TRUTH
The Uber driver didn’t try to make conversation, and I was grateful for that.
I sat in the back seat with my arms wrapped around myself, staring out the window as the city blurred past. My chest felt tight. My throat burned. My eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall—not yet, not in front of a stranger.
I held it together until the car pulled up in front of my house.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
The driver nodded, and I climbed out, my legs shaky beneath me.
The house looked the same as it had when I left this morning. The porch light was still on. The fenced backyard was quiet. Everything was in its place.
But I wasn’t.
I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, locking it behind me. The silence of the house pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating.
I dropped my purse on the couch and walked straight to the bathroom.
I needed to feel clean.
I needed to wash this day off my skin.
I turned on the faucet and let the water run hot, watching as steam began to rise from the tub. I poured in bubble bath—lavender-scented, the kind Mama used to use when I was little—and watched the bubbles multiply and foam.
The tub filled slowly, and I stood there, staring at the water, my mind replaying everything that had just happened.
Winston walking into that exam room.
Yahmaria standing beside him, her face smug and satisfied.
Amai’s expression—shock, then rage, then something that looked almost like fear.
The twins on the ultrasound screen.
Winston’s voice. “An heir and a spare.”
I stripped off my clothes mechanically, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. My hands were shaking. My entire body was shaking.
I stepped into the tub and sank into the warm water, letting it cover me up to my shoulders. The bubbles clung to my skin, soft and fragrant, and for a moment—just a moment—I closed my eyes and tried to breathe.
But the tears came anyway.
They started slow, just a few sliding down my cheeks, hot and silent. Then more. Then I couldn’t stop them.
I pressed my hands to my face and sobbed.
Amai was married.
He’d been married this entire time.
The realization hit me over and over, each wave more brutal than the last.
He’d pursued me. He’d made me feel seen, wanted, chosen. He’d told me I was different. He’d looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
And the whole time, he had a wife.
A wife.
I thought about the photo I’d found at the cabin—the girl with her name written on the back. Yahmaria. I’d assumed she was an ex, someone from his past. The timestamp had been old, so I hadn’t thought much of it.
But she wasn’t an ex.
She was his wife.
And he’d taken me to that cabin. He’d made love to me there—on the bear rug in front of the fireplace, his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, his voice in my ear telling me I was his.
In a house where he’d fucked her.
The violation of that realization made my stomach turn.
I leaned over the side of the tub and dry-heaved, my body convulsing, even though there was nothing left to come up. My chest heaved. My throat burned.
He’d touched me in a place where he’d touched her.
He’d whispered to me in a bed where he’d whispered to her.
He’d claimed me in a space that wasn’t even really his—it was theirs.
I sank back into the water, my hands gripping the edges of the tub so hard my knuckles turned white.
How could he do that?
How could he look me in the eyes and tell me I was different, that I mattered, that he wanted me—and then go home to his wife?
The tears kept coming, hot and relentless, and I let them. I let myself break down completely, my sobs echoing off the bathroom tiles.
I thought about the way he’d held me that night. The way he’d kissed me—slow, deep, like he was memorizing the taste of me. The way he’d moved inside me, his body pressed against mine, his voice rough and reverent.
“You’re mine, Truth. You hear me? Mine.”
And I’d believed him.
God, I’d believed him.
I’d let myself fall for him. I’d let myself imagine a future where we were together, where we raised these babies as a family, where I wasn’t just a surrogate but something more.
I’d been so stupid.
So fucking stupid.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. They just kept coming, wave after wave, until I felt like I was drowning.
And then I thought about Phillip.
My ex-husband. The man who’d promised to love me, to build a life with me, to be my partner.
The man who’d cheated on me with a twenty-two-year-old and moved her into our house before the divorce was even finalized.
The man who’d taken everything—the house, the car, my credit, my savings—and left me with nothing.
I thought about how powerless I’d felt. How small. How worthless.
And now, here I was again.
Another man. Another lie. Another betrayal.
Except this time, it was worse.
Because this time, I was carrying his children.
His children.
I looked down at my stomach, at the slight curve that was just beginning to show, and felt something twist inside me.
These babies weren’t just his.
