Page 17 of Pretend You Love Me

I look up to find her watching me, her head tilted slightly, her expression careful. “How are you actually doing?” she asks, the question simple and direct in a way that makes it impossible to deflect.

The room settles into silence, or at least mostly. Leo is still making dinosaur noises at Milo, and Luca is refilling wine glasses whilst pretending not to push, their attention on me is the kind that happens when people who love you realize something is actually wrong.

I look at all of them, Luca already knowing, his face arranged in what I now recognize as his “I’m being supportive but also ready to commit crimes” expression; Harper watching me with careful eyes; Liv with her gaze fixed on the middle distance in the way she uses when she’s pretending not to be concerned. And I tell them.

Not in a speech. In pieces, with pauses, with Milo interrupting twice to demand a bottle and Harper automatically reaching for it one-handed without breaking eye contact.

The NICU detail seems to shock them more than the rest. Harper sets her wine glass down on the table with a careful, deliberate movement. Liv says, quietly and with complete conviction, “That’s genuinely evil.” Luca stays very still in the way that means he’s actively choosing not to say the first seven things that came to mind.

“I have screen recordings,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected.

“That’s...” Harper starts, then stops, clearly reconsidering whatever she was about to say. “That’s actually really smart. To document everything, I mean.”

“I’ve been adding to it for the last few weeks,” I say.

The room is quiet for a moment, the only sound Leo’s voice as he explains to a fascinated Milo that some dinosaurs had feathers, “which is basically like having a built-in coat, which is extremely practical for the winter but also makes them look like giant angry chickens, which is funny.”

“I think the worst part,” I say, the words coming out before I can decide whether I want to say them, “is that he still acts normal. Like nothing’s changed. Like he’s not the same person who sent those messages.”

Something moves across Harper’s face, a brief, complicated expression that I don’t quite have the energy to decode. “Betrayal isn’t just about the act,” she says carefully. “It’s about watching someone become a stranger while they keep telling you they’re who you’ve always known.”

There’s something in her voice, a type of understanding that makes me wonder, not for the first time, what happened in Harper’s marriage before Leo was born. But before I can ask, Luca interrupts with a sound that’s half-laugh, half-growl.

“I need you to know,” he says, his voice carefully measured, “That I still vote for completely rearranging his face.”

It’s what is needed to break the tension. A laugh escapes me, a real one, but it catches in my throat, sharp and painful. It splinters into a gasp, and then another, until the sound tearing its way out of my chest is a raw, gut-wrenching sob.

“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “God, I’m sorry, this is so… “

Luca is around the couch in a heartbeat, his arms around me before I can finish the sentence. “Do not,” he says, his voice firm, “apologize to us. Not for crying. Not ever for hurting.”

I cry into his jumper, my face pressed against the soft wool, and complain, voice muffled, “I have mascara in places mascara should never be.”

“I’ll bill you for the dry cleaning,” he says, and I can feel him smiling against the top of my head.

He holds me while I cry, one hand making small circles on my back, and doesn’t let go even when my sobs finally slow, then stop. When I pull back, wiping my face with the back of my hand, Harper is there with a box of tissues, and Liv is suddenly very interested in the ceiling, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“Sorry,” I say again, accepting the tissues. “I thought I was done with the crying part.”

“Stop,” Harper interrupts, her voice gentle. “Just… stop. You’re allowed to fall apart. That’s literally what we’re here for.”

“I’m not good at falling apart,” I admit, blowing my nose with as much dignity as I can muster. “I’m better at making jokes and pretending everything’s fine.”

“That,” Luca says, his hand still resting on my shoulder, “is the least surprising thing you’ve ever said.”

I laugh despite myself, a real one this time. I look around at them, at Luca’s hand still on my shoulder, at Harper’s gentle expression, and feel the tension in the room finally break, like a wave against the shore. Not completely gone, but the feeling that happens when something that’s been carried alone is finally shared.

“Okay,” Liv says, reaching for the wine bottle. “New plan. We’re getting properly drunk, ordering more food than any five humans should reasonably consume, and plotting elaborate revenge scenarios that may or may not involve glitter bombs and those singing birthday cards that won’t stop.”

“I’m in,” Luca says immediately. “But I’m vetoing anything that could technically be considered arson. Adrian made me promise.”

“I’m in too,” Harper says, “though I should probably switch to water soon. Leo’s going to be up at 5:15 no matter what time we go to bed.”

“I’m in,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I expected. “But I get final say on the revenge plans. Some of us have to live with the man until the divorce is final.”

It’s not fixed. But as we settle back into the warm chaos of friendship, Luca already on his phone ordering more food, Harper helping Leo into his pyjamas, Liv pouring more wine with the careful precision of someone who’s had enough to be generous but not enough to spill it, I feel something in my chest ease slightly. Enough that, for the first time in weeks, I can take a full breath.

The evening winds down gradually, like natural decrescendo that only happens with people who know each other well enough not to force endings. Harper gathers Leo, who has somehow fallen asleep on the play mat with one hand resting on Milo’s foot, his face slack with the particular abandon of childhood exhaustion. She lifts him carefully, settling his weight against her shoulder with ease, and carries him toward the door with minimal disruption to his sleep.