Page 98 of Absolution

“No.” The word comes out fast. Too fast. “No. Kyle hurt me more than anyone ever has. I can’t-”

“Does he know that?” Marianne interrupts, arms crossed. “Cause the way he’s been acting today…”

“He knows,” I say quickly. Then quieter, “I mean, I think he does.”

Kate gives me a look, not unkind. “All we’re saying is, don’t lead the guy on.”

Kyle and I have been talking a lot lately. It’s not easy throwing a birthday party for three kids, especially when each of them wants theirownthing, three cakes, three activities, different decorations. But I thought Kyle understood it was about the kids. Hell, I was actually proud of how well we were co-parenting.

I don’t want to have this conversation again.

By the time the last of the guests leave, I’m knackered. Cory took the kids to the mall to pick out their gifts. Why he couldn’t do thatbeforethe party, I have no idea. And yeah, I’ve been talking to him again, but it’s nowhere near what it used to be. And yes, I get the irony. I talk to Kyle more than I talk to Cory, and Cory’s mybrother. I just can’t forget the fact that he should have been on my side. But apparently, bros before... whatever.

I’m wiping down the counter when Kyle walks in through the side door, holding two full trash bags.

“I cleared the back,” he says.

“Thanks,” I reply. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He smiles, easy. “Please. Like I’d leave you to clean this whole mess.”

I smile back, polite, tight.

“So, I was thinking,” he says, setting the bags down, “you wanna grab breakfast tomorrow? ItisSunday.”

I pause, then grimace as I turn to face him. “Actually, I have plans.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Hot date?”

“Kyle,” I say, sharp.

“What? I’m just asking.”

I hesitate. “You know this was just about the kids, right? I didn’t… I don’t want to blur any lines.”

“Whoa,” he says, holding up his hands. “Of course I know. What, you think I was hitting on you?” He lets out a weird, awkward laugh. “Relax.”

“I’m just saying,” I say quietly, but firm. “Kyle… we’re never getting back together.”

He smirks. “Taylor Swift?”

I narrow my eyes.

He exhales. “Look, if me beingniceis somehow uncomfortable for you, then how about I just stop?”

“Don’t overreact,” I snap.

“No, seriously,” he says, stepping back. “From now on, you do whatyouwant when the kids are with you, I’ll do what I want when they’re with me. No more ‘coordinating.’ Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he says again, then grabs his keys off the table and storms out the door.

I really thought that once his anger wore off, things would go back to the way they were before. But they don’t.

We still trade the kids on Sundays, his driveway or mine, short nods, clipped goodbyes, but the texts have stopped. No more “Jemma’s got a cough” or “Levi forgot his homework.” No check-ins, no updates. Just silence.

And I don’t try either. He overreacted. He should be the one to apologize. What is he even angry about? That he acted like a decent human being for once and I didn’t immediately drop my panties?

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