Chapter Twenty Nine Even Then
Chapter Twenty Nine
Even Then
T
he street is quiet. Empty. The world’s still waking up this Saturday morning while I wander with no destination, no plan—just the sound of my own footsteps and the ache of betrayal pressing down with every step.
The air is sharp against my skin, the kind of cool that should wake me up, but it doesn’t.
I’m still living in this fucking nightmare.
My legs move fast, each step fueled by rage, pounding against the pavement like it could shake the betrayal out of me.
How could he? How could he stand there and say nothing after everything we’ve been through?
By the time I slow down, my chest feels tight and hollow.
The fire in me’s burned out, leaving nothing but the ache.
I’m not mad anymore—I’m hurt. Hurt that I gave so much of myself to someone who can't even give me honesty.
Hurt that I believed in him enough to let him into my heart, only for him to stand mute when I confront him about something so serious.
I wrap my arms around myself walking back in the direction of home, my feet dragging against the sidewalk now.
The streets are still quiet—the kind of quiet that makes you feel small—and I hate how much it mirrors what’s inside me.
When the house comes into view, I stop and stare at it like it’s nothing more than a shell now.
It’s just a reminder of everything that fell apart. My heart aches from the realization that I don’t even know who I’m fighting for anymore.
I push the door open slowly and step inside, sadness sitting heavy on my shoulders.
The living room looks different. Clean. The cups are gone, the counters wiped, the floor clear.
He must’ve finished it while I was gone.
The sight should make me feel lighter, but instead, it just presses more weight onto my chest. He cleaned up the house, but not what he broke.
I move slowly down the hall, my slippers whispering against the hardwood until I push open the door to my room. He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, hands hanging together like dead weight. His eyes stay fixed on the floor, like the answer is hiding somewhere down there.
When his eyes meet mine, his expression bends into something I can’t fully read—disappointment, maybe shame—but none of it matters. Because all I see when I look at him is everything I lost trying to love him.
I slip past him and lie down, eyes locked on the ceiling hoping it’ll keep me from falling apart.
But the silence in the room is too weighted, and the voice in my chest is screaming.
The tears come slow at first, rolling from the corners of my eyes into my hairline—then faster, slipping down my cheeks until I can taste the salt on my lips.
I don’t bother wiping them away. What’s the point?
It’s not like crying’s going to magically fix any of this.
I just let them fall, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how everything I thought I had could tear open in a single night.
My emotions have perfect timing—when I finally want to stay strong, they decide to put on a show.
I let out a shaky breath that sounds more like a laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. Just pain hiding under sarcasm, the only thing I have left that still feels like control.
Still on the corner of the bed, I hear him exhale—heavy and uneven. His voice follows, rough and low, like it hurts just to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t look at him, but he keeps going, the words tumbling out like he’s been choking on them for the whole fifteen minutes it took me to calm down outside.
“Everything you heard… it’s true.” His voice cracks on the last word, and this time he doesn’t try to hide it.
“The girl—that’s pregnant—is carrying my baby.
I was with her a few months before I met you.
I thought it was over, but… I didn’t end it right.
Then she told me she was pregnant the same week I met you at that party. ”
He drags a shaky hand down his face, voice trembling. “I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t know how to. I don’t even know what to do about the situation myself. I figured if I ignored it, maybe it would all just… go away.”
He thought his baby and the mother of his child would just go away?
He sighs, frustrated. “I didn’t plan on being a father so soon.
I didn’t plan on falling for you so fast either—but I did.
Hard. And by the time I realized how deep I was in, it was too late.
I didn’t know how to tell you without losing you.
You gotta understand—I’m just trying to protect what we have. ”
His words hang heavy between us. The silence after each one feels like a bruise forming in the air.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says finally, voice breaking completely. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. Better than I ever deserved. I know I fucked this up, and I know sorry doesn’t fix anything, but I need you to know—I mean every word I’ve ever said to you. None of this is fake.”
He swallows hard, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m not asking you to let me stay. I just… I just want you to forgive me.”
I close my eyes, the tears streaming faster now, hot against my skin. My chest hurts like my heart’s trying to claw its way out.
His voice fades into the silence, but it stays lodged under my skin—his guilt, his pain, his brokenness. And I almost believe him. But belief doesn’t change what he did or how I feel.
? ? ?
It’s been almost a month, and I still haven’t really spoken to Levy. I respond when I have to—short words, clipped sentences—but for the most part, I’m keeping my distance. I don’t even know why I let him stay. Comfort, maybe. Or maybe it’s easier than admitting how empty I’ll feel without him.
He, on the other hand, has been trying everything. Flowers left on the bed—small bouquets like the ones he used to surprise me with when we first started dating.
He lingers near me more, continuously asking if I need anything, complimenting me hourly. He even started paying attention more—looking me in the eye when I talk, offering to run errands, brushing against me softly like he’s trying to remind me of what we had. Sometimes it feels good—I won’t lie.
Part of me wants to let it sink in, to let it soften the tension inside me. But I know the only reason he’s doing it is because he got caught, and that keeps the wall up.
He’s desperate, and I can feel it in every gesture.
But even with all the sweet gestures, all I can think about is her.
The mother of his unborn child. I wonder if he’s starting to regret all of this.
If he wishes he was with her, building a family, instead of clinging to whatever scraps he and I are holding onto.
The questions chew at me, but I can’t bring myself to voice them. So I let them spin in my head day after day, while the silence between us gets thicker, no matter how hard he tries to chip at it.
The days blur together, the next month dragging by with the same dull pull in my chest. I go to work, come home, go through the motions—but the thoughts never leave.
No matter how many customers I smile at, no matter how many times I tell myself to stay busy, the same questions circle back into my mind like vultures.
A part of me wants to confront her, to look her dead in the eye and hear the truth from her mouth.
Because if this baby is his, then it’s not just his life being torn open—it’s mine too, if I choose to stay with him.
She and that child will always be here. A permanent shadow. Something I could never outrun.
But I can barely look at Levy without my lungs stalling—so how the hell am I supposed to face her? How am I supposed to walk straight into something I don’t even know if I want to be apart of?
So I push the idea away, even though it lingers at the edge of everything—whispering that I’ll probably have to face it one day. Just… not today.
Right now, I can barely handle me.
My mind is a mess, my heart feels split in two, and I don’t even know what I want anymore. Before I can think about her—or the baby, or the future, or any future at all—I have to figure out if I even want one with him.
And that’s the part that terrifies me most—because after almost two months, I still don’t know the answer.
? ? ?
I recently picked up a job at the mall, doing makeup on women who mostly just wants a free glam session.
It isn't my dream job, and most of the customers are dull—their stories looping like static. But I do love doing makeup. So, I figured it would be the easiest job for me to do until I figure out how to make more money. The associates are older women in their fifties, women who didn’t really get the art of makeup—but I guess it paid the bills.
There’s a quiet joy in transforming a face, showing a girl a new version of herself with nothing more than brushes and powders. It’s pure art.
When I get home from work, the house feels calm—the kind of quiet I’ve been craving all day. I step into the living room to find Arina curled up on the couch, her favorite sitcom flickering across the TV. She glances up at me with a knowing smile, almost mischievous.
I narrow my eyes, arching a brow at her. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says lightly, still smiling. “Just good to see you.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I move past her.
“Good to see you too.” My eyes linger on her for a beat, suspicious, but I let it go as I head down the hall.
Arina’s been saying for weeks she’s tired of watching us bicker like an old married couple, and that we just need to sit down and actually talk.
And maybe she’s right. But talking can’t change the fact that he practically has a whole other family now.