Listen to Surrender by Natalie Taylor.

"You gave birth to twins?"

I glanced down at the front of my white off-the-shoulder top, where the dark stain of chocolate milkshake now marred the fabric. The thick, sticky liquid was creeping down my neck, trailing over my skin like a slow, viscous reminder of the mess I was in.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting that," she said, her voice weak with uncertainty. She reached for a stack of paper napkins at the end of the table, pulling five, maybe six, from the pile.

"You had me for a second. That was a joke, right?" she laughed, as if we were still in the realm of harmless banter.

I snatched the napkins from her hands, wiping the mess off my face, trying not to focus on the uncomfortable tightness in my throat, the ache behind my ribs. 

"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I had twins, Vina. For real."

Her lips parted slowly, like she wasn't sure whether she should speak or if she even could. The moment hung between us, thick and heavy. She stared at me, blinking, waiting for the punchline that never came.

"I need to wash this off," I said, the words leaving my mouth almost mechanically. "I'll be right back."

I didn't wait for her response, didn't wait for the questions that were bound to come. I stood up, my legs shaky beneath me, and walked away from the table. My mind felt like it was spinning, and I needed a second to catch my breath, to center myself. 

When I returned, Vina was still in the booth, but her eyes were distant, unfocused, as her fingers twirled the straw in her drink. She looked up at me as I slid into the seat, her expression suddenly intense, pulling me back into the reality of this conversation.

"Wait," she said in a low, almost cautious tone, leaning closer, as if afraid someone might overhear. "Is she dead?"

The question cut through the air like a knife, and before I could stop myself, the words came out louder than I intended.

"No?"
I said loud enough for the whole Diner to hear.

She exhaled, her shoulders dropping as though a weight had been lifted. "Thank God," she muttered, her hands now relaxing on the table as if she had been holding herself tense for a long time. But then, her voice turned small, filled with a curiosity that was now tinged with fear.

"Then where is she?"

My heart lurched. A bitter taste rose in my throat, as if just speaking the truth would burn me alive from the inside out. My hands were clammy, my fingers twisting in anxious circles as I looked down at them, unable to meet her eyes. The guilt weighed on me so heavily, it was a physical presence in the air between us. I took a shallow breath, swallowing the lump lodged in my throat.

"What happened, Chloe?" she asked, her voice sharp with concern, now fully alert. She sat up straighter, eyes wide, watching me like I might shatter in front of her.

"I..." I exhaled slowly, my breath shaky. "I gave her up." The words tasted like poison, thick and acrid, burning as they left my lips. 

"You put her up for adoption?" Vina's voice cracked slightly, her expression shifting from disbelief to something darker, something that carried the weight of judgment.

"Yes," I said, my tone flat this time, as if I were speaking about someone else's life entirely.

She stared at me, her shock evident, before the words spilled out of her like an accusation.

"Mierda, really? Por qué? Where?"

I nodded, feeling the sting of her words, the implication that I had failed, that I had abandoned my daughter. The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on my chest. I didn't want to explain, didn't want to admit it out loud. 

"Cuba."

Her eyes flickered with recognition. "That makes sense since you gave birth in Cuba," she said quietly, as if the pieces were slowly falling into place.

"Why?" she asked, her voice soft, heartbroken, as though she were asking me to explain an unexplainable hurt. "Why did you abandon her?"

"I didn't abandon her," I countered, my voice sharper than I intended, but the weight of the words was like a hot poker in my chest, demanding to be heard.

Vina's eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable for a split second before it hardened. "Let's be honest, Chloe. You literally chose Kayden and gave her up." The words came out cold, casual, as though she was describing a decision made in the blink of an eye—like I hadn't agonized over it every single day of my life since.

I had braced myself for this moment, expected it even, but nothing could prepare me for the searing judgment on her face. It was as if the truth, the raw, messy reality of my choices, had repelled her. She didn't see the desperate, sleepless nights; she didn't feel the panic that crushed my chest when I thought about the future.

"I was helpless, Vee." My voice faltered for a second, thick with emotion, but I forced it back down, biting the inside of my lip to hold the tears at bay. "You have no idea what I went through. I couldn't even afford diapers. I had to give Kayla a better life." The words felt foreign, a confession I'd never wanted to make aloud, but the weight of them crashed down on me like a thousand bricks. The lump in my throat made it impossible to swallow, but I kept going. "I wasn't giving her up. I was trying to give her a chance."

