Chapter Six
Brad
“Wyn,” I whisper, my entire body going cold.
How long has she been standing there?
“Baby,” I start instinctively.
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “Do not call me that.”
I nod immediately.
“Hon-” I stop myself. “Wyn, I…”
Nothing comes out. For the first time in years, I genuinely don’t know what to say.
She knows. Not suspects.
Knows.
“It was an accident,” I hear myself say desperately.
Her laugh is sharp and broken all at once. “Did you trip and fall into her vagina?”
I physically flinch at the words.
God.
“I was… she called me,” I say quickly. “She thought she was miscarrying.”
Bronwyn’s face changes instantly at the word.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you,” I continue. “I know how hard that topic is for you.”
“Oh my God,” she laughs again, wiping angrily under her eyes.
“I went to her apartment because I was worried about our baby,” I say desperately. “I thought something was wrong.”
“And you accidentally ended up fucking her?” she asks sarcastically.
“Please.” I take a step toward her. “Please just let me explain.”
She crosses her arms tightly over herself but doesn’t walk away.
So I keep going.
“I didn’t see her, alright?” I drag a hand through my hair. “I saw you.”
Her expression flickers slightly.
“I got that call and all I could think about was finding you bleeding again.”
The memory slams into me so hard I nearly lose my breath.
The bathroom floor.
Bronwyn crying.
Blood everywhere.
My wife looking at me like she was apologizing for something that wasn’t her fault.
“It was just a panic attack,” I say hoarsely. “Laila was fine. The baby was fine. She was scared and I comforted her and-”
Bronwyn lets out a disbelieving snort.
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds exactly like what it is.”
"It wasn't planned," I snap back before softening immediately at the look on her face. "I swear to you, Wyn. It wasn't."
I close my eyes briefly, unable to stop the images from surfacing.
Laila crying in her bed. Me putting an arm around her. Telling her everything would be okay.
One second, I was hugging her. The next my tongue was in her mouth.
It all happened so fast.
Quick. Dirty.
I hated myself the second it was over.
I remember driving home sick to my stomach, staring at the baby’s ultrasound picture on my phone and wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
I told Laila it would never happen again.
And I meant it.
"So that was the first time," Wyn says quietly, tears streaming openly down her face now. "What about the second?"
The question makes my stomach drop.
Because there never should've been a second time.
And yet somehow, when Laila showed up at my office after an appointment crying because she found out it was a girl, I let myself believe I could be close to her without crossing a line.
I was an idiot.
A selfish idiot.
“She threatened to tell you,” I admit finally. “I begged her not to, and she…” I swallow hard. “She started using it against me.”
Bronwyn stares at me in horror.
"She practically blackmailed me."
The second the words leave my mouth, I hate them.
Because they sound pathetic. They're not exactly true, but they're not untrue either.
Laila did threaten to tell Wyn. Several times.
“She kept threatening to ruin everything,” I continue desperately. “And every time I tried to end it, she’d start talking about finding someone else to ‘take care of her needs,’ and all I could think about was some stranger around her while she’s carrying our daughter.”
“Our daughter,” Bronwyn repeats faintly.
I nod desperately.
“Everything I did after the first time was because of the baby.”
Wyn laughs softly through her tears.
“Only you,” she says brokenly, “could make fucking someone else sound benevolent.” She wipes harshly at her face. “Am I supposed to thank you?”
“God, no-” I take a step toward her instinctively.
She steps back before I can even get close to touch the air around her.
“I heard her,” Wyn whispers.
Her lip trembles violently despite how hard she’s trying to hold herself together.
“What was the plan?” she asks. “Were you gonna ride off into the sunset with her? Take our daughter?”
“No.” The answer comes instantly. “No, Wyn, please, you have to believe me.”
For the first time in my adult life, I genuinely don’t care that tears are running down my face.
“I love you,” I say hoarsely. “It’ll always be you.”
She nods slowly like she’s listening. Then her expression crumples.
“And I’m supposed to believe that,” she whispers, “while you’re expected at her apartment to ‘take care of her needs’?”
The last word comes out as a yell.
Right.
She heard that too.
