Page 40 of Broken Vows

The words hit like physical blows, each one stealing more air from my lungs. The apple slips from my trembling fingers, and I barely catch it before it can hit the floor and reveal my presence. The world tilts sideways, reality fragmenting like a broken mirror. Each breath feels like inhaling shards of glass.

“I know, yes. I plan to tell her that I'm going on a fishing trip.”

A sob claws its way up my throat, and I press my palm against my mouth.

Confronting him now would be a mistake. I need to be calculated, clear-headed. But my mind is a tornado of fragments: every late night at work, his attitude, every random bathroom break that would take hours, is beginning to make sense.

My legs carry me back to the kitchen on autopilot. I brace myself against the counter, its sharp edge digging into my palms, anchoring me to the moment, and quietly head back into the bedroom.

The soundof the shower running fills the house as noon approaches. His phone sits on the kitchen counter where he left it, screen dark.

I shouldn't.

But my feet carry me toward it anyway. My fingers shake as I pick it up, guilt and fear warring in my chest. A message thread with Lilly is right there at the top.

Lilly. My best friend.

My heart stops as I scroll up through months of messages. Nude Pictures. Late-night conversations. Plans made while I slept alone in our bed and when we were together. The truth unfolds in digital blue bubbles, each one more devastating than the last.

Lilly

I love you. I've always loved you.

Jeremy

I love you, too. We'll tell her soon. I promise.

Lilly

The baby... it's definitely yours.

The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering onto the counter. The baby. Jeremy’s baby. Not Zeke's at all.

The shower stops. I hear the curtain rings scrape against the rod, but I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stand there, one hand pressed against my own swollen belly, as footsteps approach.

“Lex?” Jeremy's voice catches when he sees me. He's still dripping, a towel wrapped around his waist, another in his hands mid-dry of his hair. His eyes dart from my face to his phone on the counter.

“How long?” The words come out surprisingly steady.

“Alexis—”

“How. Long.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Almost a year.”

A year. While I was planning date nights and trying to fix our marriage, while I was pregnant with his child... he was with my best friend.

“She's pregnant.” It's not a question.

His face drops. “Yes.”

“And it's yours.”

“Yes.” The word barely a whisper.

I press my hand harder against my stomach, “All those times she came over to help with the nursery... to check on me...when we would hang out… her giving me advice about what to do with us…”

“We were going to tell you.” He takes a step toward me. “After the first trimester, we?—”

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