Vina opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but I rushed on, needing her to hear me.

"I did my research before I put her there, Vee. She's in good hands, I swear. She's safe." The words came out in a rush, but they did little to settle the storm building between us. She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, her gaze dropped to the table.

"I get it," she mumbled, her voice strained, like she wasn't sure whether she was agreeing or just conceding. 

"I couldn't take care of them with my situation. At first, I wanted to give both of them up," I continued, my voice breaking. "I love them so much, Vee. I wanted to keep them, I swear to God, but I had nothing. Nothing. I had to choose, and I can't explain how much it destroyed me to do that. It was the worst feeling of my life. I wanted to be the mother they deserved, but I couldn't... not the way I was. I could only take care of one."

She didn't respond at first. Instead, she took a long, slow draw from her drink, her fingers tightening around the straw as if holding onto something to steady herself.

"Kayla will be so mad at you," she said flatly, the words coming out like a final verdict.

"Not helping." I shook my head, the irritation bubbling up, but I couldn't hold onto it. I needed her to understand, not judge. "Can you please just be a little supportive? I'm already freaking out about how I'm going to tell Tristan." The thought of it made my chest tighten. How would he react? How could I explain this mess to him without destroying whatever fragile thread of hope he had left?

Vina leaned back in her seat, her eyes a little softer now but still heavy with the weight of things unsaid. "I'm not blaming you for what happened," she said, her voice low, almost tired. "I'm sorry, I can't pretend I'm okay with it. You never reached out to me. You gave away your daughter, Chloe. I can't even begin to imagine the kind of pain that must have caused you. I don't know how you lived with that. But sometimes, I just—" She paused, her eyes flickering to me, then away again. "I wished I'd given you more reasons to trust me. I've felt like I lost your trust ever since... since everything. And I don't know if I'll ever get it back."

I opened my mouth, but no words came. How could I explain it? How could I tell her that I was still scared, that I'd been scared for so long?

"I trust you, Vee," I finally said, my voice so quiet it felt like a confession. "I just... I feel like I have to be on guard all the time. After everything, I couldn't shake the fear. There were moments I wanted to call you, to tell you everything, but every time I picked up the phone... I heard the voices in my head. They screamed at me not to trust you. I was scared, Vee. I thought if no one knew, if no one could reach me, then maybe I'd be safe. Maybe the kids wouldn't get pulled into all the mess of my past." I swallowed, the words tasting bitter, foreign. 

"Well, at least you didn't abandon her in front of an orphanage in a basket."

"Basket?"

"What? That's where they always put them in movies, it's either a basket or a bowl."

I shook my head at her attempt to lighten the mood.

"I don't blame you for anything, Chlo," Vina said softly, her voice like a balm against the rawness that still clung to me. She gave me a small smile, the kind that tried to hold up the weight of everything unspoken between us. "You were in a tough spot, and you thought you were making the right decision for your babies."

I nodded, unable to return the smile, but grateful for the relief her words gave me. 

"Tell me everything that happened in Cuba," she said, leaning closer, her eyes full of concern but also curiosity. "It's fine if you need more time."

I took a deep breath, shaking my head slightly. "I'm okay," I lied, offering a strained smile. I shifted in the booth, trying to get comfortable, but the weight of the past still clung to me, a constant pressure in my chest.

"Did you know you were going to have twins?" Vina asked, her voice gentle but probing, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest.

"I freaked out when I saw the scan," I confessed, the memory sharp and clear, the panic and dread flooding me all over again. "I knew right then that I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle two."

"The day I woke up... I was in a daze. I barely even knew where I was. Mrs. Rodriguez and her daughter walked in, both of them carrying Kayden and Kayla in their arms." I paused, swallowing thickly. My hands trembled as I clutched the edge of the table. The tears, long suppressed, began to pool in my eyes. "It was the happiest day of my life. I wanted nothing more than to hold them, to protect them."

I leaned back, trying to steady myself, but the emotions overwhelmed me. "I cried as I took both of them in my arms. They were so small, so perfect, and I knew right then—no matter how hard it was—I'd never love anyone like I loved them."

My breath hitched as the memory became unbearable. "Kayla's tiny lips... she had this little pout as she slept, and Kayden, he kept moving his tiny hand, like he was reaching for something he couldn't quite grasp." I paused, a sob breaking free before I could stop it. "They didn't deserve to suffer, Vina. I brought them into this world, and I had no idea what to do as I stared at them. I was so scared."

