Page 56 of When Love Changes Everything

A sudden knock at the door startles us all. We freeze, glancing at one another as if the sound were something alien. An inexplicable sense of dread suddenly washes over me. Could it be Mateo? Or Lily? I don’t know which possibility feels worse.

"Should I get it?" Katherine asks, breaking the silence.

I nod, the motion laden with resignation. Dread washes over me as I consider the state I’m in—two days spent in bed, emerging only for absolute necessities and endless bowls of rocky road ice cream. I feel like a stranger to myself, buried under the weight of depression and doubt.

I feel Laila’s fingers threading gently through my hair, her touch soothing but purposeful as she gives me a once-over. "Just in case," she murmurs, smoothing the disheveled strands and attempting to restore some semblance of order. I know she means well, but I’m sure a mirror would betray the truth—a devastating portrait of puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and the unmistakable wear of heartbreak. I probably look as awful as I feel.

Katherine steps back into the bedroom, her expression carefully neutral, like she’s weighing every word before she speaks.

“Who is it?” I whisper, my voice trembling with equal parts dread and hope. Mateo. Please, no. Please, yes. My hands fumble with the collar of my crumpled pajama top, a futile attempt to look less disheveled. The effort only reminds me how unattractive and utterly pathetic I feel in this moment.

"It’s your dad," Katherine says, her tone cautious, as though trying not to set off a landmine.

"My dad?" I murmur, the words catching in my throat. A sudden chill runs down my spine as my hands instinctively clutch the blanket tighter. I thought Mateo was the last person I wanted to see, but I was wrong. It had to be him—my father.

"Do you think he knows what happened?" I ask, as my gaze darts between my friends. Their faces mirror my confusion, each of them shaking their heads in silent agreement. They’re just as perplexed as I am.

"What should I tell him?" Katherine asks, her voice hesitant.

"Let him know I'll be right out," I reply, forcing my legs to carry me toward the bathroom. My hands tremble as I brush my hair, twisting it into a bun and securing it with an elastic. I lean over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, the icy shock momentarily numbing my senses. I grab the eye drops from the counter, tilting my head back and blinking rapidly to mask the redness. As I glance in the mirror, my reflection feels foreign—puffy eyes, pale skin, and an expression caught between fear and utter despair. I glance down at my wedding band, its delicate shine entwining with the brilliance of my engagement ring—a pairing that once symbolized hope and forever. Now, it feels like a glaring contradiction to the state of my hands. My nails, once flawlessly manicured, are jagged and chewed down to the quick, each mark a testament to the turmoil swirling inside me.

When I step out of the bathroom, I find that only Laila remains. "The girls left," she says quietly. "I just wanted to make sure you’re okay before I go. I know you’ll need privacy with your dad."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and pull her into a tight hug. "Thank you," I whisper, wishing I could beg her to stay, to not leave me alone with my father, but the words catch in my chest.

"Call me if you need anything," she says, her hand resting on my shoulder as she pulls away. She grabs her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with a practiced motion. "I’ll check in with you tomorrow."

I walk out of the bedroom behind Laila, trailing her into the living room where my father sits, his posture restless and his patience wearing thin.

"Good night, Mr. Preston," she says with a light smile, trying to ease the air around us. My father grunts in response, barely acknowledging her. Laila glances at me, offering a wink before her fingers close around the doorknob. She steps out without another word, leaving me alone with the man who has always made me feel small.

"Where’s your husband?" Dad asks, his eyes scanning the room as if he expects Mateo to materialize out of thin air. The fact that he doesn’t greet me or comment on my appearance only drives home the point that he doesn’t truly see me.

"He's not home right now, Dad." I wonder if he's just confirming that Mateo is gone, so he can berate me without any resistance or interruption. "I'll wait for him," he says, shifting his weight and leaning back on the sofa.

"So, you're here to see Mateo?" I ask, a mix of confusion and curiosity bubbling up. What could they possibly have to discuss?

"Yes," he mutters, barely looking at me. "He owes me some money."

I freeze, my blood turning to ice. "Pardon me?" I manage to say. "Owes you money?"

"You didn’t know?" he asks, suddenly showing a flicker of interest in my presence.

"Your husband came to LA and told me he’d pay me twenty thousand dollars if I came to the wedding and walked you down the aisle," he says, his voice void of shame. "I showed up. It’s not my fault you chose Aaron over me. He owes me, and I’m here to collect."

"When did this happen, Dad?" I ask. "When did Mateo go to LA?"

"Last week," he replies casually. "He showed up in my office and offered me cash. I would've done it anyway, but since he offered, I had no reason to say no."

I should be offended, disgusted by his admission, but my mind races, trying to piece everything together. "How long was he in Los Angeles?" I press, my voice tightening with each word.

"Oh, I don't—" he trails off, as though the details don't matter.

"Think, Dad," I demand, the words sharp. "It's important."

"Almost a week," he finally says. "He came to see me every day, trying to convince me."

I feel like the floor beneath me is about to give way. The ice cream I’ve consumed in copious amounts throughout the day threatens to make a swift return, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay composed. My pulse quickens, each word sinking deeper, and I can barely breathe. Mateo couldn’t have been in two places at once.

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