Chapter 5
“They’re four.”
Silence.
Around us, luggage wheels rattled over concrete.
A shuttle bus hissed.
Someone laughed twenty feet away.
But Declan heard none of it.
I watched him calculate.
Five years since the divorce.
Four-year-old daughters.
Pregnancy.
Timing.
His face slowly lost color.
“They’re…”
He stopped.
I said nothing.
“How old exactly?”
Amelia climbed out of the SUV.
She saw Declan.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Oh, hell.”
Declan barely noticed her.
“Cassidy.”
My daughters sensed tension.
Harper pressed against my leg.
Sophie studied Declan openly.
Then, because God apparently enjoyed chaos, she announced:
“He has my eyes.”
Declan shut his eyes.
Just for one second.
When he opened them, the arrogance was gone.
“Are they mine?”
Amelia inhaled sharply.
I looked at the three little girls standing beside me.
Then at the man who had once believed he understood every part of my life.
“Yes.”
Declan stopped breathing.
“They’re your daughters.”
Five years earlier, three weeks after leaving Declan, I had fainted in the produce section of a Publix.
I blamed stress.
My doctor blamed pregnancy.
I stared at her when she told me.
Then laughed because the alternative was crying.
When the ultrasound technician moved the wand across my stomach and said, “Well, this is interesting,” my heart almost stopped.
“What?”
“One baby.”
She moved the wand.
“Two.”
Another movement.
Then she stared at the screen.
“Oh.”
I gripped the paper covering the examination table.
“Oh what?”
She smiled.
“Three.”
Three heartbeats flickered on the monitor.
I cried the entire drive home.
That night, I called Declan.
I remember every detail.
The clock said 8:42.
Rain tapped against my sister’s apartment windows.
My hand shook around the phone.
Declan answered on the fourth ring.
“Cassidy?”
I couldn’t speak.
His voice changed.
“What happened?”
“I need to tell you something.”
A woman laughed somewhere near him.
I stopped.
“Where are you?”
“Dinner.”
“With who?”
A pause.
“People from the company.”
Another laugh.
Female.
Close.
I told myself it didn’t matter.
We were divorcing.
He was allowed to eat dinner with women.
Still, something inside me tightened.
“What did you need?”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“I found out today.”
More silence.
“Declan?”
His voice was suddenly cold.
“When?”
“Probably conceived in October.
The doctor says—”
“Cassidy.”
I stopped.
“I need you to think very carefully before you do this.”
I remember gripping the counter.
“Before I do what?”