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Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

The thing about running home is that home always finds you.

I woke to late afternoon light streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the sound of voices in the living room. Familiar voices. Worried voices.

No. Not yet.

I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the wood. My mother’s pitch had that particular quiver it got when she was trying not to cry. My father’s low rumble was clipped, precise—his anger voice, the one he reserved for serious occasions.

Brooke’s apologetic murmur wove between them: “She made me promise not to call you. I’m sorry. She needed sleep p>

I opened the door.

They all turned. My mother’s face crumpled at the sight of me—unwashed hair, borrowed pajamas, the exhaustion of the past week written across my features like a bruise.

“Vivian.” Dad’s voice cracked on my name. “Nathan called us. Said you’d left. Said you’d—” He stopped, unable to finish.

“Said I’d what?” I walked into the living room, lowering myself onto the couch with the careful movements of someone whose body had become a foreign country. “Gone crazy? Made a scene? Been unreasonable p>

My mother was already crossing the room, her arms outstretched. “Baby, what happened? What did he do p>

𝙉𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙩

I looked at Brooke. She looked back at me, then at my parents, and I saw her make the decision before she spoke.

“Nathan was unfaithful.” Her voice was flat, factual. “During the pregnancy. He moved his ex-girlfriend into their apartment p>

The silence that followed was absolute.

My mother’s arms found me, pulling me against her chest like I was five years old again. She was crying—I could feel her body shaking—but I couldn’t cry anymore. I was empty of tears, wrung dry.

Dad stood motionless by the window, his jaw working. He’d lit a cigarette at some point—a habit he’d quit years ago—and the smoke curled around him like a shroud. I watched him process it: the son-in-law he’d trusted, the childhood sweetheart he’d welcomed into our family, the man he’d handed his daughter to at the altar.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Then we get you divorced p>

No questions. No are you sure or maybe you should work it out or think of the baby. Just: we get you divorced. Simple as that.

I’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone on my side unconditionally.

That night, my mother came to my room. She sat on the edge of the bed, the way she used to when I was small and couldn’t sleep, and she took my hand in both of hers.

“I need to ask you something,” she said quietly. “And I need you to answer honestly p>

I nodded.

“The baby.” Her grip tightened slightly. “Are you keeping it p>

The question hung in the air between us. I’d been avoiding it—avoiding even thinking it—but she was right. It demanded an answer.

I thought about the life growing inside me. This tiny collection of cells that had made me sick every morning, that had turned my body into a battleground, that belonged half to a man who had never really loved me.

“No,” I whispered.

Mom didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Didn’t remind me of God or grandchildren or the sanctity of life. She just nodded, once, and said: “Then we’ll take care of it tomorrow. When Nathan comes—and he will come—we’ll be ready p>

“His parents,” I started. “They were always so kind to me p>

“Their son betrayed you.” Her voice had steel in it now. “Whatever kindness they showed you doesn’t erase what he did. Don’t carry their guilt for them p>

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. She pulled me close, and I let myself be held like a child, and outside the window, the stars emerged one by one, indifferent and eternal.

That night, I dreamed of the fog again. But this time, instead of chasing Nathan through it, I walked alone. And slowly, step by step, the fog began to lift.

Nathan wasn’t the source of my happiness. He never had been.

He was just a detour I’d mistaken for the destination.