They were mine too.
And I’d be damned if I let another man use my body, make decisions for me, and walk away like I didn’t matter.
The tears slowed. My breathing steadied.
And something else rose inside me.
Rage.
Pure, white-hot rage.
I thought about Amai—how he’d pursued me, manipulated me, made me feel like I was special, when really, I was just another piece on his chessboard.
I thought about Kaisen—how he’d known about the fertility clinic, known about Amai, known about the baby, and pursued me anyway. How he’d played the role of the safe, consistent man, when really, he was just as calculating as his brother.
I thought about Winston—how he’d walked into that exam room like he owned me, like my body was just a vessel for his family’s legacy. An heir and a spare. Like I was livestock.
I thought about Dr. Beaumont—how she’d smiled at me, reassured me, told me everything was fine, when the whole time, she was complicit in this nightmare.
I thought about every man who’d ever made a decision about my body without asking me.
Phillip, who’d destroyed my credit and my future.
Amai, who’d used me to build his legacy.
Kaisen, who’d manipulated me into trusting him.
Winston, who saw me as nothing more than an incubator.
And I realized something.
I was done.
I was done letting men control my life.
I was done letting them make decisions for me.
I was done being a pawn in their games.
I sat up in the tub, water sloshing over the sides, and wiped my face with both hands.
My tears had stopped. My chest still ached, but it wasn’t the ache of heartbreak anymore.
It was the ache of fury.
I looked down at my stomach again, at the babies growing inside me, and made a vow.
No matter what Amai said, no matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to charm me or manipulate me or convince me that he cared—I was staying away from him.
I was taking control of my own life.
I was taking control of my medical care, my future, my body.
These babies were mine. Not his. Not Winston’s. Not the Landry family’s.
Mine.
And I was going to protect them.
I was going to finish my nursing degree. I was going to build a life for myself and my children that didn’t depend on any man’s money or approval or love.
I was going to reclaim my power.
Because I’d spent too long being powerless.
I’d spent too long letting men define me, control me, use me.
And I was done.
I stood up in the tub, water streaming off my body, and reached for a towel. I dried myself off slowly, deliberately, feeling the softness of the fabric against my skin.
I looked at myself in the mirror—my eyes red and swollen, my face blotchy from crying, my hair damp and clinging to my neck.
But beneath the exhaustion and the pain, I saw something else.
Strength.
I saw a woman who’d survived a divorce that nearly destroyed her.
I saw a woman who’d picked herself up and found a way to make money when she had nothing.
I saw a woman who’d been manipulated, lied to, and used—and who was still standing.
I wasn’t broken.
I was angry.
And anger was fuel.
I wrapped the towel around myself and walked out of the bathroom, my steps steady and sure.
I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know how I was going to navigate this mess with Amai and Kaisen and the Landry family.
But I knew one thing for certain.
I wasn’t going to let them win.
I wasn’t going to let them take my babies, my body, my life.
I was going to fight.
And I was going to win.
Because I was Truth Renois.
And I belonged to myself.
I walked into my bedroom, the towel still wrapped around me, and sat on the edge of the bed. My hair dripped water onto my shoulders, but I didn’t care. I just needed a moment to breathe.
To feel the weight of my decision settle into my bones.
I was done with Amai.
I was done letting men control my narrative.
I was done being a pawn.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I glanced at the screen.
Kaisen.
My jaw tightened.
For a moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail. I didn’t have the energy for another conversation with a Landry man. I didn’t have the patience for more lies, more manipulation, more half-truths disguised as concern.
But then I thought about everything that had happened today.
The clinic. The twins. Yahmaria. Winston.
And Kaisen—Kaisen, who’d been so consistent, so present, so safe—had known.
He’d known Amai was married.
And he hadn’t said a damn word.
I snatched the phone off the nightstand and answered.
“What do you want, Kaisen?”
There was a pause on the other end, like he hadn’t expected me to pick up. Or maybe he hadn’t expected the ice in my voice.
“Truth.” His voice was low, careful. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “No, Kaisen. I’m not okay. But I’m sure you already know that.”
“I heard about the clinic,” he said quietly. “I heard about—”