Chapter Nineteen
Brooke
I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder while I twist the cap onto my water bottle. Yes, it’s winter. Yes, it’s cold water. No, I don’t need a TED Talk about how it “shocks the organs,” thanks.
“What do you think it is?” Becks asks. Her voice is tiny through the phone, all breath and bustle, she’s always doing three things at once.
“I don’t know,” I say, and even I can hear the shrug. “We kind of skipped the getting-to-know-each-other’s-tells part of the relationship.”
“Didn’t you two used to be friends?” she says.
“We were. Years ago. He was different. I was different.” I slide down on the bed, lowering my voice. “Sometimes it feels like we’re roommates who love each other and have sex.” A beat. “Had.”
Becks laughs. “Isn’t that… marriage?”
“Is that why you turned Shane’s proposal down?” I pull the covers over me.
She huffs. “I told him I didn’t want to get married and he said he was fine with it.”
“He’s probably worried too.”
“How?”
“You know how you’re worried he could just… take off?” I get comfy.
“Yeah. Still do.”
“He’s probably worried that if you’re not married, he won’t have any legal rights.”
“Of course he will,” she says. “He’s the dad.”
“It’s different,” I say. “And if you’re married, he can’t just bolt without consequences. You could sue his ass.”
She goes quiet, I can hear her thinking.
“You just want me married because you are,” she says finally.
I snort. “It’s so much fun. I do nothing while he runs himself into the ground.”
She snorts right back. “How’s the job search?”
I pick at a thread on the comforter. “Matthew’s insurance doesn’t cover daycare, so if I work, it has to be from home. Preferably from my bed. Ideally without pants.”
“Dream big,” Becks says. “Okay… have you talked to Zara lately?”
I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “No. She texted when Penny was born, but we haven’t actually talked. Why?”
“She’s going back to work soon. You should ask her about childcare. Then you won’t have to stress about finding some work-from-home thing.”
“Zara has her mother-in-law,” I say flatly. “Sorry, ex mother-in-law. I know I sound bitter, but how come hers will watch her kid while mine wouldn’t even pick her up?”
Becks goes quiet.
“Becks,” I press. “What?”
She exhales. “Zara probably didn’t want to worry you, but… her ex kind of filed for custody.”
I jerk upright. “What?” I lower my voice when Penny squirms in her bassinet. “What? I thought they were co-parenting.”
“It came out of nowhere,” Becks says. “He and his mom accused Zara of being neglectful and shit. They claimed all these ‘incidents’ happened that didn’t.”
My mouth falls open. “What the fuck?”
“Thankfully the baby cam proved Zara never hurt little Thiago. She passed her mental health assessment too. But obviously now she doesn’t want to leave the baby with that lying bitch.”
I nod slowly, stomach twisting. “Obviously. What’s happening now?”
“Zara had a hearing today,” Becks says. “I wanted to be there, but you know… the adoptive parents for Ursula’s baby showed up, and she didn’t want to be alone.”
“Of course,” I murmur.
“How is Ursula?” I ask after a beat.
Becks lets out a long sigh. “Numb, I think. We keep asking if she’s sure, and she is, but…” She trails off. “I think she feels guilty.”
I sink further into the bed, the comforter twisted around my fingers. “Jesus,” I whisper. My chest feels tight. I was just whining about daycare and work. Meanwhile, they’re dealing with custody battles and goodbyes.
“I’m gonna call Zara,” I say quietly.
“Good,” Becks replies. “Keep me in the loop, okay?”
“Yeah,” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “See ya.”
“Bye, Brooke.”
The second the line clicks dead, I’m already dialling Zara.
It rings. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.
A hollow ache settles in my chest. Of course, she’s not picking up, she’s probably still in court.
“Hey,” I say softly when the beep sounds. My voice comes out gentler than I expected. “I heard what’s going on. I’m not calling to fix anything, I just… wanted you to know I’m here. Whatever you need. Whenever you need. You’re not alone.”
I hang up slowly, staring at the phone like maybe she’ll call back immediately.
She doesn’t.
I set the phone down and turn my head toward Penny. She’s sleeping, fists curled tight near her face, her tiny chest rising and falling like nothing bad could ever touch her. My throat tightens.
