Chapter 8
the crisp
Scott sat alone in his office, the city lights outside his window glaring back at him like a thousand judgmental eyes. He’d been staring at the nurse’s report for hours words blurring every time he read them.
Pregnant
She’d been pregnant.
His child. Their child. A life that had slipped away while he had been too busy spoon–feeding lies to Jasmine and acting like Nadine’s pleas for help were some childish tantrum.
He gripped the report tighter until it crumpled in his fists. Images of her face flashed through his mind the last time he’d seen her eyes swollen with unshed tears as she whispered about her pain, and he’d brushed her off. She was telling the truth.
She hadn’t been dramatic or trying to manipulate him. She was carrying his child while he stood there, arms wrapped around Jasmine, ignoring her existence.
A slow wave of nausea curled through his gut. He forced himself to remember how many times she’d come to him, quietly, carefully, saying she didn’t feel well, asking him to stay.
And every time he’d pushed her away with a few soft words and a promise that he never intended to keep.
He shut his eyes, leaning back, seeing it all over again the way she’d stood in the rain when he left her on the side of the road. The way she’d looked at him when she whispered about losing their baby. He’d thought she was lying.
He’d laughed it off, told himself it was one more trick to get his attention.
And then, Jasmine’s laughter cut through his memory like a blade. She was perched on the couch now, swirling a glass of red wine/ watching him with those cold, perfect eyes.
“So what if she lost the baby?” Jasmine scoffed, lips curling into a smirk. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? Scott, it’s a baby. We can make another.”
Scott’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “That was my baby, Jasmine.”
She cocked her head, eyes narrowing. “And I can give you a baby. So what? You want kids, don’t you? I can give you ten if you want. What’s so special about her?” Her voice sharpened, the sweetness melting into acid.
He felt the words bubbling up, the rage, the grief, the bitter truth he hadn’t dared to taste. But he swallowed it. He forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. You’re right. You can give me everything.”
Jasmine laughed. She climbed into his lap, pressing kisses down his neck, her hands roaming his chest like they owned him. And maybe they did. He let her. He let her believe it. He forced himself to close his eyes and play the part.
And for the next few days, he did exactly that. He played his role. He bought Jasmine flowers, planned her extravagant spa trips, whispered pretty lies into her ear.
Dear Husband, We were never Married!
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He let her cling to him, let her mark him with her lipstick and perfume until his skin reeked of her. He let her believe that Nadine
sweet, stupid, loyal Nadine
was gone from his
head.
But at night, when Jasmine drifted off on his shoulder, Scott would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Nadine’s voice whispering in the corners of his mind. Our baby. The words stabbed at him, over and over.
One night, when he’d poured himself half a bottle of whiskey just to numb the ache, Jasmine came to him again. She wore his favorite silk slip, climbed into his lap with that practiced smile, kissing him with desperation that tasted like poison.
He let himself get swept up in it, the heat, the taste of her mouth, the illusion that maybe this was what he wanted. Maybe Jasmine was enough. Maybe this was what he’d always wanted.
But when he buried his face in her neck, when her body arched beneath him, the name slipped out like a prayer he hadn’t meant to say.
“Nadine…”
It was so soft but Jasmine heard it. She froze beneath him. Her hands, which had been tangled in his hair, went still. He didn’t even register it until she shoved him back so hard he nearly fell off the bed.
“What did you just say?” she hissed, her eyes wide, the whites showing like a cornered animal.
Scott’s heart pounded. He tried to gather himself, to grab her wrist, but Jasmine yanked away, climbing off the bed and standing there like a judge about to deliver a death
sentence.
“You said her name,” she spat. “You said Nadine, not mine. Are you fucking kidding me right now, Scott?”
He rubbed his forehead, heat creeping up his neck. “You heard it wrong.”
“Don’t you dare gaslight me. Don’t you dare.” Jasmine’s voice was trembling now, rising to a shriek. “You’re lying. Tell me you don’t love her. Tell me.”
Scott opened his mouth but the words got stuck in his throat. He could see her rage, the hurt swirling in her eyes, the tremor in her shoulders.
He could see the lie she wanted him to say. But he couldn’t do it. The truth was an iron weight pressing on his chest.
“Scott!” she screamed. “Say it!”
He looked down at the sheets, the rumpled silk, her lipstick smudged on his skin, the ghost
of Nadine’s scent that wouldn’t wash off no matter how hard he tried.
And for the first time, he let it spill out – so quiet, it barely counted as a confession. “Yes.”
Jasmine’s face crumpled in an instant. “What did you say?” she whispered.
Wed, 23 JUL
Chapter 9
