First Crush, My Forever

Chapter 103

  The paper shakes in my hands, my eyes burning as I read the words again. Chris's messy scrawl, the same handwriting that used to make me like or bring me comfort, now trying to sound like remorse.

  "He has some nerve saying "I miss my best friend.""

  I slam the letter down on the coffee table so hard Taytum flinches. "Unbelievable." My voice comes out rough, shaking. "He thinks he can just... what? Hand over his rights, scribble out a damn apology, and suddenly I'm supposed to forget what he did?"

  "Dani..." Taytum starts, but I can't stop.

  "He destroyed me," I spit out, my chest heaving because he ruined everything. "He didn't just screw up, he broke me down to nothing. He drugged me. He took advantage of me. He blackmailed me. He abused me. I begged him to stop. I begged him. And now he wants forgiveness? He thinks signing away his rights to this baby too is enough to make me let him back in?" My voice cracks, raw and ugly. "He doesn't get to ask me for anything. Not forgiveness. Not friendship. Nothing."

  The words pour out, jagged, like glass tearing through my throat. Tears blur my vision, hot and relentless. I grab the crumpled letter, shove it back down onto the table.

  "He misses his best friend? Well, he killed her. She doesn't exist anymore. He made sure of that."

  The silence after is deafening. My sobs echo in the room, filling every corner. My hands are trembling so hard I have to press them to my knees just to keep from falling apart completely but Taytum is right there.

  She crouches in front of me, her hands gentle but firm as they cup my face. "Look at me, baby." Her voice is steady, anchoring. "He doesn't get to rewrite the story. He doesn't get to decide how you heal. You don't owe him forgiveness. You don't owe him a visit. You don't owe him a damn thing. "No man will ever have a claim on you or our babies again. Ever."

  I shake my head, the tears spilling faster. "But I still feel it. He still makes me feel like I'm scared and trapped and small. I hate it. I hate that he still has this power over me."

  Taytum's thumb brushes my cheek, wiping the tears as fast as they fall. Her eyes burn, fierce and unflinching. "He doesn't have power. Not anymore. You're not that woman anymore, Dani. You're a mother, you're carrying our baby, and you're the strongest person I've ever known. He can't take that from you."

  Something in me cracks at her words. I collapse into her arms, sobbing into her shoulder until my throat is raw. She doesn't flinch, doesn't move. She just holds me through it, rocking me like she'll never let go.

  When I finally pull back, my face wet and swollen, she presses her forehead to mine. "He can write a hundred letters, and it won't change this. He's out of your life. He signed those papers. The rest of it, him wanting forgiveness... that's his burden, not yours."

  I nod, though the anger still twists in my chest. My hands clutch at her shirt, desperate. "I just want him gone from my head again. I don't want him to touch any of this." I press her hand to my stomach, where our baby grows. "Not me, not KK, not us, not this."

  Her eyes soften, but her voice stays firm. "He won't. I promise you, baby. This is ours. He doesn't belong here."

  The weight of her words settles over me, heavy and grounding. My eyes fall to the letter again, lying on the table like a ghost. My pulse spikes, rage boiling up again. Before I can second guess it, I grab the paper, my hands shaking but sure, and tear it straight down the middle.

  The sound rips through the quiet like thunder. Piece by piece, I shred it smaller and smaller until nothing recognizable is left but scraps in my lap. My breaths come hard and uneven, but with each tear, it feels like I'm cutting him out of me, out of us. My hands tingle. The air feels thinner, lighter.

  When the last fragment flutters to my lap, I whisper, hoarse, "He doesn't get to have me anymore."

  Taytum gathers the torn pieces from my lap, setting them aside. Then she pulls me into her arms like she's holding every broken part of me together. "Damn right he doesn't," she murmurs into my hair, steadying me. "Tomorrow we'll burn it. Every scrap of this bullshit. We'll put it to flames and watch it disappear. You'll have closure, baby, and it'll be gone for good."

  My lip trembles, and I nod weakly. "Burn it."

  Taytum cups my face in both hands, her thumbs warm against my cheeks. "But right now, you've got to breathe. You've got to calm down. I don't want you carrying this stress in your body. Not when you're carrying our baby."

  Her words soften, low and certain. "Listen to me, Dani. He doesn't own a piece of you anymore. Not your past, not your present, not your future. You are mine to love, mine to cherish, and you are the strongest, most powerful woman I've ever met. Nothing he says changes that."

  Something cracks deep in me at her voice, at the certainty in her eyes. My tears come fast again, but this time softer, less jagged. "I don't feel strong," I whisper.

  Taytum presses her lips to my forehead, lingering there. "That's okay. I'll be your strength until you feel it again. Because you're not alone, baby. You've got me, you've got KK, you've got this little one right here." She slides her hand over my stomach, her touch steady. "You already hold all the power. He can't take a damn thing from you anymore."

  The words sink into me, breaking through the storm in my chest. My breath finally evens out, though my face is wet, my body heavy. I let myself collapse into her, curling against her warmth.

  She strokes my back slowly, whispering, "You're safe. You're loved. And you're free."

  The shredded letter lies scattered on the coffee table, useless scraps that no longer hold any power over me. My body feels heavy, drained from the storm that ripped through me. It's just paper now. That's all.

  Taytum kisses the side of my head and whispers, "Come on, baby. Let's go to bed."

  I don't fight her when she stands and holds her hand out. My fingers slip into hers, trembling, but she doesn't let go. She helps me up gently, like I might break if she's too quick, and guides me upstairs.

  In our room, she doesn't let me go. Instead, she reaches for the hem of my shirt and pauses, her eyes asking permission before her hands move. I nod, unable to speak. Carefully, she lifts the fabric over my head and sets it aside. Her touch never lingers too long, never crosses into anything more than tenderness.

  Taytum kneels a little to slide off my leggings, her fingers brushing my calves as she eases them down. I feel stripped bare, but not in a vulnerable way. In a way that makes me feel seen. Cared for. Loved.

  When I'm left in just my bra and underwear, she gently unhooks my bra and slides it off my arms then tosses it in the hamper. Taytum pulls one of her t-shirts from the dresser and slips it over my head, smoothing it down over my stomach with a soft palm. "There," she whispers. "Comfy."

  By the time she tucks me beneath the covers, my tears are back, but they're quieter this time. I reach for her hand, clutching it tight.

  Taytum climbs in beside me, pressing close, her arm wrapping around me and her hand settling over the curve of my belly. "I've got you," she murmurs into my hair. "Always."

  I breathe her in, warm and steady. As sleep begins to pull me under, her words echo through me, louder than Chris's letter ever could, 'You're safe. You're loved. You're free.'