Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sara
I don’t know why I’m back here.
I mean, I do, but I’ve also spent the last four minutes pretending to browse a table of books as if I’m not totally loitering.
Evelyn’s behind the counter, flipping through a hardcover. She hasn’t looked up, which I’m taking as her version of a welcome mat. Or a challenge. Hard to say.
I fake-read the back of 1984 as if I didn’t suffer through it in tenth grade.
Finally, I clear my throat. “Hey.”
She glances up and smiles. “Back again?”
“Yeah. I hope that’s okay?”
Evelyn closes the book with a soft thunk and raises one brow. “That depends. You aren’t haunting me for sport, are you?”
Fair.
“Mostly haunting,” I say. “But also maybe… attempting human connection?”
Evelyn gives me a look, but it’s not sharp this time. “Ambitious.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, we had such a nice chat before…”
Her lips twitch. “About my brother.”
I nod. “But I also want to know you.”
I don’t know if I can fix what’s broken here, but I want to try.
She nods, and I swear the air between us warms by, like, two degrees.
I glance at the nearest shelf. “So. What’s the verdict, are you one of those alphabetize-by-author types or chaos librarian?”
She tilts her head, amused. “Genre first. Then alphabetical. But with exceptions.”
“Oh no. You’re one of those.”
“I take offense to that.”
I grin. “You’re the kind of person who says things like, ‘Actually, the film adaptation lost all nuance.’”
“It does, in most cases.”
“I knew it.” I tap the counter. “Next you’re gonna tell me you judge people by the first book they buy here.”
“Only a little,” she says. “It’s more of a spiritual read. Like book astrology.”
“I bet you read banned books for fun.”
“Obviously,” she says, deadpan. “What’s the point of a story if it doesn’t challenge something?”
I let that sit for a second, because it’s actually… kind of profound. Then: “Okay, fine. What’s my book sign? My last purchase here was a battered copy of Matilda, which I will defend to the death.”
Her eyes sparkle… sparkle, I kid you not. “You’re a quietly furious idealist who drinks too much iced coffee and hoards childhood trauma under a pile of sarcastic T-shirts.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “Ruthless and accurate.”
She leans on the counter, a little closer now. “What are you really doing here?”
I glance down at my shoes, then back up at her. “I… have something for you.”
My heart thunders. I haven’t okayed this with Nick… but he won’t hate me, will he?
I reach into my bag, and slide an envelope across the counter. “Okay. Now I’m really going to cross a line.”
Evelyn lifts a brow.
“It’s from last week,” I say. “Ultrasound.”
She doesn’t open it immediately. “Why give it to me?”
“Because you seem like someone who sees things other people miss. And these kids are gonna need that. They’re going to need someone in their life who doesn’t flinch when the world gets weird or loud or complicated.”
She opens the envelope slowly, then stares down at the grainy photo. Three little blobs huddled together in the inky black.
“They’re going to need an aunt,” I say. “Someone who reads banned books. Someone who knows how to disappear when things get loud, but who always finds her way back.”
Evelyn opens the envelope slowly, then stares down at the grainy photo. Her brow furrows.
She squints. Tilts the picture sideways. Then back again. “Wait. Are there… three?”
I nod, a little sheepishly. “Yeah.”
Her eyes widen, real surprise blooming across her face. “Three?”
“Triplets,” I confirm. “Because apparently the universe thinks I’m hilarious.”
Evelyn lets out a short breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief. “Shit. I thought I was holding the paper upside down.”
“Nope. That’s just my uterus. Currently hosting a clown car situation.”
She’s still staring at the image, her thumb brushing the edge as if she’s afraid it might vanish.
Then, softer: “You know… this store is chaos most of the time. Messy. Loud in a weirdly specific way. Kids knock things over, and teenagers sit in the poetry section pretending not to cry. And I think… maybe I like it that way.”
I smile. “Then maybe they’ll fit right in.”
She looks up at me, really looks at me, for the first time since I walked in. And something in her gaze shifts. Less guarded. More… wonder, maybe.
“You’re brave, Sara.”
I laugh under my breath. “I’m terrified.”
Evelyn nods. “Same thing, sometimes.”
She still doesn’t say she’ll be there. Doesn’t promise anything. But she’s holding that photo as if it’s something fragile and full of light.
It might even mean something to her.
Evelyn leans back, fingers laced over her knee, as if that small gesture might keep the rest of her from flying apart. I wonder how many times she’s done exactly that, held herself in place because everything felt too slippery.
I open my mouth to ask if there’s anything I can do for her when my phone vibrates on the side table, jittering hard enough to rattle the ceramic coaster.
Laura’s name flashes across the screen.
“Give me one sec,” I murmur, already swiping. Laura hardly ever calls from work.
“Please tell me you’re sitting down,” she blurts, voice pitched high with the special panic reserved for genuine emergencies and sample sale stampedes.
I frown. “I’m… in a bookstore. Why?”
Her answer is a hissed, “Edge Magazine.”
The blood drains from my face.
Evelyn straightens. “Sara?”
I slam the phone to speaker, thumb trembling.
Laura’s already talking a mile a minute.
“Edge just dropped a feature, full spread, front page online. ‘Billion Dollar Baby Scandal: Notorious Bachelor CEO’s Secret HR Affair and Surprise Triplets.’ It’s everywhere, Sar.
They’ve got photos of you leaving Nick’s building, screenshots from some intern’s Slack.
Shit, they even pulled your GoFundMe from when your mom was sick.
They’re framing it like a Cinderella-to-gold-digger pipeline. ”
My stomach turns to ice. Each word lands hard as a slap.
“Nick didn’t say this was happening,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if I’m arguing with Laura or reality.
“He didn’t warn you at all?” she asks. “Did he not know?”
“I don’t know.” The room tilts. Or maybe that’s just me.
Laura curses. “Paps are outside Ashford HQ already. I spotted three vans on Sixth. You need to get somewhere safe before—”
I end the call. Not because I want to, but because the roar in my ears is louder than her voice.
Evelyn is beside me now, gentle hand on my elbow. “Sara?”
I shove the phone toward her, screen still glowing with the headline, my face plastered beneath it like a mug shot. She scans the page, eyes widening.
A beat later, her expression shifts. Recognition, sorrow, something eerily close to déjà vu.
“This,” she says softly, “is exactly what I ran from.”
And in that instant I finally understand, viscerally, why she left, why she hid, why Nick’s guilt is a living thing that sleeps with him at night.
Because the spotlight doesn’t just burn—it brands.
My pulse hammers. I picture Meatball alone in the penthouse, the elevators, the security desk, the inevitable swarm.
I picture Nick at his desk, knowing this was coming, choosing not to tell me, or maybe failing to stop it. I don’t know which version hurts more.
Evelyn squeezes my arm. “What can I do to help you?”
But right now I feel impossibly, catastrophically alone, and I don’t think anyone can help me. Not even someone who’s been through it before.
“I need to go,” I choke out, already grabbing my bag.
“Where?”
I don’t have an answer. Home? Nick’s office? The moon?
Every step toward the door feels heavy. The article might as well have hooked talons into my back.
The bell jingles overhead, far too cheerful for what’s happening. Outside, a gust of February air slaps my cheeks, sharp as betrayal.
The chapter of my life where I was invisible is over.
And the next one, whatever it is, has started with a headline I never agreed to.