Chapter Thirty Nine

Kyla 

The next morning comes faster than I want it to.

By the time the nurse wheels me down the corridor, my head is buzzing with everything I’m trying not to think about Jake’s decision, the kids’ questions, the storm I know is coming.

The Discharge papers are all signed. Prescriptions handed over. Instructions rattled off. The motions blur together until I’m being lifted carefully into Jake’s car. He doesn’t say a word as he steadies me, his hands gentle but his jaw tight. The silence between us is a wall so thick I can hardly breathe through it.

The kids climb in behind me, Chanel immediately hugging her little backpack to her chest, Elias clutching his toy blocks like treasure. Mara lingers by the curb, her smile soft but worried.

“You call me if you need anything,” she whispers to me, and I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel. She leans in, presses a kiss to each child’s forehead, then steps back as Jake shuts the door. A big part of me wishes I could have stayed with her instead, but she can't take care of me and the kids and her kids. 

The engine starts.

And just like that, we are off.

The hum of the car fills the air, low and steady, but it does nothing to ease the tension pressing down on me. I stare out the window, my fingers twisting the hospital bracelet I haven’t had the courage to cut off yet. The world outside blurs by in streaks of gray and green, but all I can see is the reflection of Jake in the glass. His jaw clenched. His knuckles white on the steering wheel. His eyes locked on the road like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

“Mommy?” Chanel’s small voice cuts through it like a pinprick of light.

“Yes, baby?” I turn to her, grateful for the distraction.

“Are we really going to live with him now?” she asks, her big eyes wide, full of curiosity and excitement.

My throat tightens. I glance at Jake, but he doesn’t look at me. His jaw ticks once, the only sign he even heard.

“Yes,” I answer softly, stroking her hand. “For now, it's not permanent baby, it's until I get better.”

Chanel grins, satisfied, then turns toward Jake. “Do you have a pool at your house?”

He finally speaks, his voice rough but steady. “Yes.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands, bouncing in her seatbelt. “Can we swim every day?”

His lips twitch, the closest thing to a smile I have seen on him in days. “When your mom says it’s okay.”

Chanel beams, content with the answer.

I glance at Elias, who’s been unusually quiet. He’s staring out the opposite window, his little jaw set stubbornly, his toy blocks forgotten in his lap.

“Eli?” I prompt gently. “You all right, baby?”

He doesn’t look at me. “Why didn’t you tell us about him before?”

My heart stutters. I freeze, caught between my son’s piercing question and Jake’s sharp inhale from the driver’s seat.

I force a shaky breath. “Eli”

He finally turns to me, his dark eyes, so much like Jake’s it hurts searching mine. “Is he our daddy?”

The air in the car turns heavy, suffocating. My pulse hammers in my ears. I can feel Jake’s gaze flicking to me through the rearview mirror, hot and demanding, though he says nothing.

“I” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before I can go on. “We will talk about it later, okay? When we are settled.”

Eli frowns but doesn’t push further. He goes back to staring out the window, and the silence that follows is louder than any scream.

Jake grips the wheel tighter, his jaw flexing like he’s holding back a thousand questions. Questions I know are coming. Just not here. Not now.

Chanel hums a little tune under her breath, blissfully unaware of the weight pressing down on the rest of us. She leans forward, peeking toward Jake. “Do you have pets?”

He clears his throat. “A dog.”

Her face lights up again. “What’s his name?”

“Bruno.”

“Can he sleep in my room?”

Jake hesitates, then glances at me through the mirror. The smallest flicker of something, maybe humor, maybe exhaustion passes through his eyes. “We will see.”

She giggles, leaning back in her seat, satisfied.

The ride stretches on, long and uncomfortable. Every mile closer to the country house feels like another thread pulling tighter around my chest.

I keep sneaking glances at Jake, memorizing the sharp line of his profile, the way his jaw grinds every time Elias shifts in his seat. I can see the storm brewing in him as clearly as I can feel it in myself.

He knows. Or at least, he suspects.

And when we finally stop pretending and the truth comes out, I don’t know if we’ll survive it.

The kids keep chattering, filling the silence I can’t. Chanel asks about the garden, the bedrooms, whether there are horses. Jake answers in short, clipped sentences, but he answers. Elias stays quiet, watching everything, storing it away like he always does.

When the house finally comes into view tall, sprawling, framed by trees and open land Chanel gasps. “Wow! It’s like a castle!”

Elias studies it more carefully, his expression unreadable.

Jake slows the car, pulling into the long driveway. My chest tightens as the house looms larger. Memories hit me in flashes this porch, this gravel path, laughter that used to echo off those walls. A life that feels like someone else’s now. I decorated everything in this house. We always said if we had kids we would move here since it was more in the countryside away from the city, the perfect place to raise a family. 

I grip the edge of my seat, my nails digging into the fabric.

The car rolls to a stop. The engine cuts off. Silence again, heavy and sharp.

Jake doesn’t move right away. He just sits there, staring at the house, his hands still on the wheel, his shoulders tense.

Chanel is the first to break it, bouncing in her seat. “Come on, Mommy! Let’s see the dog!”

I force a smile for her sake, though my stomach is a knot of dread. “Okay, baby. Let’s go.”

Jake finally turns his head, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in the entire ride. His gaze is heavy, unspoken words swirling just beneath the surface.