CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AUbrEE
The news alert lit up my phone at seven in the morning, while I was still in bed with my coffee and the baby name book I'd been reading for the third time.
Wickham Surrogate Scandal: Reality TV Deal Exposed, Legal Action Filed.
I sat up so fast the coffee sloshed over the rim of my mug, hot liquid splashing against my fingers. I barely noticed the sting as I opened the article and started reading, my heart hammering against my ribs with every paragraph.
Oakleigh had signed a reality TV deal. She'd been negotiating sponsorships. She'd prepared a press release calling me unstable, claiming I'd abandoned her and the baby, suggesting I was unfit for motherhood.
And Tristen had exposed all of it.
I scrolled through the coverage with shaking hands, clicking from one article to the next, watching the same story unfold from different angles. The contracts. The sponsorship decks. The attack piece that would have destroyed my reputation if it had ever gone public.
She'd been planning this for months. Since before the gala. Since before I'd thrown my rings at Tristen's chest and fled into the night.
The whole time I'd been feeling guilty for my suspicions, for my jealousy, for the dark thoughts I couldn't quite suppress about the beautiful woman carrying my child, she'd been scheming to steal my family and my name and everything I'd spent years building.
I should have felt vindicated. I should have felt triumphant, knowing that my instincts had been right all along.
Instead, I just felt tired. And worried. And, strangely, concerned about the man I'd been married to for eight years.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up my phone and called Tristen.
He answered on the second ring, his voice rough with exhaustion. "Aubree?"
"I saw the news."
A long pause. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line, could almost picture him standing in our kitchen with his coffee going cold on the counter, his hand pressed against his forehead the way he always did when he was stressed.
"I was going to call you this morning," he said quietly. "I wanted you to hear it from me first, but the story broke faster than we expected."
"Are you okay?"
The question surprised both of us. I heard his breath catch, a small sound that made something twist in my chest.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I've been up all night dealing with attorneys and press inquiries and trying to make sure the coverage focuses on what she did instead of speculating about us.
" He paused. "But honestly, Aubree, I don't care about any of that.
I just keep thinking about what would have happened if we hadn't found out.
If she'd released that press statement the day after the baby was born. "
My stomach clenched at the thought. All those lies about me being unstable, about abandoning her, about being unfit to raise my own child. They would have spread across the internet like wildfire, and even if we'd eventually disproved them, the damage would have been permanent.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" I asked. "When you first found out about the contracts?"
"I only found out two days ago. David called me at six in the morning, and I've barely slept since.
" He exhaled heavily. "But you're right that I should have told you immediately.
I almost didn't because I thought I could handle it quietly, protect you from having to deal with one more awful thing.
And then I realized that's exactly the pattern that destroyed us in the first place. "
I closed my eyes and let his words sink in. He was right. The old Tristen would have kept this secret, managed it behind the scenes, presented me with a neat resolution after the fact. He would have justified it as protection when really it was just another way of shutting me out.
But he hadn't done that this time. He'd exposed everything publicly, taken accountability for his role in creating the situation, and chosen my reputation over his own comfort.
"Thank you," I said. "For telling me the truth."
"It's the least I could do. It's what I should have been doing all along.
" His voice cracked slightly. "I'm so sorry, Aubree.
I know I keep saying that, and I know it doesn't fix anything.
But I need you to know that I see it now.
I see what I did, and I understand why you left, and I will never make those mistakes again. "
I didn't respond right away. I sat there in my childhood bed, listening to my husband breathe on the other end of the phone, feeling the distance between us like a physical ache in my bones.
"I'm not ready to come home yet," I finally said.
"I know."
"But I appreciate that you called. That you were going to tell me before I heard it from somewhere else."
"I'll always tell you the truth from now on. Even when it's hard. Even when I think it might hurt you." He paused. "Especially then."
The conviction in his voice made my throat tight. This was what I'd needed from him months ago. This willingness to be honest even when honesty was uncomfortable. This recognition that protecting me didn't mean keeping me in the dark.
"How's the baby?" I asked, changing the subject because I couldn't handle the weight of the conversation anymore.
"She's good. Dr. Pace says everything is progressing normally.
The due date is still February 14th." I heard him move, probably pacing the way he always did when he was anxious.
"I made sure all of Oakleigh's post-birth care is arranged through the hospital and separate agencies.
She won't be able to contact us after the delivery.
Our attorneys have made that very clear. "
"And if she tries?"
"Then we have documentation of everything she's done. The contracts, the sponsorship deals, the attack press release. Any judge would issue a restraining order in about five seconds flat."
