Gray stared back at me in silence. Strained emotions flickered across his face. His thoughts appeared to be racing at a million miles a minute, but I couldn't read his mind. The not-knowing was driving me crazy.

Anxiously, I prompted. "Gray?"

He merely grunted, "Hmm?"

"Please... say something."

In low tones, Gray asked, "What do you want from me, Gracie?"

I sucked in a deep breath. Released it slowly. It was a weak attempt to calm my frenetic nerves. "I want to know what you're thinking."

Gray gave another pause.

I was about to implode from suspense.

"I know what I want to do," he finally replied in a careful, measured manner, "but I'm not sure if it's the right decision."

The right decision?

What the hell did that mean?

I tried not to panic as I blurted out, "If you want to go, I won't try to change your mind."

Gray glanced at me. Intently. "Is that what you want? For me to... leave?"

"I—"

My voice cracked. Desperately, so very desperately, I didn't want Gray to go anywhere, but I refused to beg or guilt-trip him into staying against his will. He was a free man. His own man. I knew, right then, that I'd never be able to forgive Lydia even though she was dead and gone. My sister had fucked us over in the worst way possible. As much as it would break my heart, as much as I wanted to continue co-parenting alongside Gray, he had every right to walk away from Stevie and me without ever looking back.

It took a moment to find my words again. I cleared my throat and pasted on my bravest face even though I felt like dying inside. In a wobbly voice, I offered, "I-I'm okay with whatever you choose to do."

Gray's eyebrows went up. "Really? You... don't have a preference?"

"It's up to you, Gray."

A flash of disappointment flitted across his features. It disappeared so quickly, though, that I wondered if I had imagined it.

"Then," he muttered, "I need some time to... think. Carefully. Too many mistakes and misunderstandings have already been made because of your sister. I don't want to fuck things up for us again."

Panic spiked in me again.

What did he mean by "too many mistakes?"

Was he talking about Stevie and me?

Did he consider us to be... mistakes?

I tried not to let my anxiety show. "Okay..."

Inwardly, though, my distress continued to spiral.

How much time did he need to think about this shit?

A day?

Weeks?

Months?

"If it's alright with you, for Stevie's sake," Gray added, "I'll stick around until I figure out what I want to do. I don't want to mess with her routine. It wouldn't be fair to her. None of this is fair to her, actually, or either of us, but... I'll try my best to give you my answer as soon as possible. I want to do right by all of us this time, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled again.

There was nothing more I could say at this point. In my heart of hearts, I knew I needed to give him space. To work on what he needed to work out for his future.

A future with or without us.

From there, Gray dropped me off at work. Tension flowed between us throughout the entire drive, but neither of us acknowledged it. We pretended to be normal. Business as usual. Gray confirmed with me that he would pick up Stevie from daycare and take her back to his place that night. When we said our goodbyes, it felt like nothing was amiss. Gray was still acting like Stevie's dad. Like we were still parenting her together.

Yet, I stumbled into my office feeling like a train wreck. It was impossible to concentrate. At my cubicle, spreadsheets and numbers kept blurring before my eyes. I couldn't pay attention during calls and meetings. In front of coworkers, I struggled to smile through the weight of my unhappiness whenever they tried to make small talk.

Around 4:00 pm, I received an email from Naomi. She had sent it to both Gray and me. Attached to her message were Stevie and Andreas' paternity test results. My shoulders tensed up as I opened the document. Its contents didn't surprise me. The data confirmed everything that Naomi had revealed to us about my sister's lies: Andreas Coleman was Stevie's biological father. Period. No more question marks.

In the body of her email, she warned us again to proceed with caution in terms of contacting Andreas about Stevie:

I read and reread everything in the email once then twice then three times. Everything about it drained me. My heart felt bruised and beaten for Stevie's sake. Her real father might appear to be successful and respectable in society's eyes, but, behind closed doors, he seemed like a complete dirtbag to me. I could only imagine the sheer horror on this "faithful" husband and "loving" father's face the second he realized that his mistress was pregnant.

Despite my animosity toward Lydia for her countless betrayals, I couldn't help feeling a trickle of sisterly outrage on her behalf. Lydia should never have gotten involved with a married man, but even she deserved someone better than Andreas. It took two to tango, and Andreas was every bit as guilty as Lydia for participating in their affair and every bit as responsible for Stevie's well-being as Lydia.

Clearly, though, the self-serving bastard didn't give a fuck about Stevie's life.

Because he was already "happily married" to another woman.

Because the only children who mattered to him were his legitimate ones.

My anger continued to spark and seethe. I wasn't Stevie's mother, but she was my everything. I couldn't imagine my life without her. Yet, at the end of the day, it had been Lydia's choice to bring this child into our world. Or not. I would've supported my sister's decision either way. Andreas and his wife had no right to pressure Lydia into giving up her baby—no, wait, not just her baby, her and Andreas' baby—for their own selfish ends, especially when they were, supposedly, a couple who lived and breathed "wholesome family values." People like them never failed to remind me of what an ugly, controversial place the world could be.

Fuck them.

Fuck them both for being such heartless hypocrites.

Their lack of humanity only made me love Stevie even more.

As the seconds ticked by, my mood continued to nosedive toward gloomier, darker places. At exactly 4:30 pm, I gave up on my spreadsheets and left the office early. Alone and miserable, I returned to an empty apartment, not knowing what the future had in store for Gray and me. In the quiet solitude of my living room, I finally let my guard down. I sank into my couch like a sad, angry, deflated balloon. As I brooded in silence, an irrational wave of heartache washed over me. I had been with Stevie this morning, but, already, I missed her. I missed Gray, too.

Oh, God.

What if he chose to leave us?

Instantly, tears pricked my vision.

Fucking hell.

I began to weep. I cried for Stevie. I cried for Lydia. I cried for Gray. Each of them triggered a different kind of anguish in me.

Stevie deserved so much better than what life had given her.

I wished Lydia wasn't dead so I could confront my sister about everything she had done to us.

And Gray—

For the past few months, I had been so harsh with him. So full of spite and resentment. I genuinely believed that Gray hurt me in the worst way possible when he was actually a victim. A victim like me. Like Stevie. Snot dripped from my nose. My temples were hurting like a motherfucker. Gasping between my tears, I nearly choked on my sense of guilt. There was no denying it. He had every right, indeed, to walk away from me once and for all. It wasn't my place to feel this way, but my heart splintered at the thought of losing him.

When another surge of uncontrollable wetness streamed down my cheeks, something monumental struck me: Regardless of whether Gray chose to stay or leave, I could no longer lie to myself. Naomi's email had opened my eyes to what really mattered to me at the moment. It gave me the strength to see past the bullshit and latch on to the truth. However harsh and ill-timed it might be.

I was still hopelessly, stupidly, and completely in love with Gray.

My bleary-eyed gaze drifted toward my phone.

That very evening, I broke up with Andrew.