Tears rolled down my cheeks, unstoppable, and I wiped them away with trembling hands, unable to stop the flood.

"They were so tiny, so delicate. And I tried to imagine myself as a mother, a real parent to them, but I wasn't ready. I wasn't strong enough. I kissed their little heads, and Mrs. Rodriguez took a picture. I look at that picture every day, and all I can feel is hate for myself. Hate for the decision I made. For the fact that I couldn't keep them. I don't even know if she's happy, Vina. I don't know if she's alive, and my greatest fear is that I'll never know if I made the right choice."

I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking, my chest constricting with the weight of it all. The guilt, the regret, the fear—it all came crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I could barely breathe.

"Hey," Vina's voice was soft but insistent as she squeezed my hand. "Kayla's fine. Maybe you can get her back."

"I can't. I signed the paperwork." The words left my mouth in a whisper, so quiet I almost didn't hear them myself.

"Two years," I said, my voice barely above a murmur, my words thick with the ache I'd been carrying since that day. "Two years without her." My chest tightened, and I bit back the tears that were threatening to break free, feeling the sharp sting of them behind my eyes.

"I hate myself for it," I choked out. "I ask myself every single day if I did the right thing." The tears came, then, spilling down my cheeks as I sniffled and wiped them away.  I had kept this inside for so long, and now that I was letting it out, it felt like everything I'd buried was finally clawing its way to the surface.

"Chloe," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Don't put the whole blame on yourself. Maybe there's a loophole. There's always a loophole."

The words lingered in the air between us, but they didn't bring me any comfort. There were no loopholes for this. I had made my choice, and the paperwork I signed felt like a death sentence I couldn't take back. 

"I have to tell Tristan," I said, the thought of his anger like a fist to my gut. "He's going to hate me."

Vina's gaze sharpened, her expression suddenly fierce, protective. "Who cares what he thinks?" she said, her voice rising with a strength that surprised me. "He has no right to be mad at you for making that choice. I wish I was there for you, Chlo. I really do."

The rawness in her voice broke something inside me, and I leaned forward, tears blurring my vision as I struggled to get the words out. "I'm so sorry for keeping this away from you," I whispered, my voice breaking under the weight of the apology.

Vina didn't hesitate. She stood up and moved to sit beside me, her presence a quiet but solid reassurance. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself sink into her.

"I will never hurt you, Chlo," she said softly, her voice a tender promise. "I really wish you'd told me. I would have helped you. You didn't have to go through this alone."

I let out a ragged breath, my body shaking as I buried my face in her shoulder. "It was like going through hell, Vee," I said, my voice muffled. "I felt so alone. I convinced myself that no one would care, that I should just do it on my own." My sobs came in uneven gasps, and I clung to her, desperate for comfort. "I'm so sorry. I was so confused. I didn't know who to trust, who to turn to. I didn't mean to give her away, Vee. I thought I was giving her a better life. I just wanted my babies to be safe and happy... and I failed them."

I broke then, the weight of the guilt too much to carry anymore. My cries were raw, heart-wrenching, as I let the grief spill out of me.

Vina didn't say anything. She just held me, her arms strong around me, her hand gently rubbing my back in slow, steady motions. It felt like the world had stopped, and all that remained was the comfort of her presence, the safety of knowing that, for this moment, I wasn't alone.

"It's okay," she whispered after a long while, her voice thick with emotion. "I can't imagine what you went through."

Her words were simple, but the tenderness in them cut through the heavy fog that had settled over me. "Does she look like you?" Vina asked, her voice quieter now, but full of curiosity, as if she was afraid to break the fragile space we'd built between us.

I shook my head slowly, my chest tightening again. "Not even the slightest," I said softly, reaching for my phone. I scrolled through my gallery, my fingers moving on autopilot as I searched for the pictures I had promised myself I wouldn't look at. The images of Kayla, so small, so perfect. The guilt was suffocating, but I couldn't stop myself from looking.

Finally, I found the one I was searching for—the one from the day they were born, the day I held them both for the first time. I handed the phone to Vina, not trusting myself to look at it again.

"Wow," she murmured, her voice full of awe as she studied the photo. "That's some Daddy's girl."

