Page 116 of Fault Lines
“Leave her alone, Pops,” Nate said, voice sharper than I’d ever heard it. “She’s not required to forgive that asshole. Besides, she can’t just forget what happened if a baby is there as a constant reminder that her husband is a cheater.”
I stared, mortified; even Mr. Porter’s eyes went wide. I couldn’t believe Nate had just blurted out my private mess. Yes, Mr. Porter was his grandfather, but still—
Nate ran his hand over his face. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—it just spilled out. Forget I said that, Pops. I’m sorry. Livi, I’m so sorry.”
I forced myself to meet Mr. Porter’s shocked gaze.
“I’m sorry, Olivia,” he said quietly. “I assumed the man had strayed. But I didn’t realize there was a child involved.”
He remembered my infertility; I’d told him once, when he’d asked if I had any kids. He knew how deep this would cut.
I wiped my fingertip over a rose petal, letting its softness distract me, even though the gesture felt hollow.
“It’s not really cheating, not exactly,” I said. “It’s complicated. But yeah, the baby—that’s the deal breaker. Cam is getting his wish to be a dad, and I’m happy for him, I guess, but not like this. Not with someone else. I can’t do it.”
Mr. Porter nodded solemnly, moving the new bouquet over to a spare place in the window. “But even the hardest things can be overcome, if there’s enough love to weather the storm. Sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise. Why shouldn’t you get your wish to be a parent, too—even if it looks a little different than you imagined?”
“Leave her alone, Pops.” Nate’s words came out low and hard. “She doesn’t want to raise her husband’s love child. She deserves someone who’s all hers, and a baby that isn’t tangled up in so much drama.”
“Nate,” I snapped, my own temper flaring, “None of this is the baby’s fault. Don’t talk like it’s a curse. A child being born isn’t a bad thing. I hope that baby has every happiness. I just can’t be the one to give it. And I know that. It’s better this way.”
Maybe I was trying to convince him. Maybe I was trying to convince myself. Either way, Mr. Porter just gave me a long, pitying look before shuffling off to the storeroom.
Nate crossed the space and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, pulling me into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lips close to my skin. “I just hate seeing you like this. I wish I could take it all away.”
“I know,” I murmured back. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you through the mess.”
“Don’t even think about me.” His hand slid up and down my spine, gentle and sure. “I just want you to be okay. Did you make the appointment yet?”
He meant the divorce lawyer. He’d been nudging me for weeks, soft reminders piling up. He was right—I needed to do it. The longer I delayed, the more unfair it was to Cam, giving him hope that would only wither. But the thought exhausted me.
“I should probably grab my stuff first.”
I’d been avoiding it. The idea of seeing Cam again tied my stomach in knots. I could go when he’d be at work, but I didn’t want to miss my own shifts for it. Finding my own place felt impossible now; rent had skyrocketed since Cam and I first moved in together. With my salary, I barely scraped by. I hadn’t told Nate how tight things might get, not yet. It wasn’t worth worrying him—not until I knew for sure what my choices were. At least I had a car, even if the thought of paying for extra fuel made my chest tight.
“Let me come with you,” Nate said. “Tonight?”
I physically flinched. I’d just mentioned it, but the thought of actually going tonight? Facing Cam so soon? My heart beata little faster, but I needed my own clothes. I’d been rotating the same few things, borrowing from Rachel, feeling guilty every time I touched her hangers. She never complained, but I cared.
“Yeah, I should go tonight.” I swallowed. “But you can’t come with me. I can’t do that to Cam.”
I felt Nate stiffen. “After everything he’s put you through, you’re still worried about hurting him?”
I pulled back, irritation prickling up my arms. “Yes. I am. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Nate.”
“You aren’t doing anything wrong,” he insisted. “He broke your trust; the old rules don’t count anymore.”
“I know, but we’re still married. He wanted to end the arrangement. Legally, what I’m doing with you counts as adultery.”
“You’re getting divorced.”
“But I’m not yet.”
“Are you ever going to be?”
For the first time since we’d met, I caught a real spark of anger in Nate’s eyes. Tight and frustrated, all the patience of these last weeks stacked up inside him.
