Page 106 of By the Letter

His hands balled at his sides. “That’s true, I am. We both know you never would have let me into your home if our baby didn’t exist, so your accusation is a two-way street. But for you to think I’m in your bed every night because of our son insults everything we’ve shared. I’ve spent the last few months falling deeply in love with you, and you’re ready to shove me out the door to be with another woman. What is that, Shira?”

Deeply in love?That couldn’t be right. He might have thought he loved me, but he had to be mixing up his feelings for the baby with feelings for me. There was no way this beautiful man truly wantedme. A woman like me lived within certain parameters, and that would go well beyond that—so far, it was unimaginable.

“You don’t love me. I think once the baby is here, you’ll see that,” I whispered.

He raked his fingers through his hair with vicious force. “Is it not good enough? Is that why you can’t feel it? I thought I was showing you, but maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. This is new for me, but fuck, I thought I was doing a good job. Now, I don’t know. I’m feeling a little lost here. I can’t think of how to love you harder other than cutting my heart out and showing you your name carved in every chamber. But what if that’s not enough?”

My ears were ringing with alarm bells. I shook my head to try to clear it, but a wave of dizziness struck me. Reaching out blindly, I braced myself on the wall beside me.

“Shira.” Roman rushed to me and guided me to the couch. He sank down next to me, taking my face in his hands. “Are you okay? You’re pale.”

“I’m fine. Please don’t worry. It’s been a long day, and now this…I think I just needed to sit down.” Tears slipped past my defenses, streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Roman.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one who wasn’t loving you well. If I had been, you wouldn’t be sitting here crying. You’d be in my arms after eight goddamn days out of them. I just need to know what more I can do to keep you.”

A sob racked through my body at his defeat. I hadn’t meant to do this to him, but I couldn’t let myself believe any of it was real. Roman Wells didn’t happen to me. That wasn’t my lot in life. That had always been okay. I’d never even considered wanting someone like him. But now that he was here, I couldn’t reach out and grasp him, not even when his arms were outstretched, begging me to.

He was as gentle as could be, wiping my tears and stroking my hair, and it was too much. My mind rebelled against the idea that Roman could be mine, and if he wasn’t mine, I had to get away from him until my defenses were fortified again.

“I need to be alone,” I said softly.

“No,” he croaked. “I need to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix. I have to think, all right? We can talk tomorrow.”

His hands fell away. “I came back here for you.”

My lids fluttered closed as I nodded. “Beanie’s doing well. He’s had the hiccups a lot lately. I read that’s part of practice breathing, which is amazing.”

“Foryou,Shira.” His sigh was heavy. “I’ll be back in the morning for Mary.”

His exit was quiet, barely a whisper. Another sob ripped through me as his keys turned the locks from outside, taking care of me even after everything.

Beanie kicked me, reminding me he was there. I placed my palm where his foot was pressing against me, wishing Roman was beside me, feeling this along with me.

“What did I do? And how do I make it better?”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Shira

The knock on mydoor made my heart flutter, and it had only just calmed down. I tried not to show my disappointment when Bea was the one standing on my porch.

“Hey, you,” I greeted.

Her eyes narrowed. “You look like shit. What gives?”

My laugh came out as more of a sob, but that was because I’d only just conquered my tears as well. It had taken two hours and a batch of muffins to make my chin stop quivering. The fact that I’d made them just how Roman liked them—overloaded with cinnamon—hadn’t helped matters.

“I’m an absolute mess, Beatrice.”

Her face crumpled. “Oh, honey.” Then she was inside my house with her arms around me. “What’s wrong? I hate seeing you cry. It physically pains me.”

I sniffled into her hair, which magically smelled like blueberries. “Roman always says that.”

That was all it took for me to fall apart. Bea walked me over to the couch and let me cry on her shoulder, all while she patted my arm and hummed a familiar song. My friend wasn’t naturally touchy-feely, which meant I truly looked as hopeless as I felt.

My crying petered off into periodic hiccups and little gasps, allowing me to listen to the song Bea was humming.

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