CHAPTER TWO

Jamal’s pov

I went to her house because the silence was unbearable.

Kassy had gone quiet after that night with her parents, and at first, I told myself she needed space. Anyone would. Her father’s reaction had been… unhinged. Terrifying, even. But hours passed. Then a full day. My messages stayed unread. My calls went straight to voicemail.

That wasn’t Kassy.

By the second evening, worry had settled into something darker. Something heavier. So I drove over, rehearsing apologies in my head for things I didn’t even know I’d done wrong.

I knocked.

The door opened, and my chest loosened in relief—until I realized it wasn’t her.

Her sister stood there instead.

“Oh,” she said. “Jamal.”

“Hey,” I replied, my eyes already scanning behind her. “Is Kassy home?”

She shook her head. “No.”

My stomach tightened. “Where is she?”

“She hasn’t been back,” she said, stepping aside. “Do you want to come in?”

I hesitated. Every instinct told me to wait, to leave, to respect whatever space Kassy was carving out for herself. But the anxiety gnawing at my chest was louder than my instincts.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just for a bit.”

The house felt hollow without Kassy. Like the air itself knew she was missing. I stood near the couch, unsure where to put myself, my hands restless.

“Have you heard from her?” I asked.

Lily shook her head. “Not since yesterday morning.”

“That’s not like her.”

“I know.”

We stood there in an awkward silence before she gestured toward the couch. “You can sit.”

I did. She sat too, closer than necessary, though I didn’t notice it right away. I was too busy replaying every moment from the last time I’d seen Kassy, searching for signs I might’ve missed.

“Her dad really scared her,” Lily said quietly.

“He scared me too,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen a man react like that without saying why.”

Lily studied me for a moment. “You looked shocked.”

“I was,” I said. “I still am.”

She nodded slowly. “Families have secrets.”

Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.

We talked. Longer than we should have. About Kassy growing up. About how stubborn she was, how deeply she loved, how she carried the weight of everyone else’s expectations without ever complaining.

“She trusts you,” Lily said.

“I’d never hurt her,” I replied instantly.

And I meant it.

But intention doesn’t always stop damage.

The conversation drifted. The pauses grew heavier. I was exhausted—emotionally wrung out, sleep-deprived, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Lily moved closer. I noticed this time. I noticed and didn’t step away.

That was where I failed.

She touched my arm. Just briefly. Like she was testing something. I should have stood up. I should have said her name sharply, created distance, left the house.

Instead, I stayed seated.

The moment stretched. Her hand lingered. My mind screamed that this was wrong, that this was crossing a line I could never uncross.

I crossed it anyway.

What happened next wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t an accident. It was a choice I made while fully aware of what I was doing. We kissed. Then more than kissed. Clothes were shed, restraint abandoned, grief and tension twisting into something reckless and irreversible.

We slept together.

There was no romance in it. No love. Just two people making a terrible decision in the quiet absence of the woman who mattered most.

Afterward, reality crashed down on me with brutal clarity.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands, shame burning through my chest. Lily was silent behind me.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” I said.

She didn’t argue.

I left not long after, the drive home a blur of red lights and regret. I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.

I told myself it was a mistake. A single, unforgivable lapse that would never repeat itself. I told myself that as long as Kassy never knew, I could still be the man she believed I was.

Days later, my phone buzzed.

Kassy:

Can we talk?

Relief hit me so hard I had to sit down.

Me:

Yes. I’ve been so worried.

There was a long pause before she replied.

Kassy:

I needed time.

Me:

I understand.

Another pause.

Kassy:

I lost the baby.

The words knocked the air out of me.

Me:

What?

Kassy:

I miscarried.

My vision blurred. My chest tightened painfully.

Me:

When?

Kassy:

Shortly after I left.

I pressed my forehead against the wall, nausea rising. While I had been making the worst decision of my life, she had been losing our child alone.

Me:

I should’ve been there.

Kassy:

I know. But I didn’t want you to blame yourself.

Her kindness gutted me.

I told her I was sorry. I told her I loved her. None of it felt like enough.

Three weeks passed.

I tried to be present. Supportive. I tried to bury what I’d done so deeply it might never resurface.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it wasn’t Kassy.

It was Lily.

Lily:

Hey.

I stared at the screen, my stomach tightening.

Me:

Hey.

There was a pause.

Then another message came through.

Lily:

I don’t know how to say this without freaking you out…

My chest went cold.

Lily:

I missed my period.

I didn’t reply.

I couldn’t.

Because in that moment, I knew I had messed up.