“With my child,” he added, low, firm, like a confession.
My fork slipped. I didn’t flinch.
“We wanted a baby. Remember? We talked adoption. We tried.”
I remembered. Every failed test, tears in the clinic bathroom. Now he looked at me like I was the problem. Like Zoraya fixed what I couldn’t.
“I’ve decided to let her stay,” he said. Like I wasn’t even part of it.
“She’ll live here until the baby’s born.”
Zoraya leaned on the table, sipping coffee from my mug.
“I told him it was up to you. I’d find a hotel, but Zeus wants us under one roof—for the baby.”
I stared. Her perfect skin. Her fake-sweet smile.
“I want what’s best for the baby. And for Zeus. This is hard. But you’ll be a good mom, Savannah. The baby’ll love you.”
My throat burned. I still felt the hospital soreness. My body a battlefield. My heart a graveyard.
They didn’t know I was pregnant too. Seven weeks. Seven fucking weeks pregnant.
They didn’t know I was dying.
Zeus sat like it was done.
I looked at him—seven years. My youth, love, loyalty. Cleaned blood off his suits. Hid bodies. Took his pain. Now he chose her, in my house, while I broke inside.
A hollow sound left me. Not a sob. Not a scream.