Chapter 63 63
Katherine's POV
I finished the class with my last student—a sixteen-year-old girl who'd finally grasped the symbolism in the poem we'd been dissecting for weeks.
I told her she'd done great, to keep practicing with the exercises I'd assigned, and ended the video call.
I sat there a second staring at the black computer screen, feeling that light fatigue that always hit after three straight hours of talking. I gathered the books I'd had open beside me, stacked them neatly on the living room table, closed the laptop, and set it aside.
My phone was on silent, like always during classes. I picked it up to turn it off and saw the screen: four missed calls from Andrew. All in the last half hour. It worried me right away. He knew my schedule perfectly—he knew I taught until five-thirty. He never called at that time unless it was urgent. I felt a stab of concern, dialed him quick while heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He answered on the second ring, voice bright, like he was smiling on the other end.
"Hey, love. You done?"
"Yeah, just now. Everything okay? I saw the missed calls."
He laughed softly, relaxed.
"Nothing bad. Quite the opposite. I've got plans for tonight."
I smiled without meaning to, leaning against the counter. I loved when he talked like that, with that excitement he put into the little things.
"Plans? Tell me. You going out tonight?"
"I mean plans for both of us at home. See, if you don't mind making something amazing for dinner... we're having guests."
My nerves kicked in instantly. Guests. I thought executives from the company, some couple Andrew wanted to impress for work. I hated those impromptu dinners, but I always ended up saying yes because it made him happy.
"Guests? Who?"
Short pause, like he was choosing his words.
"Elliot Martins is in Lisbon. He stopped by the office today. I invited him for dinner—with his girlfriend."
The name hit me straight in the chest.
Elliot Martins.
Elliot.
My legs went weak all at once—good thing I was leaning on the counter, or I might've fallen and hurt myself. I felt the floor shift a little, the air escaping me. I bit my lip hard, gripped by pure terror. Elliot was here. In Lisbon. He'd come.
I knew it. I'd known it deep down. He'd been quiet too long—six months without a sign, a message, anything. It was only a matter of time. He'd come to ruin my life. To tell everything. To shatter what I'd built with so much effort.
I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle the sob rising in my throat. Andrew kept talking on the other end, oblivious.
"You there? Kate? That okay with you?"
I swallowed, tried to clear my throat. My voice came out hoarse, but I tried to hide it.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm here. Sure. I'll go shopping for dinner stuff right now."
He sounded relieved, happy.
"Great. Make it impressive, love. It's been a while since we've seen him, and he's bringing his girlfriend. It'll be fun. You're happy about it, right?"
"Of course, sweetheart. It's been forever since I've heard from him—it'll be good to see him."
"That's what I thought."
I hung up before he could notice anything off. Set the phone on the counter and stayed there, braced so I wouldn't collapse and hurt the baby.
My whole body shook. Started in my hands, then legs, chest. My belly hurt—a sharp pull, like the baby had felt my tension and was protesting. I touched it slowly, both hands flat over the loose dress fabric, feeling the hard curve, the stretched skin. The baby moved a little—a strong kick that hit deep inside. I breathed deep, tried to relax, tell him silently that everything was okay, that Mommy was just tired. But I couldn't. Fear took over completely, like a wave rising without stop.
I started crying harder, unable to hold it in—knowing this was my chance while Andrew wasn't home, and holding back wasn't possible anymore. The crying was unstoppable. Loud, uncontrolled. I bent forward a bit, face in my hands. Cried with noise, throat tight, hot tears running down my wrists.
Elliot here. In the city. In our house tonight. Sitting at the table with Andrew, with me, with his girlfriend. Staring at my belly. Knowing. Or guessing. Or wanting to destroy it all.
It hit me then—the last time, in the parking lot, his broken face when I said I was leaving, how he floored the gas after, wild with rage.
He'd been quiet too long. I'd blocked him, deleted him, tried to forget. But he hadn't. He'd come.
I remembered how things ended the last time he took my rejection badly.
He'd turned into my stalker.
What would he turn into this time? That was the question terrifying me most.
Would he be the one to destroy my marriage? Well, I'd already done that by... sleeping with a student. He held the secret—like a grenade with the pin pulled, in those unstable hands of his.
Would he pull it? Let everything explode?
What was he doing here?
He could only bring chaos—what else would he come for?
I wiped my face with my sleeve, but the tears kept coming. I walked slowly to the bathroom, looked in the mirror. Red eyes, swollen face. Breathed deep a few times, splashed cold water.
The baby moved again, softer. I touched my belly, whispered to him.
"Easy. Everything's going to be okay."
But I didn't believe it. I couldn't. Andrew happy, planning dinner like it was normal, a nice visit. And me knowing Elliot wasn't coming out of courtesy. He was coming for me. For what was left unresolved. For the damage I'd done to him—or we'd done to each other.
I leaned on the sink, felt another wave of crying. Cried quieter this time, forehead against the cold mirror. Fear eating me from the inside.
Fear he'd talk. Stare too much. That Andrew would notice something. That the baby—this boy we were so excited about—would get caught in the mess I'd left behind.
I dried my face, left the bathroom. Grabbed my bag, keys. Had to go shopping. Make dinner impressive, like Andrew said. Pretend everything was fine. Smile when they arrived. Sit at the table with Elliot across from me, his girlfriend, my happy husband. And hold in everything burning inside me.