I can’t even imagine what Zara must be feeling. The man she loved. The man she trusted. Turning around and trying to take her baby away. That kind of betrayal… it’s the sort that doesn’t just bruise, it splits you open.
And then there’s Ursula. A kid herself. Still somehow understanding what it means to be a mom, even if that means letting go. Even if it means choosing what’s best over what she wants.
I can’t keep waiting for Matthew to hand me the truth in pieces. I can’t keep pretending not to notice the weight in his eyes, the way his shoulders cave a little more every day.
He has tomorrow off, I’m gonna sit him down and ask him point blank.
Once and for all.
Matthew
I stretch before getting into the car, trying to work out the stiffness from another night of terrible sleep.
Mom’s Tesla gleams in the weak morning light, slick and spotless like it’s never known a speck of dust. It’s not exactly the kind of car I’d choose to drive for a two-hour trip, but it’s what I’ve got.
Sliding into the seat, I tap the screen to adjust the mirrors. Everything in here is touchscreen and quiet. No engine hum, just the soft whirr of tires against the driveway. Even the steering wheel feels different.
I check my phone one more time, no messages from Brooke. Relief and guilt punch through me at the same time. I didn’t tell her I was borrowing Mom’s car. I didn’t tell her I was driving to New Jersey. I figured… what’s one more lie on top of the pile I’ve already built?
Once I hit the highway, the Tesla practically drives itself. That’s supposed to be comforting, but it just leaves more space for my mind to spiral. I run through the conversation in my head a dozen ways, and every single version ends with Brooke’s face, hurt, blindsided.
By the time I pull up in front of Stella’s house, it’s almost ten. Her house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, a narrow, two-story place with peeling blue shutters and a little swing in the front yard that creaks with the wind. It’s not fancy, but it’s lived in. Real.
I knock once, and before I can even step back, the door swings open. Stella’s standing there in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, hair scraped into a messy bun. There’s a faint line between her brows, she’s not exactly thrilled to see me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “Thanks for… letting me come by.”
“Yeah,” she says flatly. “You said it was important.”
I give a small, awkward nod. “Yeah. It is.”
She steps back to let me in. A row of tiny shoes is lined up against the wall by the door, two pink pairs and a pair of muddy sneakers.
Stella wasn’t exactly thrilled about the shotgun marriage when Brooke and I first got together. I’d spent months slowly earning her trust. But asking her to meet me like this, behind Brooke’s back? Yeah. That probably blew whatever progress I’d made to smithereens.
And from the tightness around her mouth, and her cold reception I can tell she knows this isn’t about a surprise party.
She raises an eyebrow at me and gestures to take a seat. “Come on. Whatever it is, say it.”
She sits opposite me, crossing her arms, watching. She’s not hostile, exactly, just wary. Like she knows I didn’t drive all the way here for a casual chat.
For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I clear my throat, then clear it again when nothing comes out. “Uh. How’ve you been?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “That was… stupid.”
She exhales, sits back. “Look, Matthew, I’m tired, and I’ve got a meeting in an hour. Whatever this is, just say it.”
Right. No warm-up. Just jump.
“You remember Brooke’s baby shower?” I finally say.
Stella blinks. “Yeah. I threw it.”
I nod, rubbing my palms on my jeans. “When I took the kids to the park that day, a man came up to us. Lil and Micha called him Dad. It was your ex.”
Her face goes tight. “Yeah,” she says, clipped. “I figured.”
“Brooke told me he’d been trying to come back, and you weren’t open to it.”
Her eyes narrow a little, but she doesn’t interrupt.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I grew up without a dad. And when I saw him with the kids… I felt bad. I didn’t want to betray you, so I told him to leave.
But before he did, we exchanged numbers.
A few weeks later, he texted. Said he wanted to earn back your trust and Brooke’s. Asked if I’d help him.”
Her jaw tightens.
“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” My laugh comes out short and bitter. “I felt sorry for him, I guess. So, I agreed to meet him. A few times. We… kind of became friends.”
Her brows pull together, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she wants to kick me out or hear the rest.
“And then,” I say, running a hand through my hair, “one day I got an email from the bank. My credit card, the one I got specifically for emergencies and hospital bills, had been maxed out. I’d never used it. And when I checked my wallet… it was gone.”