I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "Good. That's good."
"Aubree, I need you to know something." His voice dropped lower, more intense.
"Whatever happens with us, whether you decide you can forgive me or not, I will never let anyone threaten your role as this baby's mother.
I will spend every dollar I have and fight every battle that needs fighting to protect that.
You've earned it. You've suffered for it.
And no one, not Oakleigh, not the press, not anyone, is going to take it from you. "
The tears came before I could stop them, sliding down my cheeks in hot tracks that dripped onto my t-shirt. I pressed my free hand against my mouth, trying to muffle the sound of my crying, but he must have heard anyway.
"Hey," he said softly. "Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to upset you."
"You didn't." I wiped my face with the back of my hand, laughing slightly at the absurdity of crying while having the most honest conversation I'd had with my husband in months.
"I'm just relieved. I've been so scared that she would find some way to take this from me.
That I'd go through everything I've gone through and end up losing my daughter anyway. "
"That will never happen. I promise you, Aubree. On my life, on everything I have, that will never happen."
I believed him. For the first time in what felt like forever, I actually believed him.
We talked for another hour after that. About the baby's room at the lake house, which I'd painted a soft yellow that caught the morning light.
About the name possibilities I'd been considering, though I wasn't ready to share my favorites yet.
About the birth plan and who would be in the delivery room and how we would handle the first few days of our daughter's life.
It was the most normal conversation we'd had since before the gala. No accusations. No defensive explanations. No desperate pleas for forgiveness that made me feel pressured to absolve him before I was ready.
Just two people who had once loved each other, talking about the child they were about to bring into the world.
"I should let you go," I finally said when the morning sun had climbed high enough to fill my bedroom with light. "You probably have a thousand things to deal with today."
"Nothing that matters more than this."
"Tristen."
"I mean it." His voice was firm but gentle. "Talking to you, hearing your voice, knowing you're okay. That matters more than any of it."
I felt something shift in my chest. Something that had been frozen solid for months beginning to crack at the edges.
"I'm not ready," I said again. "I don't know when I will be. Maybe not for a long time."
"I'll wait." The words were simple, but the weight behind them made my breath catch.
"However long it takes, I'll wait. And if you decide you can never forgive me, if you want to end this marriage and move forward separately, I'll accept that too.
I just want you to be happy, Aubree. Whatever that looks like. "
"Even if it doesn't include you?"
"Even then." His voice broke slightly on the words.
"Though I hope it does. I hope you'll give me a chance to prove that I can be the husband you deserve.
But I'm not going to push you. I'm not going to pressure you.
I'm just going to keep showing up, keep being honest, keep making different choices than the ones that hurt you. "
I didn't know what to say to that. The old Tristen made grand promises and elaborate gestures. This Tristen was offering something quieter but somehow more valuable: patience, accountability, and the freedom to choose without pressure.
"I'll call you again soon," I said. "Maybe we could talk like this more often. Just to check in."
"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."
We said goodbye, and I sat there for a long time after, staring at my phone like it might hold answers to questions I hadn't figured out how to ask yet.
I wasn't ready to forgive him. The wounds were still too fresh, the betrayal still too close to the surface.
Every time I thought about those secret appointments, those late-night phone calls, the way he'd let Oakleigh publicly claim him while I sat in the corner being forgotten, the hurt came rushing back like a tide I couldn't control.
But something had changed in that phone call. Some tiny piece of the wall I'd built around my heart had crumbled, letting in just enough light to see that the man I'd married might still be in there somewhere.
He wasn't asking me to trust him. He was showing me, through consistent action and painful honesty, that he was worth trusting again.
It wasn't enough. Not yet.
But it was something.
I pulled up my text messages and typed out a quick note to Collette: Had a good talk with Tristen this morning. I think maybe things are starting to shift.
Her response came back almost immediately: Good shift or bad shift?
I thought about it for a moment before answering.
I don't know yet. But I think maybe good. He's finally being the person I needed him to be months ago.
Does that mean you're going home?
I stared at the question, feeling its weight settle into my bones.
Not yet. But I'm starting to believe I might want to. Eventually.
I set the phone down and pressed my hand against my stomach, a reflexive gesture even though my belly was as flat as it had ever been. Somewhere, three hours away, my daughter was growing inside another woman's body. In less than three weeks, she would be born, and everything would change again.
I didn't know what my marriage would look like on the other side of that birth. I didn't know if Tristen and I could rebuild what we'd broken.
But for the first time since that awful night at the gala, I was willing to find out.
And that felt like the beginning of something.