He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sound calm. “Miyah, please, you’re upset.I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I SAID DON’T,” I snapped, the words slicing through his excuses. “Don’t you dare try to fix this with soft words. You meant it exactly like you fucking said it. You said it. You said you were glad I lost our child.”
His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
“I don’t need your apology,” I said, my voice steadier now. “I don’t need anything from you.”
He tried again, reaching for me. “Babe—”
I stepped back, pointing to the door. “Get the fuck out.”
“Amiyah—”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
Something in my tone must have convinced him, because for once, he didn’t argue. He just looked at me, like he was realizing too late that he’d destroyed something he couldn’t rebuild, and then he left.
When the door slammed, I stood there and cried, my tears mixing among the shards of glass. There was no sound but the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet cracking of my own heart.
That night, I promised myself I would never make myself this vulnerable to anyone ever again.
Back in the SUV, the city blurred past outside the window, a smear of neon and motion. I could feel James watching me out of the corner of his eye, the way he always did when something shifted in my mood. His hand found my knee, warm and steady, pulling me back to the present.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, though my throat felt tight. “Yeah. Just… remembering the wrong kind of past.”
Calla looked up from her phone, her gaze calm but full of understanding. “He doesn’t get to own your story anymore, Amiyah,” she said softly. “You do.”
Her words landed like a truth I wasn’t ready to hear. I stared out the window for a moment, watching the lights streak by. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I know, but he broke me down to nothing before I could take it back.”
James didn’t interrupt. Calla didn’t look away. It made it easier to let the words come.
“I was pregnant,” I said quietly. “Fifteen weeks, when my doctor told me there was no heartbeat. Jason said he wanted a family, our family, and I believed him. For someone who’d lost so much already, the idea of building something that belonged to me felt like a miracle.”
My voice wavered. I blinked hard, forcing myself to keep going. “After the D&C, I couldn’t get out of bed for days. I didn’t eat. I didn’t shower. I just stopped existing. He told people I needed space, but he barely checked on me. One night, I got up to get a glass of water and heard him laughing in the kitchen as I fought to find reasons to keep living. Talking to someone on the phone.”
James' hand tightened on my knee, his jaw set.
“He told her he was glad I’d lost the baby,” I whispered. “Said he didn’t want a ‘baby mama’ or a ‘broken home.’ That he could finally be free with no attachments lingering.”
Calla drew in a quiet breath, her fingers curling slightly where they rested on her lap.
“I confronted him right there,” I said. “Reminded him he chased me, that I wasn’t looking for him. That I was fine on my own before he came along, before he made me believe I wasn’t supposed to be alone. He tried to talk his way out of it, but there wasn’t anything left to say. I told him to get out, and that was the last time I ever saw him until today.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was careful and empathetic.
Calla reached across the seat, resting her hand over mine. “You survived him,” she said, her tone a mix of pride and gentleness. “That’s not nothing.”
James nodded. “You didn’t just survive. You rebuilt.”
I looked between them, their faces soft in the glow of the passing streetlights. “Maybe,” I said quietly. “But I think tonight’s the first time I’ve really started to believe it.”
James squeezed my hand. “Then that’s progress, baby.”
The SUV turned onto Fifth Avenue, the skyline glittering ahead of us. As the Aman came into view, I exhaled slowly, letting the city’s hum drown out the ghosts.
I was still healing, but I wasn’t doing it alone anymore.
