Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
DEVON
The house was empty when I got home last night.
I waited up until midnight, then one, then two. Jade never came home after her shift finished. I texted her once—You okay?—and she replied with: Yes, I’m at Katrina's.
That's it. No explanation or even a goodnight.
I barely slept. The bed felt too big without her, the sheets cold on her side.
We've been doing this for two weeks now—some nights she's here, some nights she's not.
Therapy is supposed to be helping, but I can feel her slipping further away every time she chooses Katrina's guest room over our shared bed.
Then, my phone chimes, and I close my eyes. I really don’t want to look, but I have to, on the off chance it might be Jade.
UNKNOWN: I’m pregnant.
What in the name of all that’s fucking holy—Mila has lost it. Officially. She’s not the fucking Virgin Mary, I know, so she’s either been with another man, or she’s delulu.
DEVON: That's got nothing to do with me.
UNKNOWN: You blacked out, Devon. You don't know what you did. But I do.
UNKNOWN: The timing works. You’re just confused about that night... I'm stating facts.
I shouldn’t be texting her; she’s clearly fucked in the head. But my fingers fly over the screen as my anger flares, burning through my veins. She won’t fucking leave it, will she? It doesn’t matter that we kissed—she wants to fucking destroy me and my marriage.
It’s the only plausible explanation.
DEVON: You're fucking crazy, you know that? We didn't have sex, Mila.
UNKNOWN: You barely remember the kiss. You were unconscious in my hotel room. Do you really think you'd remember everything?
This fucking witch. She’s trying to stitch me up—convince me shit happened when I know it didn’t. I know my body—I know what happened. I remember pulling away, remember the guilt crashing over me, remember saying no.
But I also remember the blackness—waking up sick and disoriented with no idea how much time had passed.
But I know I didn’t sleep with her.
Then, like a slap, her words from the morning after that fateful night hit me. “It’s okay, Dev. It was just a drunken kiss,” she says. “That’s all.”
She’s tapped in the head; she must be to be making this up.
DEVON: I don’t know what you want from me, but it’s not happening. If you’re pregnant, it’s got fuck all to do with me. Leave me alone!
UNKNOWN: I'm not asking for anything. I'm being honest with you. More honest than you've been with Jade.
This woman is insane. Certifiably so. I need to go to the police or some shit—
UNKNOWN: If this baby is yours, Jade deserves to know. Unless you'd rather I tell her myself. I have her number now.
I almost choke on my disbelief.
DEVON: It's not my baby! Get that in your fucking head, Mila, nothing happened!
I want to grab her by the throat and choke her.
DEVON: Stay away from my wife, you crazy bitch.
UNKNOWN: I haven't done anything wrong. Maybe we should talk, you know? Woman to woman.
I can’t reason with this psycho.
UNKNOWN: Face it—I’m pregnant, Dev. And you might be the father.
I toss my phone, not giving a fuck where it lands with a loud clatter. I’m so tired of this.
Jade isn't even home. She's at Katrina's, probably sleeping, probably dreaming about a husband who isn't a fucking disaster.
I need to tell her. About Mila being here and about this crazy pregnancy claim. About everything.
But how do I explain any of this without losing her completely?
Mila's words echo in my skull: You might be the father.
I know it's impossible. I know I didn't sleep with her.
But Jade doesn't know that. And Mila is counting on it.