Page 155 of Josephine and Clay

Because he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know there are already two tiny people who will need him for the rest of their lives.

And that makes the words hurt even worse.

I look at him for a long moment.

He looks back, breathing hard, eyes bright with anger or pain or fear. Maybe all three.

I cannot build a life on maybe.

I cannot raise children around a man who turns tenderness into a weapon the second he feels exposed.

My babies deserve steadiness.

So do I.

I swallow. “You’re right.”

His expression shifts. “Josie⁠—”

“You didn’t ask.” I step back toward the door. “And I won’t make that mistake again.”

He looks like he wants to move, but his leg stops him. Or pride does. Hard to tell.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

A humorless smile touches my mouth. “Do what?”

“Walk away like that.”

I blink, stunned by the unfairness of it. “What would you prefer I do? Stay so you can decide whether or not you want me in the room?”

His mouth shuts.

There's my answer.

I nod again.

Everything inside me feels terrifyingly quiet now.

“I hope your leg heals well,” I say.

It's a ridiculous thing to say. Formal. Polite. Something you’d write in a card for a distant acquaintance.

Maybe that’s why it hurts.

I leave before he can answer.

Downstairs, the women are in the kitchen. All three of them look over the moment they see my face.

I must not be hiding it well.

Rose steps forward. “Josephine?”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely. I need to go.”

Tessa’s face crumples with concern. “What happened?”