CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

**OLIVER**
The house was cloaked in silence, the kind that should have brought comfort. For most people, it would have. Gabriel was upstairs, fast asleep, his breathing steady and rhythmic. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant rustling of the trees outside were the only sounds breaking the stillness.
For me, though, the silence felt oppressive. It was a reminder of everything I was hiding, of the weight pressing down on me.
The phone buzzed in my pocket.
I froze, dread pooling in my stomach. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. It had to be her. Carrie.
I debated ignoring it, just letting it ring and ring until she gave up. But I knew she wouldn’t. She’d keep calling, keep pushing, until I had no choice but to answer.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Gabriel. His peaceful expression was illuminated faintly by the moonlight streaming through the window, and for a moment, I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to answer.
But the phone buzzed again, insistent, demanding.
Quietly, I padded downstairs, slipping out the front door into the cool night air. The stars were scattered across the sky, their distant light offering little comfort. I started walking, the phone in my hand, the vibration sharp against my palm.
Finally, I answered.
“What do you want, Carrie?” I asked, my voice clipped.
“Oh, there he is,” she said, her tone laced with mockery. “I was starting to think you were ignoring me.”
“It’s late,” I said. “Why are you calling me now?”
“Late?” she repeated, laughing bitterly. “I didn’t realize there were time limits on when I could call the father of my child.”
My jaw clenched, and I kept walking, the faint sound of my footsteps on the pavement grounding me. “Carrie, I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Oh, you’re not doing this?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You don’t get to decide that, Oliver. You don’t get to just hang up and go back to playing house with Gabriel while I deal with this on my own.”
“I’m not playing house,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Really?” she said, her tone biting. “Because it sure sounds like you’re living in some fantasy world where none of this is real.”
Her words cut deep, but I forced myself to stay calm. “I’m trying to figure things out,” I said, my voice tight.
“Figure things out?” she repeated, laughing again. “You’ve had months, Oliver. Months. And what have you done? Huh? Nothing. You’ve been hiding. From me. From the baby. From yourself.”
I stopped in my tracks, her words hitting harder than I wanted to admit.
“This isn’t fair,” I said quietly, my hand tightening around the phone.
“Oh, don’t talk to me about fair,” she snapped. “Do you think this is fair for me? Do you think I wanted this? To be stuck carrying the weight of your mistakes? To be pregnant with a child that’s half yours and half hers?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and for the first time in a long while, I heard something besides anger in her tone. Despair.
“Carrie,” I started, unsure of what to say.
“No,” she interrupted, her voice sharp again. “Don’t you ‘Carrie’ me. Don’t you dare try to make this better with your quiet voice and your empty apologies. You can’t make this better, Oliver. You can’t fix this.”
“I’m not trying to make it better,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m trying to—”
“To what?” she demanded. “To fix it? You think you can fix this? You think you can just… apologize your way out of this? Out of us?”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her laugh was cold and humorless. “That much is obvious.”
The line went quiet for a moment, but the silence wasn’t any better. I could still feel her anger, her pain, radiating through the phone.
“Do you know what it’s like?” she asked suddenly, her tone softer but no less intense. “Do you know what it’s like to be me right now? To be stuck in the middle of this mess you created? To wake up every day and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to do this? Alone?”
“You’re not alone,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“Oh, really?” she said, her voice rising again. “Because it sure feels like I am, Oliver. You’re not here. You’re not involved. You’re just… hiding.”
“I’m not hiding,” I said, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.
“Then what are you doing?” she demanded.
I didn’t have an answer.
“You’re pathetic,” she said after a long pause. “You’re so busy protecting your little fairytale with Gabriel that you can’t even face what you’ve done. You’re a coward, Oliver.”
Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, and I could feel my hands shaking as I gripped the phone. “I’m doing the best I can,” I said, my voice breaking.
“No, you’re not,” she said coldly. “And you know it.”
The silence between us stretched out again, heavy and suffocating.
“Carrie,” I said finally, my voice softer now. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you—”
“Stop,” she interrupted. “Just… stop. I don’t want your pity, Oliver. I don’t need it.”
Her voice wavered, and for a moment, I thought she might break. But then she laughed again, sharp and bitter.
“You know,” she said, “you’ve always been good at running. Running from your problems. Running from the truth. But you can’t run from this, Oliver. You can’t run from me. Or from the baby.”
Her words hung in the air, and I felt a wave of dread wash over me.
“I hope you’re ready to be a father,” she added, her voice dripping with venom.
The words hit like a sledgehammer, and I felt my knees weaken.
“Carrie,” I started, but she cut me off.
“Don’t,” she said. “Just… don’t.”
And then the line went dead.
I stood there, the phone still pressed to my ear, the silence deafening.
My legs felt heavy, but I forced myself to move, to take a step. And then another.
The cold night air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed it. My thoughts were a whirlwind of anger, guilt, and despair, each one pulling me in a different direction.
Her words replayed in my mind, over and over, like a cruel mantra.
You can’t run from this.
I hope you’re ready to be a father.
I didn’t know how long I had been walking, but when I finally looked around, I realized I was miles from home. The quiet streets were unfamiliar, the houses dark and shadowed.
Panic set in as I tried to get my bearings, my heart racing in my chest. How had I wandered so far? How had I let her get to me like this?
I turned around, retracing my steps as the weight of the conversation settled over me like a heavy blanket. Each step felt heavier than the last, the night pressing down on me with every passing second.
I didn’t know what to do.
All I knew was that I couldn’t keep this up much longer.