I glance unconsciously toward the ballroom doors.
“Wyn, can we not do this here?” I ask quietly.
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I fucked up.
Her eyes flare with pure rage.
“You bastard.”
Before I can react, she grabs the decorative vase sitting beside her and hurls it directly at my head.
I duck on instinct.
The vase flies past me and disappears over the balcony edge before smashing somewhere below with a violent crash.
“Wyn-” I hold up both hands carefully. “Please,” I beg desperately. “Alright? We can’t do this here.”
“Fuck you!” she screams.
Then she grabs the throw pillow off one of the balcony chairs and launches that at me too.
This time I let it hit me square in the chest.
Honestly, I deserve worse.
She reaches for something else.
I move before she can throw it, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pinning her hands gently against her stomach.
“Get off me!” she yells, struggling violently.
“Think about the baby,” I whisper against her hair, completely frantic now. “Think what happens if you throw something else and I end up in the hospital. Think what happens if you get arrested for assault. Think about who gets our daughter then.”
Wyn goes completely still in my arms.
Then slowly, very slowly, she turns her head enough to look at me.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No!” The word tears out of me loud enough to echo against the balcony walls. “Jesus Christ, no.”
I loosen my grip immediately, taking a careful step back.
“I’m saying if I end up with brain damage-” I attempt a joke that dies instantly in my throat. “Or worse, and you go to jail, then Laila will…”
I stop talking.
Because something shifts in Wyn’s expression.
The rage is still there, but beneath it is something worse.
“Do you love her?” she asks suddenly.
“No,” I answer immediately. There isn’t even a second of hesitation.
Wyn nods once like she already knew the answer.
Then she quietly walks over to one of the balcony chairs, the only one still with a cushion and sits down.
I stay standing near the doors.
Mostly because I know she needs distance right now. Partly because I’m terrified if I move away from the exit, she’ll leave.
“I thought I was crazy,” she says eventually, staring out into the night. “I thought you were having an affair.” A broken laugh leaves her. “But I never thought…”
I close my eyes briefly. The shame is unbearable. Not because I got caught. But because I did this to her.
After a moment, I walk over carefully and sit beside her.
“Why’d you…” I start before stopping myself.
“You were pulling away from me,” Wyn answers quietly anyway. “I could feel it.”
“How long?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She lets out a hollow laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking that?”
My heart stops.
How long had she known something was wrong?
How long had she been lying beside me at night feeling me drift further and further away while I convinced myself I was hiding it perfectly?
God.
I never should’ve excused away Laila shutting Wyn out of the pregnancy.
Back then, I told myself doing what Laila wanted was good for the baby, but I can’t hide from the truth now.
I liked being the hero. Liked how much Laila needed me, not because I found her attractive, but because she made me feel wanted.
If I’d set boundaries immediately…
If I’d made it clear from the start that Wyn came first…
If I hadn’t kept stepping in every time Laila needed something…
Maybe none of this would’ve happened.
Wyn looks away from me then, out toward the city lights below.
“Baby,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
Her eyes squeeze shut instantly like the word physically hurts now.
Pain slices straight through my chest. Slowly, I lower myself onto my knees in front of her.
The marble floor digs painfully into my legs through my suit pants, but I barely feel it.
Reaching for my wife, my hand freezes before it can touch her. I don’t know if I’m still allowed to touch my wife.
So instead I place my hands uselessly on my own thighs and look up at her feeling like the smallest man alive.
“What can I do?” I ask helplessly.
Wyn doesn’t answer immediately.
She just stares at me there on the floor in front of her with this devastated expression that somehow feels worse than screaming.
Like she’s looking at someone she no longer recognizes.
Then she leans her head back against the chair and looks up at the night sky instead.
From this high up, you can actually see stars.
Not many. But enough.
The city lights blur gold beneath us while cold wind moves softly through her hair.
It should feel romantic. In its place, it feels like kneeling in the ruins of my own life.
Then finally, so quietly I almost miss it, she says:
“Choose.”
My stomach drops instantly.
“Wyn-”
“Choose, Brad.”
She looks down at me then, eyes red and shining under the balcony lights.
“Me or her.”