Then he tried a different angle.
“What about the baby?” he asked softly.
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach.
“What about the baby?” I echoed.
“We can fix this,” he insisted. “Counseling. Therapy. Whatever you want.”
I studied him.
Not the words.
The posture.
The eyes.
The subtle calculation behind the concern.
This wasn’t about repair.
It was about damage control.
“I don’t want to fix something you chose to break,” I said.
His voice cracked slightly.
“I love you.”
I let that hang in the air.
“Love without loyalty is just convenience,” I replied.
That’s when his mask slipped completely.
Anger flared.
“You’re throwing away eight years over one mistake,” he snapped.
“One mistake?” I repeated quietly.
He looked away.
That told me everything.
It hadn’t been one.
I stepped back toward the kitchen.
“You need to leave,” I said calmly.
He stared at me like he was waiting for me to collapse.
I didn’t.
My mom moved slightly forward.
Blake swallowed once.
Then he turned and walked back down the driveway.
He didn’t slam the gate.
He didn’t yell.
He just left.
And this time, it didn’t feel like loss.
