Chapter 32
TWO YEARS LATER
I’m in the office, pretending to work, but my head’s not in it.
Caden’s out with a client. Usually, we go together. We’re a team. We show up side by side, close the deal, kiss in the elevator on the way back up. But not today. Not after this morning. Not after last night.
I’m staring at a spreadsheet, trying to pretend I haven’t read the same line twelve times. Trying not to think about the man I had lunch with. The man I should’ve walked away from the moment I saw him. But I didn’t.
I had lunch with Michael. There. I said it.
Ran into him yesterday. He looked like hell. Not the superficial kind, broken. Hollowed out. Turns out, his father told him everything. Days after the divorce. And despite knowing better, Mike went digging.
Pandora’s Box kind of digging.
His father was a serial rapist. Not just one or two victims, many. And siblings. Several. Half-siblings scattered like secrets he never knew existed. Mike’s the youngest. And now he’s haunted by bloodlines and fate and the question that won’t let him sleep: what if he’s the same ?
He never drugged anyone. Never held them down. But he took advantage of a nineteen-year-old girl who trusted him. Who thought he was safe.
“I think it’s in me,” he said. “That… sickness.”
I didn’t forgive him. I didn’t try to fix it. I just gave him Dr. Munez’s number. Told him to call. Told him I wasn’t his priest, or his therapist, or the woman he used to lean on. If he wanted redemption, he’d have to build it himself.
I thought that was it. That I'd done the right thing and closed the chapter.
Then I got home.
Caden was on the sofa, half a glass of scotch in his hand, the bottle sweating on the table. And the look on his face, it gutted me. I asked what was wrong. He said he’d gone to surprise me. Our usual lunch spot. He saw us.
Michael and me.
I explained. Every word. Calmly, then not-so-calmly. But it didn’t matter. My emotionally stable, anchor-of-a-husband looked at me like I’d betrayed him in a way I didn’t understand.
We played house for Rhett’s sake. Put on smiles, bedtime stories, the whole act. But when I climbed into bed, he didn’t move. Just kept his back to me.
This morning, once his mom picked up Rhett for the day, everything cracked .
We fought. Loud. Messy. No metaphors, just raw words and months of silent hurts spilling out. About how we’ve been trying for another baby. How it’s not happening. How Rhett came easy, and this one won’t. How it’s eating at us, at him. At me.
And underneath it all, the fear.
That we’re breaking. That we’re not leaning on each other as we should be. That maybe, just maybe, we aren’t as bulletproof as we once thought.
God, what have we become?
I rub my temples, then push back from the desk. If I stay here any longer, I’ll start doom-scrolling fertility forums again, and we all know where that leads.
I get in the car and drive home. Our home.
The lights are on when I pull in. That stupid gnome Rhett insisted we keep by the front steps is still leaning to the left. Caden’s car is in the driveway. My heart does something weird, something hopeful and terrified all at once.
When I walk in, the house smells like cinnamon. It reminds me of the cookies Rhett loves, messy and sugary and always stuck to my counters for days.
Caden’s on the couch again, feet up, drink in hand.
But this time, there’s no bottle. Just tea. Chamomile, if the scent is right. He’s holding Rhett’s favourite blanket in his lap and flipping through a photo album like some emotionally complex leading man in a sad movie .
“I was going to call,” I say softly, standing near the door like maybe he doesn’t want me any closer.
“I know,” he says, not looking up. “I figured I’d wait and see if you’d just walk through the door.”
“I almost didn’t,” I admit. “I was scared.”
He finally meets my eyes. “Of what?”
“Of not knowing how to fix it.”
There’s a beat. Two.
And then he sets the album aside and pats the space beside him. My legs move before my brain does, like they’ve been waiting for permission.
I sit.
“I was mad,” he says. “Not because it was Mike. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because… I feel like I’m losing you and I didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a goddamn walking cliché.”
“You’re not,” I whisper. “I feel it too. The distance. The frustration. The waiting. My body not cooperating. Everything feels like a test.”
He turns toward me, his hand finding mine. Warm. Steady.
“I miss you,” he says. “Not just in bed. Not just when we’re being parents. You. The version of you that throws popcorn at the TV and tries to seduce me during tax season.”
That makes me laugh, actually laugh, the kind that comes from my chest. “You loved tax season. ”
“I loved you in glasses and no pants.”
We’re grinning now, but there’s still something fragile in the air between us.
“I’m not giving up,” I say. “On us. On trying for another baby. But I need us to come first. I need to feel like we’re in this together and not just checking boxes toward some impossible future.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. “We are in this together. Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.”
We sit like that for a long time, his thumb stroking my cheek, my heart unclenching one breath at a time.
Then he says, “Let’s take a break.”
I jerk back. “From each other?”
“ No . From the pressure. From ovulation charts and hormone shots and doctors whispering about ‘advanced maternal age’ like you’re ancient. Let’s just live for a second. Make out in the pantry again. Take Rhett to the beach. Fuck like teenagers with poor judgment.”
My smile wobbles. “You really think we can find us again?”
He nods. “I don’t need to find you. You’re right here.”
And just like that, I kiss him like he’s the air I breathe.
I whisper against his lips, “Rhett?”
He whispers back, “My mom told me she’ll keep him until I pull my head out of my ass and apologize. ”
I can’t help but let out a laugh that turns into a moan as he bites my neck. His hands travel up my back, grabbing the zipper of my dress and pulling it down. “I love it when you wear a dress.”
The moment its off, he rips down my panties and gets on the floor, his face already buried in my pussy as I fling off my bra. His hand reaches up to grab one breast and squeeze hard, my back bows off the sofa, uncontrollable moans spilling out of my mouth.
A shudder passes through me when he latches on my bundle of nerves and fucks me with his fingers. I pass my fingers through his thick hair, grabbing at the edges as a climax hits my body.
Caden gets off the floor and picks me up caveman style already walking towards our bedroom before I can catch my breath.
Throwing me on the bed, he starts stripping like a very classy stripper. Once he’s naked, he lies on top of me.
“Did you enjoy the show?” The man says while rubbing his very hard dick against me. I open my mouth to say yes, but he thrust deep inside me, cutting of my circulation.
Stilling, he asks, “You, okay?”
“Please move.” I say while trying to move under him. Smirking he obliges, pulling out before plunging in with another deep thrust.
Thrust, “Who do you belong to?” he asks, his body giving deep relentless thrusts. I’m too lost in the sensation to answer, so the infuriating man stops. Stills inside of me.
Then grabbing my knee, he opens me more, thrusting one and repeating, “Who do you belong to, Leana?”
“You. You. I belong to you, now please move.” I’m crying tears of frustration now. And instead of obliging, Caden moves his lips towards my ear, “Who?”
“Caden.” I scream and he finally starts moving.
Thrust. “Caden.” Thrust. “Caden.” Thrust. “Caden.” Thrust. “CADEN.” I scream as I come, stars exploding behind my eyes as Caden keeps driving into me until he finds his release.
The last thing I hear before sleep claims me is his voice; low, tired, certain, “I love you.”
And with the last scrap of consciousness I have, I whisper back, “I love you too. ”