16. Zola
ZOLA
Iwake alone.
The realization hits before I'm fully conscious—no warmth beside me, no steady breathing, just cold sheets and morning light filtering through the curtains. I knew he'd leave. He said he had work. But some pathetic part of me hoped he'd come back after, hoped I'd wake to find him there.
Instead, there's nothing.
I drag myself out of bed, every movement heavy with exhaustion that has nothing to do with Maeve's sleep schedule. She's still sleeping, thank god, giving me a few precious minutes to pull myself together before the day starts.
The bookstore won't open itself.
By nine I've managed coffee, gotten Maeve fed and changed, and carried her carrier down to the office behind the counter. She's drowsy from her bottle, eyes drooping as I settle her in the portable crib Nia kept here for days like this.
"Sleep, baby girl," I murmur, brushing my fingers over her soft curls. "Just an hour. That's all I need."
She sighs, thumb finding her mouth, and I leave the office door cracked so I can hear if she wakes.
The morning passes slowly. A handful of customers browse the shelves—a college student looking for required reading, an older man searching for a birthday gift, a woman who spends twenty minutes in the romance section before leaving empty-handed.
I ring up sales, answer questions, try not to check my phone every five minutes to see if Declan's texted.
He hasn't.
Around eleven, the door chimes. I glance up from the inventory spreadsheet I'm pretending to focus on, expecting another browser.
Instead, I see a woman.
She's beautiful in that polished, expensive way—designer clothes that fit perfectly, hair blown out smooth and shining, makeup applied with professional precision. But her smile doesn't reach her eyes, and the way she's looking at me makes my skin crawl.
"Can I help you?" I keep my voice professional, neutral.
She walks straight to the counter, heels clicking against the hardwood. Up close, I can see the calculation in her expression, the way she's assessing me like I'm a problem to be solved.
"You could leave my husband alone."
The words land like a slap. I blink, processing, trying to make sense of what she just said. "I'm sorry?"
"Declan." She says his name like it tastes bitter. "My husband. I know he's been spending time here."
The floor drops out from under me. Husband. Declan's married. Declan has a wife, and she's standing in my bookstore with a smile that's all teeth and no warmth.
"I—" My voice won't work properly. "I didn't—"
"I can forgive it." She waves a hand, dismissive. "Men stray sometimes, especially when things get complicated at home. But now that we're expecting—" She places a manicured hand on her flat stomach, the gesture deliberate. "—I need you to back off."
Expecting.
The word echoes in my skull, drowning out everything else. She's pregnant. Declan's wife is pregnant with his child, and I'm the idiot who believed him when he said he cared, who let him back into my life, who almost—
"I had no idea." The words come out strangled. "I didn't know he was married."
Her smile sharpens. "Well, now you do. So when he comes by—because I'm sure he will—send him home. Where he belongs."
She turns and walks out, leaving me standing behind the counter with my heart in pieces and bile rising in my throat.
I make it to the bathroom before I vomit.
Maeve wakes crying an hour later. I lift her from the crib on autopilot, my hands shaking as I prepare a bottle. She drinks hungrily, oblivious to the fact that my entire world just shattered around us.
He's married. He's been married this entire time—showing up at my bookstore, cooking in my kitchen, holding Maeve like she was his, telling me he never stopped caring.
And I believed him. I let myself believe he was here because he wanted me, because we had a chance at fixing what I broke eight years ago.
But he has a wife. A pregnant wife. And I'm just—what? A distraction? A mistake? The woman stupid enough to fall for his lies?
I'm rocking Maeve against my chest when the door chimes again.
Declan walks in, and I immediately feel sick.
He's smiling—this soft, genuine expression that would have melted me yesterday. Now it just makes me want to scream.
"Hey." He starts toward the counter. "Sorry I didn't make it back this morning. There was something I had to—"
"Your wife came by."
He stops cold. The smile vanishes.
"Zola—"
"Your wife, Declan." My voice shakes with fury. "The one you somehow forgot to mention. She was very informative. Wanted to make sure I understood the situation."
"It's not what you think." He takes a step closer, hands raised like he's approaching something dangerous. "Just let me explain—"
"I don't want to hear it." But I can't move, can't run, because Maeve's in my arms and she's looking between us with confused eyes like she knows something's wrong.
"I need you to listen." His voice is careful, measured. "Bianca and I—it's not a real marriage. I agreed to marry her when my uncle was on his deathbed because he asked me to, but it doesn't mean anything. We don't—I've never—"
"Stop." I can't breathe. Can't process what he's saying through the roaring in my ears. "Just stop."
"I need you to understand." He's pleading now, desperation creeping into his tone.
"The entire time I thought you didn't want me.
I thought you'd moved on, built a life without me.
I did what my uncle asked because I didn't care anymore about anything, because nothing mattered if I couldn't have you.
But it's not real, Zola. None of it is real except what I feel for you. "
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him so badly it physically hurts. But I spent so long protecting myself from this exact feeling, and now here I am anyway—standing in the wreckage of something I should never have let happen.
"You're married," I repeat, because it's the only fact that matters. "You have a wife."
"On paper. That's all."
Except she's pregnant.I can't bring myself to say it, can't acknowledge the cruel irony of it—that he married someone who can give him exactly what I can't. That I left to spare him this burden, and he found it anyway with someone else.
