02
716 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Kit doesn’t answer immediately.
That’s how I know the answer matters.
Not because he looks nervous.
Because he looks careful.
Like there’s a correct way to say it and fifty wrong ones.
His eyes move somewhere over my shoulder.
Not avoiding me.
Remembering something.
Then—
“Five years.”
Five.
Years.
My body reacts before my brain does.
I laugh.
It comes out ugly.
Short.
Disbelieving.
Five years.
I was twenty-eight this morning.
Twenty-eight and dating Neil.
Twenty-eight and child-free.
Twenty-eight and absolutely not living in a navy blue house with my best friend’s boyfriend.
Apparently.
I stare at him.
“No.”
His face doesn’t change.
“No?”
“No.”
I point at him.
“No, because if I married you, I would remember marrying you.”
Still calm.
“You did.”
That annoys me more than if he argued.
I shake my head.
“I think I would remember a wedding.”
His expression does something strange.
Like he wants to smile and cry at the same time.
“It rained.”
I blink.
His voice gets quieter.
“You complained your hair wouldn’t hold.”
I stare.
He keeps going.
“You stepped on your dress trying to dance.”
My stomach twists.
Stop.
“You cried during your vows and got mad because everyone saw.”
Stop.
“You made me promise not to smash cake in your face because you said it was disrespectful.”
Stop.
His eyes finally meet mine.
“You said if I ever called you my ball and chain, you’d leave me.”
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Not because I believe him.
Because—
those details feel wrong.
Too specific.
Too ordinary.
People lie dramatically.
Nobody invents boring details.
I look away.
No.
No.
No.
I need evidence.
Actual evidence.
I scan the room.
Pictures.
There are pictures.
Of course there are pictures.
I move before I think.
The wall nearest the stairs is covered in frames.
Navy blue.
Naturally.
My pulse starts climbing.
The first picture—
Della.
I almost sag.
Thank God.
She exists.
She’s smiling at the camera.
Standing next to—
my breath catches.
Not Kit.
Another guy.
Tall.
Dark curly hair.
Della is wearing a ring.
My eyes move to the tiny silver engraving beneath the frame.
DELLA & MARCUS — YEAR ONE
Year one.
Year one.
I stare.
I turn.
“Where’s Neil?”
Kit’s expression closes slightly.
The kind people get when they’re deciding how much truth someone can handle.
I hate that look.
I already hate it.
“Barbados.”
“No.”
I point.
“I know that part. Why isn’t he here?”
A pause.
Then—
“He moved after the divorce.”
The divorce.
My stomach sinks.
I turn back to the wall.
Another picture.
Me.
Actually me.
No room for interpretation.
Me.
Standing in a kitchen.
Flour on my face.
Laughing.
Kit behind me.
His arms around my waist.
My eyes.
His smile.
And—
my left hand.
A wedding ring.
I stare.
Long enough that my eyes blur.
That woman looks happy.
Not movie happy.
Not dramatic.
Normal happy.
The dangerous kind.
The believable kind.
I step closer.
There’s another frame.
Hospital room.
Me in bed.
Exhausted.
Holding—
the child.
Lucas.
Kit beside me.
His forehead pressed against mine.
His eyes closed.
Like he’s praying.
There’s a date.
Five years ago.
No.
No no no.
I step back.
My hip hits the table.
Something falls.
A notebook.
It lands open.
I look down.
A page.
Handwriting.
Mine.
I know immediately.
Messy.
Too much pressure.
Coffee stain.
At the top—
Emergency Numbers
Below that—
Kit ❤️
And a number.
I stare.
Then lower.
If memory thing happens again—
my entire body goes cold.
Below it—
call me first.
I’ll help you remember.
— K
I stop breathing.
The room becomes very quiet.
Too quiet.
Slowly—
I turn around.
Kit is still standing there.
Watching me.
Not surprised.
Not relieved.
Just waiting.
Like he’s been waiting a long time.
I hold up the notebook.
My voice comes out small.
“…Again?”
His face changes.
Only a little.
But enough.
Enough.
And suddenly—
I don’t want the answer anymore.
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