I watched her face as she examined the picture, her expression softening with a smile. Kayla had Tristan's eyes—bright and intense, so full of life. And her hair, that same bright blonde that ran through his family like a trademark. It was a little surreal to see it—like Kayla was already a piece of him, even though she'd never known him.

"She is a real-life doll," Vina said with a smile, the warmth in her voice easing the ache in my chest, just for a moment. She handed the phone back to me, and I looked at the picture, my heart swelling with a kind of bittersweet pride.

"She is so adorable, " she cried.

∆

Vina had given me a pep talk, a speech laced with encouragement that only partially calmed the storm of anxiety brewing inside me. As she drove me toward the Sanchester estate, her words of reassurance bounced around in my head, but they felt distant, like whispers in the wind.

"You can do it," she'd said, her voice bright and forceful, a stark contrast to the knot twisting tighter in my stomach with every passing second.

I was terrified, as if I were about to step onto a stage and give the most important speech of my life, my every word hanging in the balance. I didn't know how Tristan would react. I didn't know what I'd do if he hated me for this, for keeping it from him, for making the decisions I had. Maybe he would. Maybe that was the price I had to pay for everything.

One step. Then another. I tried to focus on the slow rhythm of my breath as I made my way up to the front door. But it felt as if my legs had turned to jelly, every step heavy and uncertain.

The maid who answered the door gave me a quick once-over. Her eyes lingered on the stain on my top before she briefly met my gaze, a flicker of judgment in her expression. 

I didn't waste time. My feet carried me up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest as the anxiety pressed against my ribs. There was no turning back now. I still had to tell Tristan everything. Maybe he'd already seen the news coverage on Grey. 

When I reached his door, I didn't knock. I couldn't bring myself to do something so polite when everything inside me felt so chaotic. I swung it open, and there he was,  propped against the pillows, his phone in one hand, the other cradling Kayden, who was peacefully sleeping on his chest. 

"Where the hell have you been, and why did you switch off your phone?" His voice was a low growl, but there was something else beneath it—worry, wrapped in the edges of frustration. I could feel the heat of his concern radiating from him, and I had to swallow back the lump in my throat.

I stepped into the room, my heart a thousand miles away from where it should be, as I closed the door behind me.

"I'm coming from the police station," I said, trying to sound calm, to sound like I had control, even though I didn't. "Detective Emily called."

"You should have told me. Or someone," he said, his voice softening, his concern palpable. "I was worried."

I felt his words settle deep in my chest, a strange mixture of guilt and gratitude washing over me.

"It was urgent," I muttered, unable to fully explain. Instead, I leaned down and kissed Kayden's soft, tousled head, desperate for the small comfort it brought.

Tristan's gaze followed me, and then his brows furrowed as his eyes flicked to the stain on my shirt.

"What's that on your top?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

I shook my head, trying to brush off the tension. "Vina spat her drink on me," I muttered, attempting to keep things light. 

Tristan waited for an explanation, and I could feel him shift, his posture tense. He didn't ask me about the police station—not yet. 

"Well, Grey pleaded guilty," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words would make them any less true. "And... I saw the evidence."

His face remained stoic for a long moment, and then... nothing. He didn't look shocked, didn't even blink.

I froze. Was I the only one shocked by this discovery?

He shifted his gaze to Kayden, his fingers brushing over his son's soft hair as if grounding himself. "He should have come for me. Not you or Kayden." His words faltered, his jaw tightening. "And that nice lady... she didn't deserve to die."

I watched as the guilt swept across his face, his brow furrowing deeply. 

"Maybe I should have never returned," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You wouldn't be in danger, or our little boy."

I leaned forward, my hands clasped together tightly, unsure if I should say anything, unsure how to ease the weight on his chest. But Tristan wasn't finished. His voice grew softer, more vulnerable, as he glanced at me, his eyes filled with a tenderness I hadn't expected.

"But at the same time," he said, his lips curling into a faint, wistful smile, "I don't wanna be away from you or Kayden. We created a beautiful little human, a piece of you and me." His eyes darkened slightly, a glint of something stronger than regret—something deeper than mere affection. "It means the world to me, and if that makes me selfish, then it's okay."

He leaned down and kissed the crown of Kayden's head, the same spot where my lips had just been, and I swore I felt the room shift. 

