Chapter 132: Hundred and Thirty Two

I must have stared at my phone for twenty minutes before I finally pressed his number. My thumb hovered, retreated, then went back again like the device itself was too heavy for me to hold. When the call connected and I heard the faint click before his voice, my stomach knotted.

He had been at his parents’ the past week, and I hadn’t seen him much. He had come to see Noah a bunch of times, and we had spoken briefly those times.

“Jacob?”

There was a pause, long enough that I thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer. Then, low and wary, he said, “Yeah?”

My throat felt dry. “Can we… talk? Tonight. Just us.”

Another pause. His sigh dragged through the receiver. “About what?”

I closed my eyes. “You already know.”

For a second, there was nothing from his end. I thought he had hung up. Then, he finally spoke, “Fine. I’ll be home in half an hour.”

When the call ended, I sat frozen on the edge of the bed. Noah’s room down the hall was quiet; I’d tucked him in early. It was better this way. He didn’t need to see what was about to unravel.

By the time Jacob walked in, I’d made tea. He set his keys on the counter with a kind of heaviness. He put his jacket on the chair.

“Where do you want to do this?” he asked, his voice stripped of sharpness, just flat.

“The couch,” I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.

We sat across from each other, not touching. The space between us might as well have been a continent.

For a while, I couldn’t speak. The words I’d rehearsed all dissolved the second I saw the lines around his eyes, the wear in his shoulders.

“How have you been?” I spoke softly. He tilted his head, staring into my eyes. “I’ve been better.”

I nodded.

I offered him something to drink, or eat, but he declined. Right where he was sitting, there was a picture on the wall above. Me and him and Noah at the beach. It was such a sweet picture. From the day he had proposed to me. He had gotten it framed for the living room.

I found myself staring at that picture, my throat feeling dry and my heart feeling heavier by the second. He broke the silence, noticing my gaze. “We have to end things properly.” It was a statement heavy with understanding, with finality.

I flinched, but I nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned back, his hand covering his mouth, like he was trying to physically hold something in. His eyes were bloodshot, bags under them. He looked so tired. “I knew,” he murmured finally. “I’ve known for a long time.”

“I’m sorry, Jacob.” I murmured.

He shook his head, “I knew it from the day I came to see you after you had run away. And you told me you were pregnant. I knew, but I refused to believe it. And I loved you so much, Wills.”

“I love you, too. I always will. You’re my best friend, and you have been with me through the worst time -”

“Because I thought maybe if I tried hard enough,” he cut in, his voice trembling, “I could make you forget him. I could be enough. But, Willow,” He dropped his hand, looked straight at me, and I saw tears shining in his eyes. “I’ve never been him. And you’ve never stopped loving him.”

“I wanted to,” I whispered, a lone tear slipping down my face. “I tried to. For you, for Noah, for us. I thought if I just kept going, it would get easier.”

“Did it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clenched together so tight his knuckles whitened. “Do you know what it’s like to look at a child and love him more than anything, and still know he’ll never really be yours? To be the one who’s there every day, who takes care of him, and still feel like you’re just… filling in for someone else?” His voice broke, and he turned away, shoulders shaking once.

“Jacob…” My chest ached. I reached out, but he flinched just slightly, like my touch would hurt him.

“I love Noah,” he said fiercely, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “He’s my son. I don’t care what his birth certificate says. I’ve been there for everything, his first scraped knee, his nightmares, his birthdays. That’s me. That’s mine.” His voice cracked again. He looked at the picture I had been staring at a few minutes ago. “And I can’t, God, I can’t just walk away from that.”

“You won’t,” I said quickly, through tears. I scooted closer, my own hands trembling as I clutched at his arm. “You’ll always be part of his life. He loves you, Jacob. He calls you Daddy. That doesn’t go away. Not now. Not ever.”

He let out a half laugh, half sob, and dragged a shaking hand down his face.

“Do you remember,” he said suddenly, “last year, around Halloween, when he insisted on wearing that ridiculous cape to the grocery store? He thought he was saving people from the cereal aisle, cause had heard the word serial killer somewhere.”

I laughed, despite myself. “He refused to take it off for two weeks. He even slept in it.”

Jacob’s mouth twisted into a watery smile. “Yeah. He called me his sidekick.” His voice softened, broke. “That was the time I really thought. I can do this. I can be his dad.”

We both sat there, crying quietly.

“You know,” he spoke, “After we got married, I was going to adopt Noah formally. Give him my last name. Our little family.”

I felt my heart sink.

What had I done?

Finally, Jacob shook his head. “I can’t hate you. I thought I would. God knows I wanted to sometimes. But I can’t.” His eyes found mine, raw and wet. “I’m just tired, Willow. Tired of pretending we’re not three people in this relationship. Tired of trying to fit into a space that was never meant for me.”

My tears blurred everything. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.” He gave a weak smile. “But you did. And I hurt you too. We both did.” He exhaled, a long, shuddering release, and leaned back into the couch. “So now it’s time to stop hurting each other.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was thin, and real, and important. Like something had finally loosened.

He reached over then, took my hand in his. His familiar hands, the long fingers, the roughness of his palm. It was just… him. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t shut me out of Noah’s life. I can’t lose him.”

I squeezed his hand, tears streaming. “I promise. You’re his father. In all the ways that matter, you always will be.”

For the first time that night, he let out a true sob, his shoulders collapsing forward. I pulled him into me, and for a long time, we just held each other, crying for everything we’d been, everything we couldn’t be, and everything we were letting go of.

When he finally pulled back, his face was streaked with tears, his eyes swollen. He stood, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he said quietly. “We’ll… figure out the rest later. Let’s talk to Noah tomorrow.”

I nodded, unable to find words.

When he walked away, I stayed there on the couch, my body feeling limp, my face damp. The house felt unbearably quiet.