Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
JADE
I wake to Devon's arm draped across my waist.
For a moment, I don't move. I let myself enjoy this moment—his breath against my shoulder, the feeling of his body curved around mine. We slept tangled together last night, the way we used to before New York. Before everything went horribly wrong.
My stomach rolls, and I press my hand against it instinctively.
I've felt off for days. Dizzy when I stand too fast, and emotional in ways that don't match the circumstances—crying at a commercial yesterday, then laughing at nothing an hour later.
I won't let myself think about what it might mean.
Hope is a dangerous thing. I've learned that.
Devon stirs beside me, mumbling something against my hair. I turn in his arms, facing him, studying him. The worry lines are still there—they probably always will be—but he looks peaceful.
"Morning, baby,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.
"Morning."
His hand finds my hip, pulling me closer. "How do you feel?"
"Fine."
It's not entirely a lie. I'm not sick, not really. I'm... different. Like my body is trying to tell me something, and I'm too afraid to listen.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it reluctantly.
Officer Gray's name flashes on the screen.
"It's the police," I say, and Devon's eyes open immediately.
I answer, pressing the phone to my ear while Devon props himself up on one elbow, watching me.
The conversation is short and professional.
Gray tells me the district attorney has filed formal charges against Mila—false reporting, harassment, stalking.
The international incidents from Bali and India have been added to establish a pattern of predatory behavior.
The prosecution has rejected any mental health defense angle.
She isn’t delusional and unwell. This is just… her? I stiffen, invisible fingers crawling over my spine.
"Her actions were deliberate and calculated," Gray explains. "The evidence is overwhelming. She targeted multiple victims across multiple countries using the same tactics."
When I hang up, Devon is still watching me.
"It's over," I tell him. "Really over. They've charged her with everything."
I wait for the satisfaction to hit. The feeling that we won.
But what I feel isn’t that—it’s release.
Mila spent years trying to make me believe I was worthless. That I was too big, too plain, too nothing for someone like Devon. She whispered shit into my ear until I couldn't look in a mirror without hearing her voice.
And then she tried to destroy my marriage. She tried to take the one person who had always chosen me, always loved me exactly as I am.
She failed.
“Well…that feels…” Devon’s voice trails off.
"Freeing.” The word surprises me, but it's true. "I feel free."
He pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips to my forehead, and I let myself sink into him.
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
The nausea doesn't go away.
By noon, I've thrown up twice and blamed it on anxiety, on the stress finally leaving my body, on something I ate. Devon hovers, concerned, and I wave him off.
"I'm fine. Probably a bug."
But my hands are shaking when I shut myself in the bathroom.
I stare at the cabinet beneath the sink where I've tucked a pregnancy test just in case this day came.
Don't do this to yourself, I think. You'll only be disappointed.
But my body is screaming at me now—the tenderness, the dizziness, the way smells have become overwhelming in the past week. Devon's cologne made me gag yesterday, and I'd blamed it on stress.
I know better.
I grab the box from the cabinet and pull out a test, my hands trembling.
I survived Mila's cruelty and Devon's betrayal, and my own relentless inner critic. I stood in a coffee shop and took on a bully with nothing but my words.
This body—with its flab and its flaws—has carried me through everything.
And it might carry something else now, too.
Please, God.
I take the test with quivering hands and set it on the counter. Three minutes. That's all it takes to change a life.
I count the seconds and watch the bathroom tiles blur through tears I can't explain. My hand presses against my stomach, and I try not to imagine what might be growing there.
Don't hope. Don't hope. Don't—
I peek at the test.
Two lines—and they’re pink, clear, and utterly unmistakable.
A sound escapes me—half sob, half laugh, something broken yet beautiful. My knees buckle and I sink to the bathroom floor, the test clutched in my fist, tears streaming down my face.
This can't be real!
After wanting this for so long. After watching Mila try to use motherhood against me, using pregnancy as a lie to destroy what I wanted most—
It's real.
I'm pregnant.
The bathroom door flies open.
"Jade?!" Devon's voice is panicked. "I heard you fall—are you hurt? Talk to me. What happened?"
I can't speak. I hold up the test, my hand shaking so badly I can barely keep it steady.
Devon freezes in the doorway.
His eyes drop to the white plastic stick in my fingers. The two pink lines visible even from where he stands.
"Is that—" His voice breaks. He tries again. “Jade, is that what I think—"
I nod, tears streaming down my cheeks, and a sound rips from Devon's throat that I've never heard before—a sound between a whoop and a sob.
He drops to his knees beside me, pulling me into his arms so tightly it almost hurts. His body shakes against mine—he's crying, I realize. Really crying. This man, who held himself together through months of hell, is falling apart in my arms because we're going to have a baby.
"Oh, my God." He's mumbling the words against my hair, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach—my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Oh my God, Jade. A baby. Our baby."
I'm laughing now, or crying, or both. I can't tell the difference anymore.
"I was so afraid to hope," I confess against his chest. "I've wanted this for so long—"
"I know." He pulls back to cup my face in both hands, his eyes red-rimmed and shining. "I know, baby. But you're—we're—"
He can't finish the sentence, so he kisses me instead.
When we finally break apart, I press my palm against my stomach—against the life growing there. Devon's hand covers mine, his fingers interlocking with my own.
"We made this," he whispers. "After everything. We made this."
I think about the morning I looked in the mirror and didn't hate myself. The afternoon I walked into that coffee shop and faced my oldest nemesis. The night Devon and I chose each other again—for the first time in months.
This baby was born from that. From healing. From two people who refused to let their story end in tragedy.
Mila's shadow is gone.
The vows we shattered have been rebuilt.
And our future is growing inside me, tiny and precious and ours.
Devon helps me to my feet, keeping his arm around my waist like he's afraid I'll disappear. We stand together in our small bathroom, tear-streaked and trembling, and more whole than we've ever been.
"I love you," I tell him. "So much."
"I love you too." His voice cracks on the words. "Both of you."
I press my hand against my stomach—this body that has been my enemy for so long—and for the first time in my life, I feel nothing but gratitude.
It carried me through everything.
And now it's carrying our baby.
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The next emotional romance in the Shattered series
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I would recommend you read Shattered Dreams if you haven’t already, you can check this out here!
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