Tristan continued stroking Kayden's hair, lost in the simple joy of his son's presence. "He's gonna be a charmer," he murmured with a soft chuckle, a glint of pride in his voice as he looked down at our son, the lightest touch of awe in his eyes.

I couldn't fight the smile that crept up on my face. But the smile faded, the guilt creeping back in. There was something I had to say. And I had to say it now.

"Tristan, there is something you need to know about Kayden."
I walked to the chaise lounge and sat down.

"What?" He looked tensed.

"Umm...Kayden is..."
The door burst open cutting me off.

"There you are, I have been looking all over for you."
Nana said in a low tone trying not to wake the baby.

"Can I talk to you for some minutes?"

"Sure."
I took a glance at Tristan before leaving the room.

I followed Nana into the small living room, the kind of room that felt like it belonged in another era—a place where time slowed down and history seemed to linger in the air. The furniture was heavy, dark wood with intricately carved details, and the walls were lined with faded tapestries and antique lamps that cast a soft, dim glow. She smiled at me once we were both seated, but I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in her appearance: her grey hair, once long and flowing, was now cropped short, the change somehow making her look both softer and more formidable.

"Tea?" she asked, her voice gentle, almost maternal as she picked up an ornate teapot that looked like it belonged in a museum rather than a kitchen.

"No, I just had a drink not too long ago," I replied, already feeling the impatience simmering beneath my skin.

She didn't press the matter. Instead, she settled back into her chair, taking a delicate sip from her cup. I couldn't bring myself to do the same, my hands restless at my sides. The silence stretched between us, thick with things unsaid.

"How have you been, dear?" she asked, her voice carrying a sweetness that, for some reason, only grated on my nerves now.

"Good," I said, my reply flat, as I struggled to keep my face neutral. My heart wasn't in this conversation. It wasn't in anything at the moment.

The awkwardness in the room was suffocating, and I could feel it settling over me like a heavy cloak, suffocating and inescapable. I fought the urge to just stand up and walk out, to escape the heavy air and the polite words that meant so little.

"I saw the news," Nana continued after a long pause, her gaze softening with sympathy. "I can't believe your ex did that. I'm sorry, Chloe."

I nodded, forcing a tight smile, though my stomach churned. Sorry. The word felt so empty. She sipped her tea, the delicate clink of the porcelain cup against the saucer only making the silence more excruciating.

"Thank you for giving us Kayden," she said after a few more seconds, her voice softer now, tinged with gratitude and perhaps something else—regret? "It must have been hard for you."

Kayla? The thought of her twisted in my chest, a sharp pang of guilt that was almost too much to bear.

"Yeah, it was," I answered, my voice unsteady despite my efforts to keep it calm. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I need to speak to Tristan."

I stood abruptly, cutting the conversation short, my chest tight as I quickly leaned down to give her a quick, mechanical hug. She returned it gently, but it didn't feel like enough. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough to undo what had been done.

I hurried out of the room, my mind already a million miles away. I didn't have time for apologies that didn't matter. I didn't have time for well-meaning words that only dug up old wounds.

I nearly collided with Mrs. Sanchester on my way down the hallway. Her glossy blonde hair bounced over her shoulders, her smile wide and too bright, and for a moment, I felt like I was suffocating in the fake warmth she exuded.

"Chloe!" she exclaimed, her voice far too cheery, and before I could step back, she pulled me into a hug. It was tight, suffocating in its own way, and I braced myself, forcing my body to relax even as every muscle in me screamed to pull away.

"I'm so glad they finally have him," she said, her voice softening as she pulled away, her eyes scanning my face as if trying to read me. "He won't hurt you or anyone again. You're safe now."

Safe? The word stung, coming from her. Safe wasn't a luxury I'd ever had—not really, not for a long time. I wanted to respond, to tell her how little that word meant coming from someone like her, but I swallowed the words. It wasn't worth it.

"Thank you," I managed, my voice strained as I forced a smile, but it was a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Well," she continued, still holding onto the edge of her bright, forced enthusiasm, "there's a party tomorrow night. You can meet with Anita, my stylist, and pick a dress—any dress you want. She'll get it for you."

"Okay," I said with a nod, my patience thin, snapping at the edges. The smile felt more like a mask now, a shield I barely wanted to wear.

Before she could say another word, I turned quickly, making my way toward Tristan's room. The weight of the encounter hung heavy on me, but I couldn't afford to focus on it. Not now.

