Page 136 of Fault Lines
My phone buzzed. A text from Nate:Good luck. Call me when it’s over, okay? I’ll take you out for victory donuts.
I smiled, actually smiled, and texted back:Deal.
I started the car. The air was sharp and cold, but for the first time in months, I felt like I could fill my lungs again.
∞∞∞
I told Cam to meet me at my favorite coffee shop—just a few blocks from my job, the one with wobbling mismatched mugs and tattered orange velvet chairs that looked like props from a tragedy. I always came here when life felt like jagged glass; the scent of cinnamon and burnt espresso numbed the edges of every sharp moment.
He was already there, slumped at a corner table, eyes glued to his phone, thumb pumping nerves across the screen. He looked smaller than memory, as if the last few months hadhollowed him out. My chest constricted—part of me wanted to flee. But I owed him this. I owed myself.
He saw me approach—hope flared in his eyes like a match struck in smoke. “Hey,” he said, voice trembling, nudging his mug toward me. “You look… good.”
I sank into the seat opposite him, fingers tightening around my cup until it bit into my skin. “You do too,” I lied, forcing a brittle smile that cracked instantly.
Silence fell. The espresso machine hissed behind the counter, its roar filling every aching pause. Finally, he cleared his throat. “So… how’s everything?”
My heart hammered. I stared at the swirling coffee. “Moving,” I said, tracing the rim with a shaking finger. “I saw a lawyer this morning.”
He flinched as though I’d struck him. Shoulders slumped. “That makes sense.”
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” I whispered, nails digging into the ceramic. “I didn’t want you served like a punchline.” He managed a weak smile. “That’s more than most would do.”
Silence thickened. Outside, a dog barked at a passing cyclist. Panic pulsed in my throat.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, head bowed. “If this is what you want, I won’t make it ugly. I just kept hoping you’d change your mind.”
My breath caught. “I tried, Cam. A hundred times.” I lifted my eyes, grief flaring in my chest. “But I can’t live as a ghost in my own marriage. It’s dead.” My words landed like hammers. “You swung the axe.”
He laughed or sobbed—I couldn’t tell which. “Yeah. I know.” He buried his face in his hands. “Can I tell you something I’ve been holding onto?”
I nodded, blood pounding in my ears.
“I’m not going to be a dad. Not with her.” His voice cracked like ice. “Lacey’s baby—it’s not mine. The real father got a test. They’re together now. She said having me around would only confuse him. So I’m out.”
The air thinned. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.
“Me too,” he said, voice breaking. “All that mess… for nothing.”
“It matters,” I said, surprising myself. “You wanted something I couldn’t give. I needed something you didn’t have. Maybe now we both find those pieces elsewhere.”
Anger flickered across his face—aimed at himself. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” I said, steel threading my voice. “But you did.”
We sank into a lighter silence, one of acceptance rather than pain.
After a moment, I spoke: “I’m sorry about the baby. I know how badly you wanted it.”
He stared at his hands. “I don’t even know if I wanted the baby, or just a chance to fix myself. I’m in therapy—she says I shouldn’t ruin anyone else until I sort my mess out.”
On impulse, I reached across the table and brushed his trembling hand. He closed his around mine—an echo of who we used to be.
He let go first. “Are you happy?” he asked.
“I’m trying. Nate… he’s good to me.”
He nodded, a ghost of a smile. “He better be.”
