Page 167 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

“No,” he agrees quietly. “It wasn’t.”

The house feels fragile all of a sudden.

One wrong move and it might crack.

Wayne pushes off the counter after a long moment.

“I need a minute,” he says.

“Okay,” I whisper.

He nods once and disappears down the hallway, the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoing unusually loudly.

I stand there alone in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly deafening.

This wasn’t how my life was supposed to go.

I was supposed to rebuild quietly. Earn trust. Keep my head down. Prove I’m not reckless or unstable. Prove I’m not the woman that anonymous email painted me to be.

Not this.

Not pregnant. Not unsure who the father is. Not standing in a house that doesn’t belong to me, the hired help, waiting to find out if I’m allowed to stay.

My phone buzzes.

I flinch.

Unknown number.

Of course it is.

I pick it up before I can talk myself out of it.

You think this fixes anything?

My stomach drops.

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: You really think you get to start over like nothing happened?

Another.

Unknown Number: You don’t get to walk away from me and just play house somewhere else.

My fingers go cold.

The tone is different.

Less pleading.

More… angry.

Another message.

Unknown Number: You owe me.

I stare at the screen.