After the Mudslide, I'm Outta Here

His eyes found me at last. "Xandra-you never told me what you like." His hand reached out, but I snatched the divorce papers like a weapon. "Secrets now?" He arched a brow, but I stabbed back: "Like hiding her three-month bump till I found you at the hospital?" His face shuttered, flicking to Yara. "We agreed not to-" "-because you feared I'd leave?" I cut in, laughter sharp as glass. That's when Yara's tears erupted, a perfect storm of sobs: " It's my fault that night, letting mom find out... I never meant to break you apart..." She wilted like a dying flower, all innocence. Instantly he folded her into his arms, voice dripping honey: "Don't blame yourself, love." I couldn't stomach another second-turning on my heel, I fled. His voice chased me: "Xandra,why are you running away?" "To end this." "Wait-it' a storm." He caught up, barking orders to servants: "Yara can't touch cold water. Keep the soup angelica-free-" Every word a nail in the coffin of our past. In the car, I studied him: this man reciting pregnancy manuals, tucking Yara' needs into every crevice of his life. "You'll make a good father," I said flatly. His grip on my wrist tightened, voice raw: "Only our child-you know I had no choice-" Then his phone shrieked. Yara' sobs poured through the speaker: "My stomach-" His face drained. "Xandra,Get a cab here," he said, already shifting gears. "Fine." I stepped into the downpour, the car peeling away before I'd shut the door. Rain lashed my face, but the laughter building in my throat was hotter than any storm. The deluge slammed into me, drenching every thread as his taillights vanished. I laughed into the storm-so close, Caleb. A minute more, and you'd have seen me clutching divorce papers, bone-dry in my coat. Wind tore my umbrella inside out. I staggered toward the civil affairs bureau, rain blending with tears. When I shoved the documents across the counter, my voice cracked: "File for divorce." The clerk' eyes lingered on my soaked form: "One-month cooling-off period." Stepping out, the storm had cleared. Sunlight seared the sky, and something in my chest unknotted. This is how it ends-sun after the tempest. At the villa, the living room lay empty. Upstairs, his voice drifted through the walls: "The cindress and the prince..." Caleb, reading bedtime stories to Yara' belly. His tone was honeyed, the same lilt he'd used for my midnight cravings. I collapsed into bed, throat aflame. "Water-" My croak vanished. Next door, Yara' sigh floated through: "I hope the baby' just like you." Silence answered me. Only the rise and fall of his voice, weaving dreams for a family that had no room for me. The fever took hold, but I smiled into the pillow-let him build his fairytale. I'd already signed my exit from the story. I lunged for the water glass, but my hand spasmed-the cup exploded on the floor. As I crouched to pick up shards, darkness swallowed me. Blood beaded from my palm, but the laughter next door never paused. I crawled back to bed, remembering in the past when I had fever, he accompanied me in the bed for three days, red-eyed: "Your pain is mine." When I opened my eyes again, his palm on my forehead felt like a stranger's. "Why didn't you call and told me you're weak?" he crooned, kissing my hair. I gave a forced smile. "Wants to the track?" He zipped my leather jacket, but my smile was a trigger cocked as he pulled me out. As we reached the garage, Yara waddled over, hand on her belly: "Can I ride too?" Caleb' tone sliced: "You're pregnant." But his knuckles whitened on the helmet rack-already wavering. Her lip trembled: "The exhaust fumes here... it' stuffy for the baby." I turned on my heel. His sigh trailed: "Fine, but stay behind me." In the Porsche, I watched him strap her into the sidecar like a porcelain doll, his voice a constant drone: "Hold on tight. Mind the kickstand." At the track, I revved the Ducati-skills he'd drilled into me. Flashback: 18th birthday, him yelling over the engine, "Lean with the bike, Xandra!" Now he knelt before Yara, adjusting her passenger harness, his eyes glued to her belly. He kept her sidecar' reins in his grip, until his phone rang. "Go take it," she purred. The second he turned, her smile turned feral: "Mrs. Huxley-ever seen two bikes collide?" Her boot twitched toward my rear tire, diamond studs glinting on the ankle bracelet he'd bought her. Before I could swerve, her sidecar rammed my tailpipe. Two bikes fishtailed. My Ducati' rear wheel locked, sending me skidding toward the guardrail. I saw Yara' body go limp, "falling" from the sidecar. "YARA!" Caleb' roar echoed off the track. He caught her before she hit asphalt, never glancing back as my bike slammed into the steel barrier. "CALEB-HELP!" My scream was swallowed by the engine' death rattle. I watched him carry her to the medic tent, her head lolling on his shoulder. The bike' fuel line burst, gasoline hissing onto the tarmac. I crawled from the wreckage, knee bones grinding-yet the rip in my chest felt like someone had yanked out my heart with pliers. Curled on the hot asphalt, I listened to his voice soothing her in the distance, just like he'd once done for me after my first track crash. He never looked back.