Chapter Twenty Four

Kyla. 

The accident 

I shouldn’t have said it.

The moment the words slipped out of my mouth about my children I felt the air in Jake’s office change. His face went slack, his blue eyes narrowing in shock, confusion, then something else that I can’t even name. My tongue turned to stone in my mouth, and my heartbeat roared like thunder in my ears. I didn’t mean to reveal anything. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t supposed to.

“Children?” he repeated, his voice low, dangerous in its disbelief like I had spoken to him in a language he did not understand. 

That one word was enough to shatter every defense I had built. My chest tightened, my breath became shallow, and panic clawed up my throat. I grabbed my bag with trembling hands, my eyes darting anywhere but at him.

“I have to go,” I whispered, even though I knew it made me look guilty.

“Kyla, wait”

But I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t give him another second to press, to unravel me, to dig into a truth that has lived in shadows for so long. My entire body screamed at me to flee, to get out before I drowned in his questions, in his eyes that used to see through me so easily.

So I did what I always do when fear eats me alive, I ran.

I pushed the door open, not caring about the curious stares of his staff as I bolted through the hall. My heels clacked against the polished floor, my vision blurry with tears I refused to let fall. By the time I shoved open the glass doors and felt the cool air hit my face, I was gasping like I’d just surfaced from underwater.

All I could think was: stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could I let myself slip like that? After all these years of keeping it together, of holding secrets close to my chest like armor, I just had to let one word fall from my lips. One word that could destroy everything I’ve tried to protect.

But he always had that hold on me, I always acted stupid whenever I was around him, I could not function properly. It was like my brain stopped working, I thought after five years that would have changed, but clearly not. 

Jake still had the same power on me. 

My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it. My mind was spiraling, replaying Jake’s face, the way his eyes had sharpened at me. He would dig. He always digs when he smells the faintest hint of a lie. He was relentless like that, in work, in life, in us.

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself as if I could hold my shaking body together. My lungs felt too small, my legs carrying me aimlessly down the sidewalk. The world around me was a blur honking cars, people talking, the city’s endless hum. I barely noticed any of it.

What have I done?

The question looped inside me, louder than everything else.

I didn’t even realize I had stepped off the curb until I heard it, the screech of tires, a horn blaring like a scream. My head whipped to the left, and for a split second, all I saw were headlights coming too fast, too close.

Then pain.

Not the sharp kind, but a crushing, breath taking force slamming into me, stealing the air from my lungs. My body lifted, then weightlessness, then the sickening crack of pavement against bone. The world turned sideways.

Voices shouted. Someone gasped. Feet hurried closer. But all I could focus on was the ringing in my ears and the cold seeping into my skin. My vision pulsed in and out, blackness creeping from the edges.

“Kyla!”

For a moment, I thought I imagined his voice. Jake’s voice. Strong, panicked, breaking in a way I’ve never heard before. My lips tried to form words, to tell him something, anything, but nothing came. The darkness was too heavy, too consuming.

And then it swallowed me whole.

I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the steady beeping. It’s faint at first, then louder, pulling me toward it. My eyelids feel glued shut, my throat dry as sandpaper. I try to move, but my body feels heavy, like I’m made of lead.

With a groan, I force my eyes open. The light stabs at me, too bright, too white. I blink until the shapes sharpen the sterile ceiling, the pale curtains, the machines humming softly beside me.

A hospital.

My mind scrambles, panic flaring all over again. Why am I here? What happened? My chest rises and falls too quickly, the beeping of the monitor climbing with it.

I remember running. I remember headlights. I remember the impact then absolutely nothing after that. 

“Oh God.” The words scrape out of my throat, barely a whisper. My hand flies to my stomach, trembling as it rests there. Relief floods me when I feel no sharp pain, no blood. Still, the fear lingers, sharp and suffocating.

I’m alive. But at what cost?

The door creaks, and I flinch, my eyes snapping toward it. A nurse walks in, her face soft, her smile practiced in that way only nurses can manage. She checks the machines, murmuring something about vitals and rest, but I barely hear her.

My mind is elsewhere. On Jake. On the word that slipped. On the way he must be connecting the dots right now.

Children.

I close my eyes, tears finally escaping down my temples. How do I face him now? How do I explain the truth I’ve buried for so long? And worse, what if he already knows?

The thought makes my chest ache more than the bruises spreading across my ribs.

When the nurse leaves, silence fills the room again. I stare at the ceiling, lost in the mess I created. I thought I could keep my walls up forever, that I could protect myself, protect what matters most, by staying silent. But one slip, one mistake, and everything is unraveling.

And now, lying here in this hospital bed, I can’t shake the haunting question pressing into me like a knife.

What was I going to do and what was Jake going to do with that information?