My Lover Called Our Dead Baby a Bastard

Evander's apartment smelled like eucalyptus. The fancy kind from the diffuser Chelsea probably bought.

I stood in the doorway. My legs still felt weak. The discharge papers from the hospital were folded in my coat pocket. Nobody asked me what they were for.

"Come in," Evander said. He was on the couch, dressed in clean clothes, his hair combed. Chelsea sat beside him with her hand pressed to her temple. She wore a silk robe. Her other hand rested on Evander's knee.

"I have a migraine," she said softly. "But I wanted to be here."

Evander looked at her like she'd donated a kidney.

I stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind me.

"Sit," Evander said.

I stayed standing.

He frowned. "Iris. Sit down."

I walked to the chair across from them and sat. My hands stayed in my lap.

Chelsea sighed. It was a long, delicate sound. "I'm just so tired. I've been running myself ragged trying to keep everything together while you were in the hospital, Ev. The meetings. The calls. I barely slept."

I looked at her. She looked back. Her mouth curved, just a little. Just enough.

"Chelsea's been incredible," Evander said. He squeezed her hand. "She handled everything. Meanwhile, you—" He turned to me. "You couldn't even show up."

I said nothing.

"I think you owe her an apology," he said.

The room went quiet. The diffuser hissed.

"Apologize," he said again.

Chelsea tilted her head. Her eyes were bright. Waiting.

I looked at Evander. At the man I'd cooked for. Cleaned for. Worked for. The man whose baby had bled out of me on a hospital floor while he slept twenty feet away.

"No," I said.

His face went hard. "What?"

"I'm not apologizing."

Chelsea's hand flew to her chest. "Evander, I—" Her voice cracked. "I can't do this. I'm too weak right now."

"Get on your knees," Evander said. He wasn't looking at Chelsea anymore. He was looking at me.

I stood up.

"Where are you going?" he snapped.

"Home."

"We're not done."

I walked to the door. My hand closed around the knob.

"Iris!"

I opened it. I stepped into the hallway. I didn't look back.

The door slammed behind me.

I made it to the elevator before my knees buckled. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. The metal was cold against my back. I thought about kneeling. About what my face would have looked like if I'd done it. About Chelsea's smile.

I didn't cry. I was too tired to cry.

I went home. I sat on the edge of my bed. The apartment was dark. I didn't turn on the lights.

My phone rang at eleven.

Evander's name lit up the screen.

I answered.

"You embarrassed me," he said. His voice was ice. "In front of Chelsea. After everything she's done."

I said nothing.

"And another thing." He paused. I heard him breathe. "Whatever bastard you were carrying? It has nothing to do with me."

My hand tightened on the phone.

"You think I'm stupid?" he continued. "You think I don't know? You must've slept with someone else. Some random guy. And you were going to pin it on me."

The room tilted. I pressed my palm flat against the mattress.

"That kid wasn't mine," he said. "And I'm glad it's gone. Saves me the trouble."

The line went quiet.

I waited. He didn't say anything else.

I hung up.

I set the phone on the nightstand. I stared at the wall. The streetlight outside threw shadows across the ceiling.

I thought about the night it happened. The whiskey. His hands. The way he'd pulled me close and whispered my name like it mattered.

I thought about the security camera in his living room. The one that recorded everything.

I opened my laptop.

The login screen glowed in the dark. I typed in the password. The same one he'd given me two years ago when he asked me to check the footage after his assistant thought someone broke in.

I found the date. I found the timestamp.

I watched it once. Just to be sure.

Then I downloaded the file.

I opened my email. I attached the video. I attached the hospital records from my OB-GYN. The ones with his name listed under "father." The ones with the date of conception circled in red pen.

I typed his email into the "To" field.

I didn't write a message.

I clicked send.

Then I blocked his number. I blocked him on every app. Every platform. Every place his name could reach me.

I closed the laptop.

I sat in the dark.

Something inside me had been holding on for six years. Now it let go.

I didn't feel lighter. I just felt empty.

I pulled my suitcase out of the closet and started packing.