He steps closer. "Zola, it's—"
"I was so close." My voice breaks. "So close to actually listening to you. To believing we could have a chance. I thought—" I have to stop, have to breathe through the pain crushing my chest. "I thought I wouldn't be ruining your life. But evidently I was wrong."
"You're not ruining anything." He's moving toward me now, hands outstretched. "Zola, please, just listen—"
"Get out."
"No. Not until you hear me—"
"GET OUT!" The scream tears out of me, raw and broken. Maeve startles in my arms, her face crumpling, and then she's wailing—this high, terrified sound that cuts straight through me.
Declan stops, stricken. He's looking at Maeve like leaving her is physically painful, like walking away from us both might actually kill him.
But he does it anyway.
He turns and walks out, the door chiming cheerfully behind him, and I'm left standing there with a screaming baby and a shattered heart and the crushing realization that I was right when I left.
I was always going to ruin his life. And he was always going to break my heart.
Maeve won't stop crying.
I try everything—bouncing her, singing to her, offering her bottle even though she just ate. Nothing works. She's worked herself into hysterics, her face red and tear-streaked, and I can't calm her down because I can't calm myself down.
My hands shake as I fumble for my phone. I scroll through contacts with blurred vision until I find Naomi's name.
She answers on the second ring. "Hey, girl, what's—"
"Can you come over?" My voice cracks. "Please. I need—I can't—"
"I'm on my way." No questions, no hesitation. "Twenty minutes. Just breathe, okay?"
She makes it in fifteen.
I let her in, and she takes one look at me before reaching for Maeve. "Give her here."
I hand the baby over gratefully, and we head upstairs where I collapse onto the couch as Naomi works her magic. She rocks Maeve with practiced ease, making soothing sounds, and somehow—impossibly—the crying gradually subsides into hiccupping whimpers.
"There we go, sweet girl." Naomi settles into the armchair, Maeve tucked against her chest. "You're okay. Everyone's okay."
But we're not okay. Nothing's okay.
Naomi waits until Maeve's completely settled before speaking. "What happened?"
Where do I even start? How do I explain the tangled mess of the past two weeks, the past eight years, the past eleven years of my life?
"Declan," I manage. "It's about Declan."
Her eyebrows rise. "The guy who's been hanging around?"
"He's—" I swallow hard. "He's my ex. From before I left Philly.
We were together for two years, and I left because—" The words stick in my throat.
I've never told anyone except Nia the real reason, but Naomi knows a little of this truth.
"I can't have children. He's in the same kind of work as Nilos, and his uncle wanted him to marry someone who could give him heirs, who could—" My voice breaks.
"I left so he could have that. So he could have the life he was supposed to have without me holding him back. "
Naomi's quiet for a long moment. "And he's been coming around because?"
"Because he said he wanted me. Said nothing changed, that he'd choose me." Tears are streaming down my face now. "And I almost believed him. I almost—" I can't finish. Can't admit how close I came to letting him back in.
"But?"
"But his wife showed up this morning." The words taste bitter. "Told me to back off because she's pregnant and they're expecting. And I had no idea, Naomi. He never said—he never mentioned—"
"Wait." Naomi shifts Maeve to her other shoulder. "He's married?"
"Apparently. He tried to explain, said it's not real, that he only did it because his uncle asked him to and he thought I didn't want him. But how can I trust that? How can I—" My throat closes. "She's pregnant. With his baby. And I can't—I'll never—"
Understanding crosses Naomi's face. She adjusts her hold on Maeve, who's finally falling asleep. "Come here."
I move to sit beside her, and she wraps her free arm around me, pulling me against her side. "I'm sorry. That's awful, and he should have told you."
"I left to protect myself," I whisper. "And he ended up with someone who can give him what I couldn't, like he was supposed to. But what was the point in him coming around just to break my heart?"
"Oh, Zo." She rubs a hand up and down my arm. "I don't know why he did that. Men are stupid. But it sounds like he never stopped loving you. Not that it excuses the lying."
"It doesn't matter if he's married." I shake my head, not sure how to pull myself together. "I don't know how to keep going like this."
"Because it hurts. But it won't always hurt this much." She presses a kiss to the top of my head. "And you're not alone, okay? You have me. You have Nilos—he'd help you bury a body if you asked, I'm not even kidding. You have people who love you and Maeve and will be here no matter what."
I nod against her shoulder, not trusting my voice.
We sit like that for a long time—her holding both me and Maeve, keeping us together when I feel like I'm breaking apart. Eventually Maeve wakes, hungry and fussy, and Naomi helps me prepare a bottle while I try to pull myself together.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asks.
"No." I take Maeve, settling her against me as she drinks. "You've done enough. Thank you for coming."
"Call me if you need anything." Naomi squeezes my shoulder. "Seriously. Any time. I mean it."
After she leaves, I lock the door and carry Maeve upstairs. The apartment still smells faintly of garlic from last night's dinner, and there's a coffee mug on the counter from this morning—evidence of Declan being here, of me letting him in.
I wash the mug, wipe down the counters, trying to erase any trace of him.
But I can't erase the way Maeve keeps looking toward the door like she's waiting for him to come back. Can't erase the hollow ache in my chest or the memory of his voice saying it's not real, none of it is real except what I feel for you.
I want to believe him. Despite everything, I still want to believe him.
And that's the most terrifying thing of all.