As I entered the room, I let out a groan when I saw Tristan, sound asleep in the bed. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest comforting. Kayden was still nestled in his arms, small and peaceful. The sight of them together—their bond, their warmth—squeezed my chest in a way I couldn't explain.

Should I wake him?

The thought crossed my mind, but then I saw the bandages still wrapped around his arm, the bruises that had faded but not disappeared, and the exhaustion etched into his features. 

∆

I woke up later than I meant to the next morning, the weight of everything pressing on me even in sleep. 

I made my way downstairs, hoping a quiet breakfast would clear my mind. But the house was anything but quiet. The air was alive with the buzz of activity. It was as if the entire estate had come to life overnight. The sound of footsteps echoed as new faces came and went, the maids hurriedly shifting boxes of decorations, streamers, and flowers into place. The hum of conversations, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware and dishes, filled the large open space of the kitchen.

I took a seat at the island, my mind drifting from the noise around me, hoping the normalcy of a meal would steady my nerves. The cook placed a stack of golden pancakes and waffles in front of me, their warm, sweet scent filling the air. 

 Nora entered, balancing a tray stacked high with freshly baked muffins. She was followed by two strangers—two well-dressed men carrying chafers, their faces unfamiliar but their presence strangely comforting, like they were part of the delicate dance that was the Sanchester household.

"Hey, where's Tristan?" I asked, forcing the question out. The weight of the conversation I had to have with him pressed down on my chest, heavier with each passing second. I couldn't keep this from him any longer. I needed to tell him about Kayla.

"He has an appointment at the hospital," she replied, her voice soft but laced with the urgency that had become so familiar here. "He left not long ago."

I felt a pang of disappointment.

"What about Kayden?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid to hear the answer.

"He's with Nana," Nora answered, her tone reassuring.

As I finished off the pancakes, Anita arrived, the long black dress she held in her arms shimmering slightly under the kitchen lights. She was quick and efficient as she handed it to me, her professional smile never faltering. I slipped away to the adjoining room to try it on.

When I stepped back into the kitchen, Mrs. Sanchester was already moving through the space, her presence almost like a force of nature. She floated between the various staff members, her sharp eyes assessing every detail, ensuring everything was perfect for the party later that evening. She was organizing the event to celebrate Kayden and our survival. A celebration, as if survival was something to be rewarded. But I knew the truth. 

Tristan returned late from the hospital and spent the remaining hour picking a suit while I handled Kayden that won't stop crying because I refused to give him my phone. 

Time slipped by in a blur of tantrums and quiet moments. Soon enough, the house was eerily still, save for the faint clink of dishes being moved downstairs in preparation for the night's event. It was time to get ready for the party, but I could barely concentrate on anything other than the pit in my stomach. I needed to do this. I needed to tell him about Kayla.

I slipped into the gown—a beautiful thing that made me feel both elegant and exposed. The thin straps rested gently on my shoulders, the deep V-neckline drawing attention to just enough of my cleavage. The fabric hugged my hips, tracing every curve before flowing into a dramatic fishtail that dragged along the floor behind me. A thigh-high slit exposed my leg just enough to make me feel daring, yet still in control. I smoothed my hair, letting it fall in soft waves down my back, glossy and straight. My makeup was subtle yet striking, gold eyeshadow catching the light, the eyeliner sharp enough to make my eyes stand out in the quiet, dim-lit room. I finished with a touch of blush, the warmth creeping up my cheeks.

Just as I adjusted my purse, there was a knock at the door.

"Miss Simpson, it's time."

"Okay, thanks!" I called back, my nerves starting to rise, but I forced a smile. Mrs. Sanchester had insisted that we make a grand entrance tonight, a statement of survival, of triumph, of whatever they thought they were celebrating.

I straightened, standing a little taller as I made my way toward the door.

When I opened it, Tristan was waiting in the hallway, his tall frame leaning against the wall. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his posture a mix of confidence and weariness.  Tristan's gaze flickered to me, his eyes lingering on me a moment longer than they should have. He said nothing, but there was a momentary softness in his expression, something almost vulnerable. He seemed as if he wanted to say something—maybe about the night ahead, maybe about us—but he didn't. Instead, he simply he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his gaze still on me, as though he couldn't quite place the feeling of us, of this moment.

"Mommy!" Kayden's excited voice broke through the tension, and before I could process it, he was charging toward me, his tiny hands reaching up to grab my knees.

