Page 54 of The Little Black Rose

I know the answer as soon as my mind poses it. It’s because of what we just did. Not the sex, itself, but the way we were with each other. It felt like making love, every whispered word and gentle touch meant to show each other how we feel.

And we’re not supposed to be feelinganythingother than physical pleasure and maybe some light affection. We let the joy of our good news get to us, both of us forgetting our vows to keep this thing between us simple and free of deep feelings.

My eyes start to burn as I attempt to stop the flow of tears building inside them. I refuse to cry, yet I’m powerless to stop it.

It’s too fucking late.I let my guard down, pulled Zeke into my heart, and let myself fall for him.

“No,” I whisper, swiping the tears from eyes.

I haven’t fallen for him. It’s just the hormones and the mutual happiness at finding out the twins are girls. Everything is fine. I don’t feel anything.

Zeke was right to go back to his own bed. We need to redraw the lines between us.

We’re having sex and sleeping together every night. Nobody needs sexeveryfucking night. Right?

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I try to clear my mind, rolling over to face the opposite direction and getting away from the pillow that smells like Zeke. Rubbing my palms over my bare baby bump, I talk to the girls. I tell them everything is okay, and they will have a wonderful life with two parents who love them even if we don’t live together like a traditional family. I tell them I can’t wait to meet them, but they should stay safe and warm inside me until they’re big enough to come out and meet the world.

I tell them about their Aunt Zoey and their Auntie Sophie, who will spoil them relentlessly and against my wishes. Their Uncle Jared, who owns a big casino and will shower them with gifts. Their Uncle Sam, who will teach them to laugh off the little things and always take pride in who they are.

I tell them about their daddy, who will love them unconditionally in a way he will never love anyone else. That they will love him back the same way, giving him a gift he never thought he’d possess––true love and devotion.

I tell them they are everything to me, and that I’ll spend the rest of my life showing them just how much mommy adores them.

As soon as those last words leave my mouth, I freeze. A solid kick is thrown, and I feel it against my hand. Surprised laughter bursts out of me, and I sit up, ready to swing my legs over the edge of the mattress to go find Zeke.

I pause though, my laughter dying. Then I lay back down and cradle my girls as fresh tears sting my eyes. I can’t go to him now. I’m still too raw. I’ll tell him later.

I eventually doze off, but my sleep is fitful and full of crazy dreams. I dream that I’m eight months pregnant, and my stomach is the size of the world’s largest pumpkin. I dream the girls are born, but instead of crying when the doctor holds them up, they moo like milk cows.

I dream that Zeke drops to his knees in the delivery room and begs for my forgiveness before producing a tiny diamond ring and begging me to marry him.

I startle awake at that, my arm automatically reaching out to search for him. But all I find is cold, bare sheets where Zeke should be, and I remember.

He left.

It’s for the best.

Heshouldsleep in his own bed.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is totally fine.

* * *

I somehow managedto fall back asleep last night, and when I woke up this morning, Zeke wasn’t in his room. I stand at his open doorway, looking at his perfectly-made bed and wondering if he slept there at all, or left the house completely after slinking out of my room last night.

I texted Chuck as soon as I woke up, letting him know I wouldn’t be at work today. I’m too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to do anything work-related. But I also refuse to wallow.

I decide to start planning the nursery, something I’ve been putting off until we found out the sex of the babies. Having a solid plan for the day refreshes me, and I head into the kitchen for a drink. That’s when I see it.

A note on the counter.

I panic, sure it’s a letter from Zeke telling me he’s moving out. That things got too messy between us, and he’s okay being a part-time dad to our girls. That I should’ve known better. That he warned me there would never be anything more between us.

I walk toward the counter on numb feet and pick up the sheet of paper, letting my eyes scan his bold, distinctive writing.

Ava,

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