Chapter 22
I woke to the low murmur of voices downstairs, the kind of half-whispers people used when they didn’t want you to hear but couldn’t stop talking anyway.
I lay still for a moment, the weight of last night pressing down on me like a stone. My chest felt bruised, my head thick with the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from holding yourself together long past the point of breaking.
The words drifted up the stairs, muffled but sharp enough to catch pieces.
“…half the town was there.”
“…Victoria making a scene on purpose.”
“We need to do damage control. People are already talking.”
My throat burned as I swung my legs off the bed, pulling on the nearest hoodie before heading down.
They were all in the kitchen: Mom, Dad, Chase, Clara, and even Brody, his broad shoulders tense as he leaned against the counter. Coffee mugs clinked softly against the table. No one noticed me until I spoke.
“Shouldn’t I be part of this conversation?”
The silence was immediate. Everyone looked at me like they’d been caught doing something wrong.
Chase cleared his throat first. “Cass…”
“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. If there’s gossip, if people are already calling me names, then maybe I deserve to know.”
Clara flinched at that, her mouth parting like she wanted to protest, but before she could, Jackson barreled into the room, tugging on her sleeve.
“Mom! Can we go for ice cream today?” He turned to me when Clara hesitated, big blue eyes wide with hope. “Aunt Cass, you can come, right?”
I crouched down so we were eye level and smoothed a hand over his messy blonde hair. “You know what, buddy? How about just you and me today? We’ll get ice cream, drive around, and get some fresh air. Deal?”
Jackson beamed, already racing off to grab his coat.
I avoided everyone’s eyes as I ran upstairs to get changed quickly. I needed air. Space. Anything but the four walls of that kitchen and the weight of their pity.
We stopped at a little shop downtown that stayed open year-round, the kind with sticky tables and mismatched chairs, and Jackson insisted on double scoops despite the cold.
The air was sharp enough to sting, biting at my cheeks as we walked back toward the car, his mittened hand swinging in mine.
For a moment, it was almost easy to breathe again.
To be present in this moment with the sweetest boy at my side.
And then I heard it.
“Cassidy.”
No.
Andrew’s voice.
I froze before I could stop myself, the ice creeping up my spine. He stood a few feet away, his son by his side, looking like his dad's twin.
“Hey, Jackson!” the boy chirped, waving at my nephew, with a hauntingly familiar smile.
“Max!” Jackson grinned, starting to step forward, but I instinctively pulled him closer.
Andrew’s smile was practiced, smooth, like last night hadn’t happened at all. “Looks like the boys miss each other,” he said casually. “Why don’t we let them hang out? Grab a coffee while they play?”
Was he fucking crazy?
My voice came out tighter than I meant. “Not today, Andrew.”
His brows drew together, just slightly, but he didn’t back off. “Cassidy, don’t do this.” His voice lowered, pitched just for me. “Spend time with me, with us. For them.” He gestured between the boys, like dangling them between us would somehow erase everything he’d done.
I crouched, ignoring him, forcing my smile to stay soft for Jackson. “Hey, buddy? Aunt Cass has some things to do today. But maybe you can talk to your mom about setting something up with Max’s parents.”
Jackson looked disappointed but nodded. I straightened, keeping my gaze locked on Andrew’s. “Not today,” I repeated firmly.
His jaw ticked, eyes flashing with something I couldn’t read: frustration, desperation, maybe both.
Too bad, asshole, you did this to yourself.
And then, as if the universe hadn’t punished me enough, someone passed behind us.
“Whore,” they muttered, not even subtle.
Another voice followed, louder this time, sharp and cutting: “Homewrecker.”
The words landed like physical blows.
I stood frozen, holding onto Jackson’s hand tighter than I probably should have. My vision blurred, the cold air suddenly too thin, too sharp, every breath scraping down my throat. I blinked fast, refusing to let the tears fall here. Not in front of Jackson. Not in front of Andrew.
Andrew turned toward the strangers, his expression darkening. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he snapped, loud enough to draw attention.
That only made it worse. Heads turned. Eyes landed on me. I felt every one of them, like heat against my skin, branding me with their judgment.
Jackson tugged at my sleeve. “Aunt Cass? What’s a homewrecker?”
My chest caved, my throat tightening until it was hard to speak. How do you explain to a child that adults ruin each other with lies and labels? “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart,” I managed, somehow keeping my voice steady.
Andrew stepped closer, too close. “Cassidy...”
“No.” My voice cracked, but I stood my ground. “We’re done. Go home, Andrew.”
He shook his head, slow and deliberate, like I was the one being unreasonable. Like I was in the wrong. “You can’t run from me. You can’t run from this.” His voice lowered again, raw now, almost pleading. “From us.”
And then, behind him, I heard Max’s small voice: “Dad? What does that mean?”
Something inside me splintered.
I turned without another word, pulling Jackson with me, forcing my feet to move even though my legs felt like they might give out. My whole body was trembling by the time I got him into the car, my fingers clumsy on the seatbelt buckle.
I gripped the steering wheel tight, forcing myself to breathe, forcing myself to keep it together for the little boy humming softly in the seat behind me, oblivious to the shards of my world around us.
Back home, Jackson bounded inside ahead of me, already yelling for his mom. “Aunt Cass cried today,” he announced, oblivious to the way the room stilled. “Some mean people said bad stuff to her. And Mr. Brooks wanted to have a playdate, but Aunt Cass said no.”
The quiet that followed was deafening.
Clara reached for me immediately, but I stepped back. “I can’t... please, don’t.”
“Cassidy,” Mom started softly, but I cut her off, shaking my head hard.
“I need to go home.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion flashing in her eyes. “Sweetheart, you are home. Stay. Just stay. We will talk this through and fix this.”
“I can’t. I don't know that this can be fixed.”
I didn’t wait for anyone to argue. I turned, ignoring their voices calling after me, and walked out the front door.
By the time the cold air hit my face, I was already running.