10. Az
— ? —
Az
I make it another half block before my body forces me to stop. My lungs are burning. I have to bend forward with my hands on my knees just to catch my breath.
A streetlight buzzes overhead. Somewhere behind me, I hear Eli’s footsteps slow.
“Please.” His voice is wrecked. “Please let me explain.”
I straighten up. He’s standing six feet away, close enough that I can see his chest heaving, far enough that I could walk away if I wanted to. A couple across the street has stopped to watch us. I can see the glow of a phone screen in one of their hands.
I could leave. I could turn the corner and find Dez and never hear whatever he’s about to say.
But I’ve loved this man for seven years. I’m carrying his daughter. And if there’s an explanation, I deserve to hear it before I decide what comes next.
“Talk,” I say. “Fast.”
He swallows hard. Nods. Waits for my question.
“What did she mean.”
My voice is steady now, which surprises me. Something has calcified inside my chest, some protective shell clicking into place around the soft wounded parts of me.
“Az-”
“What did she mean, ‘you told her’? What did you tell her, Eli?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I can hear the murmur of people nearby, the click of phones taking pictures, the distant sound of traffic on the main road. Long enough that I know whatever he’s about to say is something I really, really don’t want to hear.
“Brynn told me she loved me.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Years ago. Before you.”
The streetlight buzzes overhead. A car drives past, bass thumping from its speakers. Someone across the street laughs at something, a bright careless sound that feels like it’s coming from another planet.
“What?”
“We were nineteen.” He’s not looking at me.
His eyes are fixed on the pavement, on the cigarette butt near his shoe, on anything except my face.
“She told me she loved me, and I said I didn’t feel the same way, and she said she understood.
She said she’d get over it.” He finally looks up, and his eyes are wet.
“I thought she had, Az. I thought she was just being a good friend, helping with the wedding, helping with the tour, helping with-”
“Are you SERIOUS right now?”
The words explode out of me so loud that the people on the sidewalk actually step back. Let them. My husband is standing under a streetlight telling me that the woman who has been systematically dismantling my marriage for the past year has been in love with him since before I existed.
“She loves you.” My voice cracks on the word.
“She’s been in love with you this whole time, and you didn’t tell me?
You let me… you let her into our house, Eli.
You gave her a key. You put her in charge of your tour, your schedule, your-” I press my hand against my belly, the protective instinct so strong it actually hurts.
“My daughter’s heartbeat. You let her record my daughter’s heartbeat. ”
“I didn’t know-”
“You DID know.” The tears are back now, hot and furious, streaming down my face. “I TOLD you. I told you something was wrong, I told you to set boundaries, I told you she was standing in my place and you called me CRAZY.”
“I know.” His voice breaks. “I know I did. I was wrong, I was so fucking wrong-”
“You put her in my seat.” I’m listing them now, all the wounds I’ve been carrying, all the cuts that never healed.
“Row A, seat one. The chair that was supposed to be mine, the one the roadies taped with my name, and you gave it to her. You sent that text, ‘it’s a chair’, like I was being unreasonable for wanting the place you promised me. ”
“Az-”
“You let her turn your set into a tribute to your childhood, to her, and you cut the song you wrote for me. Doorstep. The song about how you’d wait on my doorstep forever if that’s what it took.
” My voice is shaking so hard I can barely get the words out.
“You cut it, and you played a brand new song about growing up in Bakersfield, and she sat in my seat and watched like she belonged there.”
He’s crying now. Actually crying, tears running down his face, and I hate that some part of me still wants to reach out and wipe them away.
“The sonogram.” I keep going because I can’t stop, because if I stop I’ll fall apart and I need him to hear this.
“The twelve-week ultrasound, the first time we saw her heart beating, and I found out that night that the whole world had already seen it because Brynn sent it to you. You posted it without asking me. You didn’t even ask. ”
“I was excited-”
“You were careless. And when I told you I was upset, you acted like I was being dramatic.” I wipe my face with the back of my hand, mascara smearing across my skin.
“The nursery. The crib. She had your card, Eli. She went to the store with YOUR credit card and tried to buy a different crib than the maple one I picked alone. The one I actually wanted.”
“I didn’t know she-”
“The hospital bag.” My voice drops, raw and quiet.
“She packed my hospital bag. She put her name inside it, on the luggage tag, like she was going to be there when I gave birth instead of-” I have to stop.
I have to breathe. I press both hands against my belly and feel my daughter kick, this tiny flutter of life that reminds me why I’m doing this.
“And at the shower. My own baby shower, and she sat in the mother’s chair.
She had my sash on the armrest, and when you finally showed up, you kissed her on the cheek in front of everyone like she’d done nothing.
And then in the car, when I tried to tell you how that made me feel, you called me crazy. ”
“I never should have-”
“But you DID.” I’m screaming now, and I don’t care who hears, I don’t care how many phones are pointed at us, I don’t care if this ends up on every gossip site in the country.
