Page 60 of Before I Say I Don't
Me: I’ll be there in about an hour. Need anything?
Taryn: Diapers… and your calm.
I actually smiled.
Me: Got both.
The group chat was already buzzing about brunch and “round two.” Same emojis, same bragging, same “who blacked out first” recap. I typed a quickCan’t. Got other business to handle.
I didn’t spell it out—didn’t need to. They probably read it and laughed, assuming I met a new bitch who had me pussy-whipped in one night.
Predictable.
They clowned me the way men always do—half jealousy, half tradition.
I let them.
Better they think I was wrapped up in some woman than know I was trying to untangle myself from the mess I’d made.
I thought about Terrence popping off at the bar—Don’t let her find out about your Tuesday nights.He’d deserved that glare I gave him. I hated seeing my sins turned into gossip and scattered in the air like confetti.
After drying off, I checked my phone again—still no text from Kamira. It shouldn’t have cut me the way it did, but it did.
Kamira was the constant. The “call me when you get there.” The “eat something.” The “I’m proud of you” when nobody else was looking.
Her silence felt like a preview of a life I didn’t want—one where I was right there in my patterns, and she was gone.
“I’m done,” I silently vowed.
The words hung there, heavier than the smoke of last night’s tequila.
That was it—the last time.No more lying, no more splitting myself into fiancé when the sun’s up and bachelor when it goes down. That man was dead.
I pulled the note back up to Kamira and added three words:I love you.Then I put the phone down, because if I kept typing, I’d start spinning… excusing. And she didn’t deserve spin; she deserved the whole truth.
The women woke up while I was lacing my shoes. One waved like we were old friends, no shame in her eyes. The other smiled like that was some kind of sitcom moment, laugh track missing.
“You leaving?” the one with the dreads asked, stretching lazily.
“Yeah,” I replied to the carpet. “Got somewhere important to be.”
“Text me,” the other said.
I didn’t answer.
In the hallway, the hotel felt too bright. The elevator mirror was less cruel than the one in the room. I looked like a man trying to find a version of himself worth keeping.
The plan was simple because it had to be.
Today: be a father. No sneaking, no performing. Hold my daughter. Say her name until it’s a prayer. Tell Taryn thank you for the way she’s carried what I shirked. No lines crossed. No old habits. Just presence. Tomorrow, or as soon as I step back in that house: be a man. Sit Kamira down. Say it plain. One breath. No buts. No “it was just” and “I was drunk.” Tell her about the baby. Tell her about the other women. Tell her I’m done and mean it. Don’t ask her to comfort me. Don’t ask her to save this. Let her choose with all the information. Take what comes.
Kamira deserves that much. And if I lost her because I finally told the truth? I deserve that, too.
Chapter Sixteen
KAMIRA
“You really gotta leave?” Roman asked, with a genuine hint of disappointment in his tone as we stood in his doorway, preparing to say our goodbyes.
