Page 112 of Shattered Promise

ABBY

The wind picksup as I cross the gravel drive, sharp and insistent, like it wants to peel something from my skin. I don’t stop walking, and I don’t look back.

My sneakers squelch against the grass, the trail soft beneath me. Thunder grumbles from somewhere on the other side of the field, a warning shot. The smell of rain is thick in the air—wet earth and something metallic, like a storm already closing its fist.

You’re not his mother.

The words loop inside my head. The phrase has teeth. It gnaws and gnaws. By the time I reach the line of trees, the pressure in my chest is so tight I think I might actually throw up.

I slow down, just enough to catch my breath, and wipe the back of my hand across my face. I’m not crying. Not yet. But the threat of it prickles hot behind my eyes, sharp and mean.

I keep moving and try to focus on the rhythm of my steps, the way the air tastes electric right before the sky opens. My hair whips into my face

I know Mason’s right. Of course he’s right. I’mnotTheo’s mother. I’m a placeholder, a warm body, a line on a resume. I’mthe girl who quit her job for a man who doesn’t even remember he took her virginity years ago.

The thought sends a jolt of nausea through me, but I keep walking, arms tight over my chest. I don’t get to have a meltdown. I don’t get to be the girl who falls apart.

It’s not fair—I’mnot being fair. I know that, and yet, I can’t stop the thoughts from tumbling through me faster than I can keep up. Mason apologized for not remembering that night, and I understand his reasoning.

I practice box breathing. Breathe in for four, hold it for four, exhale for four, hold it for four more.

It doesn’t do shit.

The shame starts as a throb behind my ribs and swells from there—thick and hot and impossible to swallow. I walked into his life like I belonged there, like I didn’t know better. Like I forgot where the line was.

God, I’msuchan idiot.

I left a good, stable job. I let people believe it was for something noble. But really, it was for them. For the boy with the impossible smile and the man who kissed me like I was air.

And now?

Now I get to be the woman who has to live with the fact that she quit the job her family was so proud of. She moved across the country for a man who reminded her she’s not the thing she wanted to be most.

I’m not sure when it happened, the realization. But in between nap times and the slow, syrupy mornings, something shifted.

I started to want it. Not just the boy, but the role. The being needed, being the one who makes the world gentler, safer, brighter for someone else. The wanting was slow and soft at first—a background hum I could ignore. Then, all at once, it was aburn. An ache in the marrow. I wanted to be Theo’s mother, and I wanted it with a desperation that felt shameful and enormous.

My hand slides across my stomach, barely a touch.

And now I’m going to be someone’s mother.The thought lands softly, but it echoes.

I keep walking. The wind carves cold lines across my bare legs, and every step is a practiced act of not dissolving. I’m not even sure what dissolving would look like, but I know it starts with admitting out loud that I want to belong to this messy, accidental family more than I want to belong to anything else.

A single drop of rain hits the back of my neck. Then another and another. By the time I reach the cabin, my hair is frizzing. The rain hasn’t opened up fully, just scattered drops across the wind.

I cross the porch in a few strides, already fishing for my keys, but when I reach for the knob, my stomach goes tight.

It turns too easily.

“Huh,” I murmur. “I thought I locked the door.”

My brow furrows. I stare at it for a beat too long, my heart doing a slow, dragging roll against my ribs. I shake the feeling off. I must’ve been distracted when I left earlier. I was rushing, overthinking the conversation I was going to have with Mason and the envelope I was going to give him.

I push the door open and step inside. The click of it shutting behind me is louder than I expect. I flinch anyway.

It’s quiet. Still. But not in the way I’m used to. Not the soft quiet of this place being mine. This is a different kind—airless. Like someone exhaled and forgot to breathe in again.

I shake it off.

---