Her mouth falls open.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “When I confronted him, he swore he’d pay me back. Promised me. And then he skipped town. Just vanished.”
Stella sits back, blinking like she’s trying to process the words.
“I’m on the hook for twenty-eight thousand dollars,” I say quietly. “Unless I press charges.”
I let out a long breath. “I didn’t come here to make excuses. I came because I can’t keep lying to Brooke. And if I go through with this, it’s going to blow up everything, for me, for her, for you, for the kids. For all of us.”
Her hands lower from their crossed position. She doesn’t speak yet. Just stares at me. And the longer the silence stretches, the heavier it gets.
“I didn’t tell Brooke,” I say finally, voice cracking a little. “I thought I could, I don’t know, fix it. Somehow. And apart from asking my mom for money, which isn’t even an option, I’ve got nothing. I have no other way out of this.”
Stella exhales, and when she speaks, her voice is small, almost absentminded. “She’d hate that.”
I nod. “That’s why I haven’t told her. Look, Stell, I don’t have a choice here.”
She studies me for a long moment, then lets out a humourless laugh. “First of all, you’re an idiot.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I figured.”
“Second,” she goes on, levelling me with a look, “you should press charges.”
My head jerks up. “Are you sure? He’s the father of your kids.”
“He’s also the man who stole my daughter’s piggy bank,” she says, voice blunt. “Besides, a man in prison will have a harder time suing me for custody than a rich one.”
I blink at her, thrown by the bluntness of it.
“I was wondering why he disappeared,” she adds, shaking her head slowly, like puzzle pieces are finally clicking into place.
My mouth falls open. “Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes. “What, do you want to pay the money instead?”
The question throws me off. She’s not being cruel, just brutally practical. And the truth is, no, I can’t pay it. I’ve been pretending like I might somehow find a way, but I can’t.
Her eyes soften just a fraction. “Matthew he’s done worse. Don’t you dare protect him at the cost of your future.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I didn’t think this would be… so easy.” And I hadn’t, I expected her to get mad, at Zeke, at me. Even expected her to threaten her relationship with Brooke if I went through with it. I definitely didn’t expect this.
Stella’s lips twitch into something between a tired smile and a grimace. “It’s not easy. I gave up on my ex a long time ago and you just gave me the way to get him out of my kids’ life for good. But my sister? You lied to her, and worse, you went behind her back.”
“I thought I knew better,” I say quietly, the words scraping out of me like splinters.
Her expression doesn’t soften. “A lot of people think they know better than Brooke,” she replies, voice low but steady. “She told me you were better than that.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Just air. Guilt claws up my throat, thick and hot. I screwed up. Bad. And then I lied to cover it up. And then I lied again. One small betrayal turning into a chain that’s wrapped around both of us now.
I press my palms into my knees, fingers curling tight. “What do I do now?”
Stella lets out a sharp exhale, shaking her head slowly. “The only thing you can do is tell her,” she says. “And hope to hell she forgives you.”
With that, I stand, mumble a soft “thanks,” and head for the door.
The cold air outside hits me like a smack against the face.
My hands shake as I slide behind the wheel of Mom’s car.
The drive back feels shorter somehow, like the universe is dragging me straight toward the reckoning I’ve been dodging.
I should’ve gone back to Mom’s. I should’ve stalled. But I don’t. My foot stays on the gas. If I stop now, I’ll never tell her.
When I turn onto our block, my chest is tight. I sit in the car for a few seconds, forehead pressed against the leather, just breathing. Then I grab my keys and force myself out.
The apartment door feels heavier than it should. My hand trembles slightly as I push it open.
Brooke’s on the couch, back hunched. She turns toward me at the sound of the door.
“Brooke,” I manage, my voice already breaking.
My heart slams against my ribs. I urge my feet to move, to go to her, to kneel, to tell her everything before the words rot inside me.
But before I can take a single step, a voice floats out from the kitchen.
“Matthew.”
I freeze.
She steps out of the shadows like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. My mom. Arms folded, chin lifted. There’s a look in her eyes I know too well, sharp, gleaming, almost triumphant.
My stomach twists.
I turn back to Brooke. Her eyes are nothing like my mother’s. They’re pissed. Betrayal bleeds through every inch of her face.
And in that split second, I know.
I’m too late.