Page 56 of One Baddie for Three Daddies

Neither of them argues. They know better than to push when I'm in this state. The door clicks shut behind me, and I step out into the cool evening air. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and I walk without any real direction, just needing to put distance between myself and the chaos inside.

As I wander through the quiet streets of San Diego, memories of Bianca flood my mind—her laughter, her touch, the way she makes everything feel alive. It’s like losing her all over again, but this time it cuts deeper because I thought we had a second chance.

I find myself at a small park and collapse onto a bench. The city hums around me—a distant siren, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, snippets of conversation from passersby. But it's all so distant, muted compared to the noise in my head.

Why does it hurt so much? We agreed to end things because it was logical, rational even. Yet here I am, mourning her loss as if she died.

"Get it together," I mutter to myself, rubbing my temples. But logic doesn't ease the ache in my chest or the emptiness spreading through me.

The last time we were together in college was supposed to be a fling—something fun before life took us in different directions. But it became more than that; we became more than that. And when she ghosted us without explanation, it felt like a betrayal.

Now here we are again. Except this time, the tables have turned.

Deep down, I know why this hurts so much—because despite everything, I still care about her. More than I'd like to admit. And walking away is like tearing out a piece of myself.

But we made our choice for a reason: self-preservation.

24

BIANCA

I’m fuming as I stand outside my mom’s hotel room. The sting of betrayal from James, Liam, and Alex still burns, but right now, my anger is laser-focused on her. She’s the one who set this all in motion, making me doubt myself back in college.

I knock, and she opens the door with her bags packed. The sight makes my heart drop.

“You’re leaving?” I blurt out.

“Yes,” she says, folding a blouse with mechanical precision. “I can’t stay here.”

“Why?” My voice rises, disbelief evident.

“I don’t approve of your lifestyle choices,” she says without looking at me.

I step inside and close the door behind me. “So you’re just gonna run away?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Bianca.” She sighs, placing the folded blouse into her suitcase. “I’m not running away. I’m protecting my sanity.”

I snort. “Sanity? From what? Me living my life?”

She finally looks up at me, her eyes hard. “From watching you make the same mistake again.”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing for the right words. "Mom, please. Just listen to me."

"I've heard enough, Bianca," she snaps, closing her suitcase with a sharp click. "You can't expect me to support something so... perverse."

"It's not perverse," I argue, stepping closer. "It's different, yes, but it makes me happy. They make me happy."

"Happy?" She scoffs, finally meeting my eyes. "This isn't about happiness. It's about morality. Decency. What you're doing—it's wrong."

"Who decides what's right or wrong? Society? The same society that judges people for loving who they love?" My hands shake as I speak, frustration bubbling up.

"This isn't about society," she says, her tone softening but still firm. "It's about you making choices that will ruin your life."

"My life is already complicated enough without you making it harder," I say, my voice breaking despite my effort to keep it steady. "Why can't you just try to understand?"

She sits on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply. "Because I can't support something I fundamentally disagree with."

"You don't even know them," I insist, desperation creeping in. "They’re good men. They care about me."

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