Chapter Twenty Three

Jake

The door slams shut behind her, and the echo feels like it reverberates straight through my bones.

For a long moment, I just stand there, staring at the empty space where she had been, my chest heaving, my hands shaking like I have been hit with a live current. My office feels too small, too suffocating, too quiet now that she’s gone again.

Kyla.

She was here. In the flesh. Breathing, trembling, spitting fire at me the way only she ever could. And then she walked out, leaving me gutted all over again.

But it isn’t just the sight of her that’s breaking me apart. It’s the word she let slip.

Children.

The sound of it is like a detonator in my skull.

Children. What did she mean by children, we never had any children together. 

Did she mean…ours?

I stumble backward until my legs hit the edge of my desk. My knees buckle, and I sink into the leather chair, dragging both hands over my face like I can erase the memory. But her voice plays on repeat in my head, whispering, taunting, shredding me from the inside.

“When I was carrying your children”

The words cut like knives.

My throat tightens, my chest burns, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I shove the stack of papers off my desk, the sound of them scattering across the floor loud and jarring. It doesn’t help. The ache is still there, pulsing and relentless.

Was she pregnant when she disappeared?

Was she out there, carrying my babies while I was here believing she was gone forever?

I lurch forward, gripping the edge of the desk with trembling hands. My mind races with images Kyla pale and sweating, clutching her belly. Kyla crying out in pain. Kyla all alone, with no one to hold her hand, no one to wipe her tears.

No me.

The bile rises in my throat. My stomach twists until I feel sick.

And then another image hits me, darker, crueler. Kyla holding a newborn. Maybe two. Tiny fingers curling around hers. And some other man by her side. Someone who saw her through the pain, who got the first smile, the first laugh, the first “daddy.”

My vision blurs with rage, jealousy, grief. I slam my fist onto the desk so hard the wood cracks.

“Goddammit!” My roar bounces off the walls, but the sound does nothing to ease the storm raging inside me.

What if they’re mine? What if I have children living, breathing children out there, and I have lost five years with them? First steps. First words. Birthdays. Everything.

The weight of it nearly crushes me.

I lean forward, pressing my elbows to my knees, my head falling into my hands. My chest shakes, not with sobs I don’t allow myself that but with something rawer, heavier.

For the first time in years, I feel powerless. And I hate it.

I thought I had buried her. I thought I had buried us. And now she’s torn the coffin open, ripping away the lies I told myself just to keep breathing.

My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. Blood pools under my skin, but I barely feel it.

Children.

Were they boys? Girls? Both? Do they look like her with those deep brown eyes that always saw straight through me? Or do they have my storm gray stare?

I don’t even know their names.

The thought rips me apart. My children, if that’s what she meant are out there, and I wasn’t there to protect them. To love them. To even know they existed.

And Amina.. I couldn't think about her right now. 

My jaw clenches. My pulse spikes. If Kyla was telling the truth, then Amina knew. She knew Kyla was alive. She knew Kyla was pregnant. And she kept it from me.

Rage simmers hot and fast in my veins. My wife. My so-called wife. She stole five years from me. Five years I will never get back.

I push up from the chair, pacing the office like a madman. My reflection in the window catches my eye, and for the first time, I don’t recognize the man staring back. My tie is loose, my shirt wrinkled, my eyes wild. I look like someone unhinged, someone seconds away from tearing the whole damn world apart.

And maybe I am.

Because if Kyla was pregnant… if I have children out there, Everything changess

I slam my palms against the glass, staring out at the city below. New York sprawls endlessly, cars like ants crawling along the streets, lights blinking in the distance. Somewhere out there, she’s hiding. With them.

My heart squeezes until I swear it might stop. What if they’re asleep right now? Tucked into beds, clutching stuffed animals, dreaming about monsters while the real monster, their father, doesn’t even know them?

I press my forehead against the cool glass, my breath fogging it up.

“I need to know,” I whisper to myself, the words jagged and desperate. “I need to know if they’re mine.”

The memory of her eyes when she said it… God, they were haunted. Full of pain. Full of secrets. But there was no lie in them. Not about this.

The rage returns, sharp and consuming. I grab the nearest glass off my desk and hurl it against the wall. It shatters, pieces skittering across the floor. The sound is deafening, but it still doesn’t drown out the truth.

I might be a father.

And I’ve been robbed of five years.

I sink back into the chair, dragging in a breath so deep it burns my lungs. I need answers. I need the truth. And if Kyla won’t give it to me willingly, then I’ll find another way.

But one thing is certain this is no longer just about her.

This is about them.

If they’re mine, then I will find them. I will not let another day go by where I don’t know their faces, their names, their laughter.

I rub a hand over my mouth, my heart pounding like a war drum.

Kyla may have walked out of this office, but she left a trail of fire behind her. And I will burn through it until I reach the end.

Whatever it takes.

I immediately got up and picked my phone running after her, I was done sitting around, I needed to know everything about her life for the past five years.