I laughed softly, bending down to scoop him into my arms, the weight of him familiar and comforting. "Hey, sweetie," I whispered, brushing my fingers over his soft chin before planting a kiss on his lips. His eyes sparkled as he grinned up at me, and I couldn't help but marvel at how much he had grown.

"You look like a handsome prince," I murmured, adjusting the tiny tuxedo he wore with care, straightening the bowtie that sat snugly at his collar. Kayden giggled, reaching up to touch the delicate necklace around my neck, but I quickly pulled away, a playful frown on my face.

I glanced up at Tristan, who was standing off to the side, watching us with an intensity I couldn't quite decipher. It was as if he were trying to figure out if this moment—this fragile, fleeting sense of normalcy—was real. His lips curled into another smile, one that was warmer this time, and he stepped forward, extending his hand to Kayden.

"Please, let's welcome the celebrants!" Mrs. Sanchester's voice rang out across the room, and the applause that followed felt like a thunderous wave, pulling us into its current.

I reached out and took Kayden's left hand, while Tristan held his right, the three of us an unspoken unit.

"Ready?" Tristan asked, his voice soft, his gaze never leaving me.

I nodded, though the knot in my stomach tightened, the flutter of nerves settling in my chest. "A bit nervous, but yeah."

"I can hold your hand if that will help," he offered.

"No, is fine," I said and looked away. I wasn't sure where we stood at the moment, we needed to have a long conversation.

As we began walking down the stairs, the applause from the guests grew louder, each clap and cheer filling the space around us. Kayden bounced between us, oblivious to everything, his small hands clutching ours. He started jumping up and down in excitement, his little feet patting against the stairs, his laugh contagious and innocent.

"Kayden," I groaned in a low tone but he kept jumping, I took a glance at Tristan to help but he was smiling at him.

I sighed, turning my attention back to the room below. The guests were all watching us, their eyes expectant, their faces lit with polite smiles, though I couldn't help but feel like I was on display. I didn't recognize most of the people in the room, and every time someone looked at me, I felt like I was being weighed, judged, or worse, pitied.

Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, the applause began to taper off, and Kayden wriggled free from my grasp, running straight for Nora, who waved at him from across the room. I offered a polite smile as I watched him go, but inside, I was already retreating.

A few people approached us, but the conversation seemed to hover on the same tired questions. They asked about the shooting, about him, about how we survived, and why my ex had tried to kill us. Every question felt like a knife I didn't know how to dodge, and every answer I gave felt rehearsed, practiced, as though I were reading from a script.

Tristan noticed my discomfort, his eyes sharp as he took charge of the conversation, redirecting it whenever it seemed to linger too long on the painful topic. I appreciated it, but it didn't make the suffocating sense of wrongness any easier to shake.

Mrs. Sanchester gave her speech, a long, drawn-out apology for everything that had happened, everything that had been done to me. She apologized on behalf of everyone there. And when the room turned to look at me, I did my best to smile, to nod, to pretend it didn't feel like a weight pressing down on my chest. They didn't know what it had cost me. I didn't even know if I would survive another minute of being the center of attention.

The smiles felt too wide, too stiff. My cheeks ached from the effort of it. I wanted to disappear, to escape the gaze of every person in the room, to take my son and run far away from this moment. But here I was. Trapped. Trying to hold myself together for the sake of everything that still mattered.

The room buzzed around me, a haze of laughter and chatter, but none of it reached me. Thirty minutes into the party, and my parents were still nowhere to be seen. Their absence felt like a dull ache, a quiet reminder of the void that had never quite healed. The weight of my own thoughts grew heavier with every passing moment.

"Hey."

The voice cut through my thoughts, and a tap on my shoulder pulled me from my reverie. I turned to see Tristan standing behind me, a glass of grape wine held out to me.

"Thank you," I said softly, my fingers brushing against his as I accepted the drink. The contact sent a flicker of warmth through me, but I didn't linger on it.

"Is the party too much for you?" he asked, his eyes studying me with that familiar intensity. He took a sip from his martini, his fingers wrapping around the glass with ease.

"A little," I admitted, glancing around the room. People in their expensive suits and gowns were engaged in conversations, sipping wine like they were part of a world I didn't belong to. "I don't know half of the people here."

He smiled, a slight curve of his lips that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the evening. "You look stunning," he said, his voice low but steady.