“You did all of it, Eli. And you didn’t cheat on me, not with your body, anyway, but you gave her everything else.
You gave her my place in your life, piece by piece, and you told me I was imagining things. ”
“I didn’t cheat.” His voice is desperate, broken. “Az, I swear on our kid, I didn’t cheat. That baby, whatever she’s saying, it’s not mine.”
“I know you didn’t.”
The words come out softer than I intended, and I see the hope flash across his face like lightning. He reaches for me, and I move out of range.
“You don’t understand.” I’m working the ring off my finger now, the engagement ring he picked out at that tiny antique shop in Silver Lake, the one with the vintage emerald that matched my eyes.
It’s harder to get off than it used to be, my fingers are swollen from the pregnancy, from the salt, from crying for what feels like hours.
“I know you didn’t sleep with her. I believe you. But Eli-”
The ring finally slides free. I take his hand, fold his fingers over the warm metal, and step back.
“I’m not sure you’re what I need right now.”
“Az-”
“I need time.” I put my hand on my belly, feel my daughter shift under my palm.
“For myself. For us.” I look up at him, at this man I’ve loved for seven years, married for five, and I see every choice he made reflected back at me.
Every time he picked her comfort over mine.
Every time he told me my feelings were wrong.
“I need to figure out who I am without you telling me I’m crazy for knowing what I know. ”
“Please don’t leave.” His voice cracks. “Please. I’ll do anything-”
“I’m going to walk away now.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “You’re not going to follow me. Because I’m asking you not to.”
His face breaks. But he nods.
“Okay.” The word barely makes it out. “Okay, Az.”
I turn before I can change my mind. My feet carry me around the corner, past the darkened storefronts, toward the black SUV idling at the curb. Dez is already out of the driver’s seat, dressed in jeans and a Henley instead of his usual suit.
“Mrs. J.” His voice is careful, steady. “Where to?”
“Ojai.”
He doesn’t ask questions. Just opens the passenger door and waits while I climb in, then rounds the hood and slides behind the wheel.
“My car’s still at the restaurant,” I say, fumbling with the seatbelt. “Can someone-”
“Security can retrieve it tomorrow. Don’t worry about it.”
I nod. Through the window, I catch one last glimpse of Eli standing under that streetlight. He hasn’t moved. His hand is closed around something, my ring, I realize. He’s holding it so tight his knuckles have gone white.
He doesn’t follow.
Dez pulls away from the curb, and the city slides past my window in streaks of light and shadow. I press my palm flat against my belly and try to remember how to breathe.
The 101 is quiet this time of night. Dark hills rolling past the windows, the occasional flash of headlights from oncoming traffic, the distant glow of exit signs marking towns I’ve never visited.
Thousand Oaks, then Camarillo, then Ventura.
Dez doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t turn on the radio.
He just drives, steady and sure, while I sit in the passenger seat with my hand on my belly and watch the miles tick away.
My phone buzzes.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t look. But some masochistic part of me picks it up anyway, opens the notification, and there it is: a video clip, already going viral, time-stamped twenty minutes ago.
ELLIOT JACKSON’S WIFE WALKS
The thumbnail shows me in the restaurant parking lot, my green dress clinging to my belly, my face twisted between fury and devastation.
You can see Brynn in the background, her hand on her stomach, her expression perfectly tragic.
You can see Eli running after me, his mouth open like he’s calling my name.
You can see everything.
I close the app, close my eyes, and try to breathe.
Another buzz.
This one’s a text, from a number I don’t recognize. The name at the end is familiar.
told you he’d get bored lol
Cody.
My stomach turns, and not from the pregnancy.
I’m transported back to a different version of myself, twenty-three, scared, convinced that I was impossible to love and that any man who stayed with me was doing me a favor.
Cody made me feel that way. Cody made me feel like I was lucky he put up with me at all.
I block the number.
Two minutes later, another text. Different number, same sick feeling in my gut.
Azalea. We need to discuss your situation. Call me.
My mother.
I don’t know how she found out so fast. I don’t know how she always finds out, how she always appears at the exact moment when I’m most vulnerable, ready to twist the knife a little deeper.
Your situation. Like my crumbling marriage is an inconvenience, a mess I’ve made that she’ll have to help clean up.
I block that number too.
“Almost there,” Dez says quietly.
I look up. The highway has narrowed now, winding through the mountains, and I can see the exit for Ojai coming up ahead. The farm. Grandma June’s place. The only piece of earth in the world that has ever felt completely mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods. “Anytime, Mrs. J.”
The exit ramp curves through darkness, and somewhere ahead of me, Lupe is probably already awake.
Dez called ahead after I asked him to. Either way, there will be tea.
There will be clean sheets on the bed in Grandma June’s room.
There will be a place to fall apart where no one is watching, no one is recording, no one is telling me my feelings are crazy.
My daughter kicks.
I press my palm against the curve of my belly and whisper: “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
I’m not sure if I believe it yet.
But I’m going to try.