Page 33 of Secret Betrayals
And they fucking hate me.
I grip the bars so hard that it feels like I might snap them off. The truth is a fist in my throat. I can’t breathe around it. Seventeen goddamn years. She kept them from me.
When she vanished, I let her. I didn’t chase. Didn’t beg. I let my pride steer the ship and sailed me straight into hell, into an illusion. And now? Now the truth’s a blade. Serrated. Ripping through everything I thought I knew. She walked into my world today like she never left. Looked me in the eye. Told me I’ve got sons, like she was giving me the fucking weather report. Then turned her back and left me choking on the fallout.
And the kicker? Today is Luna’s birthday.
Of all fucking days.
I don’t even remember turning the throttle. I just know I’m going faster. Trying to outrun a past I buried alive. Trying to drown out the sound of everything I lost without knowing it.
Then there’s Heather.
She’s probably at the clubhouse losing her damn mind because I left without checking in. Because I didn’t perform in a way that made her feel important. Her meltdowns are damn near theatrical. And right now? I don’t have it in me to give a shit.
I didn’t leave because I wanted to hurt her. I left because if I stayed, I’d have broken something. Maybe someone. I couldn’t pretend with this kind of betrayal, splitting my ribs open from the inside. Couldn’t fake sanity when all I wanted to do was scream until my throat bled.
And the truth?
She knew.
Heather fucking knew. All this time. She knew about Gabriella. About the boys. And she never said a goddamn word. Sat at my table. Slept in my bed. Played house like she hadn’t helped erase my bloodline.
How do you come back from that?
How do you look at someone you once trusted and not see the knife in their hand?
Gabriella walked away. But Heather? She helped bury the truth.
And me?
I handed her the shovel.
Heather’s been good to Luna. I’ll give her that. She loves her. But she’s always needed to be the center of the goddamn universe. And now I see just how far she was willing to go to protect her throne. I cared about her. She gave me my daughter. But love?
I never loved her. Not really.
Not once in seventeen years.
I never said the words because they wouldn’t have been true.
That day—the day Gabriella left—is burned into my mind like a brand.
She stood in the doorway, bag in hand, eyes conflicted but determined. And I stood there. Frozen. Waiting for her to beg. Half-hoping she wouldn’t. She didn’t. She walked, and I didn’t stop her. I told myself she’d come back. That we just needed space. That I wasn’t ready. All lies. Then Heather slithered in with her soft voice, sweet lies, and gentle hands, and I let her. I let myself forget. I stopped fighting. Stopped searching. And when I found that empty house, no one could tell me where Gabriella had gone?
I gave up.
That’s on me.
I want to blame Heather for everything. But the truth? I stopped giving a damn. I closed that chapter and let it rot. That makes me just as guilty. The memory hits me like a steel-toed boot to the chest—Gabriella’s back turned, the quiet click of the door. The sound of goodbye, I was too stubborn to hear.
And she took my sons with her.
I never even knew.
And now? I’ll never get that time back. Never get to hear their first words. See them ride their first bikes. Teach them shit I had to learn the hard way. All because I let my pride win, and Heather made damn sure I never saw the truth.
Ping.
