talk to me first?”
I meet his gaze, and the hurt I find there nearly breaks me.
“I thought it was for the best.”
He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Right. Of course you did.”
The doorbell rings, a cruel punctuation, and we both turn to look in its direction.
My parents got here quickly.
They’re cheerful and unaware, and Riley is swept up in hugs and reassurances.
She waves affectionately as they leave, oblivious to the devastation rippling beneath the surface.
The door closes, and the silence that follows is unbearable.
“One fight, and you’ve made up your mind,” Raf says quietly. “Just send her away without a word.”
I shake my head, tears burning. “That’s not what this is.”
“It feels like it,” he says. “Feels like you’re making it very clear that you don’t want me in your lives.”
“That’s not true,” I say desperately. “I know you’re angry, but—”
Raf exhales sharply, pain etched into every line of his face. “I can’t believe I ever thought we could make a real go of this.”
The words land like a physical blow.
“Our entire relationship is built on deception,” he continues. “Lies layered on top of lies. Once this alliance is over, you can go back to your normal life. You don’t need to have anything more to do with me.”
My chest caves in. “So, that’s it,” I say hoarsely. “We’re done?”
“I should never have let myself believe otherwise,” he says, voice flat. “Enjoy your life, Aisling.” He leaves without another word.
I don’t remember sinking to the floor, but as the sobs come fast and ugly, tearing out of me, I fold in on myself, clutching my stomach as my forehead meets the cold marble floor.
Everything unraveled so quickly.
One moment of honesty detonated an entire future.
By midday, I’m back in the bathroom, sicker than before. My body feels wrong—off—as I clutch the toilet, waiting for the nausea to subside.
That’s when another sensation registers.
Tenderness.
My breasts ache, sensitive in a way that sets off a quiet, ominous bell in my mind.
No. I press a hand to my stomach, heart racing as the math clicks into place with horrifying clarity. This can’t seriously be happening. Not again.
But a dark sense of certainty slowly settles into the pit of my stomach. I know these signs.
The familiar, telltale clues that hint at a life growing inside me.
Pressing my eyes shut, I consider how that might even be possible.
Raf and I only started being intimate, what, a few weeks ago?
And he’s been careful to pull out or use a condom every time.
Then it dawns on me—that one late, drunken fight.
A night that ended in passion we both pretended hadn’t happened. Raf had passed out afterward, and I didn’t think he’d finished.
Oh, God.
Grinding the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, I will myself not to cry. I need answers, not a pity party.
Pulling myself back together, I head out into the hall once more, considering my options.
The house is fairly empty.
I know Sandro and Evi were planning on going to visit Miko and Anika today, so I quietly pad toward their wing of the house, hoping against hope that Evi has a few spare pregnancy tests lying around.
Blessedly, she has an open pack tucked at the back of a bathroom drawer, and I snag one, racing back to my room before anyone catches me.
Three minutes later, I sit on the edge of the tub, the test trembling in my hand. The seconds stretch endlessly.
Breaths shallow, I stare down at the two innocent pink lines, confirming my terrible suspicion.
I’m pregnant with Raf’s child.
Again.
A hollow laugh escapes me, brittle and broken. It’s history repeating itself with brutal precision.
Same man.
Same silence.
Same impossible choice.
I press my forehead to my knees, curling in on myself, tears dripping onto the tile.
What the hell have you done, Aisling?
Then a fierce, fiery conviction rises inside me, that same familiar anger that I’ve clung to for so long.
It feels like an old friend stepping back into my life. I won’t tell him.
He made it clear.
This arrangement between us is temporary, and it will be over soon.
When the fighting is done, we will go our separate ways.
He doesn’t want a life built on lies, and that’s all this would be to him.
I’ve lived this once already. I know how it ends.
Only this time, I’m certain if I walk away again, it will be for good.
The knowledge is enough to crush me. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it a second time. To hide something so monumental.
But I’m not ready to tell him yet, either. Not with how we’ve left things.
I need time to think, to decide just what the hell I’m doing.