Page 114 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless
"But he's not yours." The truth lands between us, sharp-edged and uncompromising. "He's mine and Jakob's. He always has been."
She flinches at Jakob's name, fingers curling against the dresser edge. "That man abandoned you both. Left you broken. I was the one who stayed. I was the one who deserved?—"
"Deserved what, Tanya?" I step forward, just once. Claiming space without threat. "My life? My child? Some fantasy where my gratitude turned into something else?"
"We could have been happy." The dreamy quality returns to her voice, gaze drifting to the photo wall. "If you'd just let him go. If you'd just seen what was right in front of you all along."
"I see it now." My voice drops lower, the truth cutting paths through years of blind trust. "Every lunch date. Every offer tobabysit. Every shoulder to cry on. It wasn't friendship. It was calculation."
Her eyes snap back to mine, suddenly sharp. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare reduce what we had to that."
"What exactly did we have, Tanya? Tell me. Because I thought I had a friend. Someone who loved me for who I was, not for who she wanted me to become."
"I saw you." Her voice breaks, genuine pain bleeding through. "Really saw you. When he only saw what you could be. What you could do for him. His perfect wife. His perfect mother. His perfect auditor."
I absorb the blow, the terrible familiarity of the accusation. The same doubt that plagued me during those final months of marriage—that Jakob loved the idea of me more than my reality. That I was symbol rather than substance.
"Maybe he did, once." I acknowledge the pain without surrendering to it. "But at least he never pretended to be something he wasn't. At least he never used my trust against me."
"Used your—" She laughs, the sound sharp and wounded. "I have been the only constant in your life for fifteen years! The only person who never left!"
"Because you were waiting." The realization crystallizes as I speak it. "Waiting for the perfect moment. For me to be vulnerable enough. Lonely enough. For enough time to pass."
She moves then, a sudden shift from stillness to motion. Her hand disappears into the dresser drawer beside her, emerges holding something that catches light—a blade, small but lethal, the kind she uses for crafting projects we've done together over wine and laughter.
"He's poisoned you against me." The knife doesn't point at me yet, just rests in her open palm like a possibility. "Made you forget everything we've been to each other."
I should feel fear. Should calculate exits, defensive positions, ways to create distance. Instead, I feel only clarity—a crystal-sharp focus that narrows the world to this room, this moment, this confrontation years in the making without my knowledge.
"No one had to poison me against you." I keep my voice steady, gaze locked on hers rather than the knife. "You did that yourself the moment you decided to take my son."
"I didn't take him!" The shout erupts without warning, composure fracturing. "I saved him! From you making the same mistake twice! From you going back to a man who will just break you all over again!"
The knife rises now, pointed between us like an accusation. Her hand trembles slightly, control slipping beneath emotion too long contained.
I don't retreat. Don't flinch. Instead, I step forward, reducing the distance between us. Moving toward the threat rather than away.
"Latanya." Her full name, not the nickname born from intimacy. "Put the knife down."
"You're not listening to me." Desperation edges into her voice. "You never listen when it comes to him. It's like you can't even see what's happening."
Another step forward. Deliberate. Measured. The auditor who calculates risk for a living, who identifies weak points in systems, who knows exactly where pressure creates collapse.
"I'm listening now." I modulate my tone, not soothing but present. Engaged. "Tell me what you think I'm not seeing."
The invitation catches her off-guard. The knife point dips slightly, uncertainty flickering across her face.
"That I love you." The confession breaks from her like something long caged. "That I have always loved you. That every man you've chosen has been wrong because none of them were me."
The raw truth lands between us, stripping away pretense. Not madness. Not delusion. Just love twisted by years of silence, of proximity without possibility, of hoping for transformation that never came.
"I know." The simplicity of my acknowledgment startles her. "I've always known, somewhere beneath recognition. But Tanya—" I take another step, close enough now that the knife point nearly touches my sternum. "—love doesn't take. It doesn't manipulate. It doesn't hurt children."
"I would never hurt him." Her eyes fill, voice breaking. "I love him like my own."
"Then let us leave." My voice gentles without weakness. "Put down the knife. Let Jaden go home, where he feels safe."
"He is safe here!" The blade trembles between us. "We could be a family. The three of us. I could make you both so happy if you'd just try. If you'd just see?—"