There was a lightness to him that hadn't been there before, a kind of peace I hadn't seen in the years we'd known each other. This was a Tristan I didn't know. A version of him that had healed, that had moved forward, that maybe didn't carry the same brokenness I did. He was different, but in a way that made him more himself, more whole.

His gaze flickered down to my lips, and I could feel the shift in the air between us. There was a tension now, thick and palpable, and it made my throat tighten. I cleared it, trying to ease the sudden weight of his stare, but the quiet hum of the moment was more than I could handle.

I could feel my heart thundering in my chest as I stood there, steeling myself for what I had to say. My fingers trembled slightly, betraying my calm exterior. This was it. This was the moment I had been dreading, the moment I needed to tell Tristan about Kayla.

But not here. Not at the party, where everyone's eyes were on us, and the air was thick with forced smiles and hollow pleasantries. I wanted—no, needed—to have this conversation in private. Somewhere we could talk, uninterrupted.

"Chloe!"

I turned, my body freezing for a moment as my eyes met my mother's. She stood a few paces away, her face lit with a bright smile, but there was something in her eyes that flickered—a quiet sadness I didn't know how to address just yet. My father stood behind her, his face thinner, drawn. His clothes hung a little looser on him than I remembered. He looked... tired. Sicker than I wanted to admit.

"Dad!" My voice cracked slightly as I rushed toward him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tighter than I probably should have. I didn't care. I wanted to feel his warmth, his steadiness, the presence of the man who had always been my anchor.

He sighed into the hug, his hands resting gently on my back, but I could feel the weariness in his touch. He was here. He was alive—but not the way I remembered him.

Tristan had already stepped back to give us space, and I silently appreciated it. I knew what it was like to feel caught between two worlds, two people, who couldn't stand to be in the same room together.

We talked for a few minutes, my parents exchanging pleasantries with me, but the distance between them was palpable. I could feel it, thick as smoke, but I didn't want to broach the topic of their divorce just yet. Not tonight. 

I kissed them both goodbye as they went off to mingle, pretending for a moment that everything was normal. But it wasn't. It wasn't normal at all.

I looked around the room for Tristan, but he was nowhere to be seen. My stomach tightened with unease. I needed to talk to him. I needed to find him before the weight of the secret crushed me.

"Hey, Scarlett," I called, stopping one of the maids who was passing by with a tray of empty champagne flutes.

"Hi, Chloe," she replied, glancing at me with a hint of curiosity.

"Have you seen Tristan?" I asked, my voice tight with urgency.

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I saw him heading upstairs," she said.

"Thanks." I gave her a quick nod and rushed up the stairs, my heels clicking against the marble. I was grateful for the solitude of the staircase, the quiet away from the hustle of the party below, but even as I moved quickly, a part of me was already bracing for what I had to do.

When I reached Tristan's room, I found him there, pulling off his white button-up shirt, the fabric stained with red. I froze for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt or to wait for him to notice me.

"Hey," I finally said, my voice a little too soft as I shut the door behind me.

He turned, surprised, but quickly masked it with a calm smile. "Everything okay?" he asked, pulling another shirt from the wardrobe and slipping it over his head, the muscles in his chest flexing as he moved.

"Yeah." I nodded, but my voice faltered. "What happened?"

"Kayden spilled my drink," he explained, his fingers buttoning up his shirt. "I came up to change."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Tristan asked again, his voice suddenly more serious. He stood just a little too close, and I could feel the heat of his body, the unspoken energy swirling between us like a static charge.

I didn't answer immediately. I could feel my chest tightening, the words I needed to say sticking in my throat. I tried to look anywhere but at him—his toned arms, his exposed abs, the way his body seemed to fill the room with a kind of power. It was all too much. Too distracting.

"Chloe?" His voice was softer now, his two fingers gently lifting my chin, urging me to meet his gaze. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

I swallowed, my throat dry. For a moment, I considered turning away, walking out of the room, pretending I hadn't come up here with a heavy heart and a secret that was suffocating me. 

I had to tell him.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I took a step back, needing the space.

"Okay, I'm all ears." His expression shifted, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity I hadn't seen in a long time.

I drew a shaky breath, my arms crossing over my chest as I tried to gather the courage to say the words. It wasn't easy, not when I could still feel the weight of my decision pressing down on me. The guilt. The fear. The uncertainty.

"I had twins, Kayden has a twin."