I stood on the porch, taking deep gulps of oxygen, trying to stop the tears from falling. I wouldn’t cry for him. Not anymore.
“Karylle?”
A deep, familiar voice came from the shadows near the driveway.
I looked up. Leaning against a sleek black sedan was Martin—Danica’s older brother and Nathan’s best friend.
He looked different than I remembered. He had been away in London for the last year managing the overseas branch. He looked tired, his tie loosened, a cigarette in his hand.
“Martin,” I breathed.
He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. He walked over to me, his expression full of concern.
“I heard about the baby,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I… I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry, Karylle.”
Seeing him—someone who actually knew me, someone who had been kind to me in the early days before Danica poisoned everything—broke my composure. A single tear escaped.
“It’s… it’s been hard,” I whispered.
Martin didn’t hesitate. He pulled me into a hug.
It wasn’t like Nathan’s hugs. It was solid. Safe. He smelled like tobacco and expensive cologne. I buried my face in his shoulder for a moment, allowing myself to be weak.
“I’m sorry about Danica,” he murmured into my hair. “I heard she was driving. I swear to God, Karylle, if I had been here, I never would have let her behind the wheel. She’s… she’s a mess sometimes.”
We stood there for a moment, two people grieving in different ways.
Later that night, back at our house, I was sitting at my vanity, taking off my earrings. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman who looked ten years older than she was.
The door banged open.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded, slamming the door behind him. “...outside my grandfather’s house! With Martin!”
I frowned, turning to face him. “We were talking. He was offering his condolences. Unlike you, he actually seemed to care for our baby.”
“Condolences?” Nathan let out a harsh laugh. “Is that what you call it? You were practically climbing him! I saw you hugging him. I saw how you looked at him.”
He marched over to me, gripping the back of my chair. “Are you flirting with Martin? Is that it? You’re trying to get back at me by throwing yourself at my best friend?”
“Flirting?” I stood up, pushing his hand away. “He hugged me because I was crying, Nathan! Because my husband was too busy coddling the woman who killed our child to comfort me!”