My breath caught as I saw James standing in the doorway. His gaze lifted, looking over Vivie’s shoulder toward me.
Hurt and pain resurfaced, and a part of me wanted to shut the door and let Vivie send him away.
But another part of me was curious as to why he was here. "I'm up."
Vivie turned toward me, her lips pursed. She disapproved of my giving any time to James.
I stepped into the living room. "What are you doing here?"
He lifted the envelope, which I could only assume were the papers that were sent to him. In that moment, I realized hope that he’d changed his mind about me and the babies had tried to take root. But that hope was dashed. He was here to deliver the divorce and parental termination papers.
"I can take those." Vivie reached out to snatch them from James, but he pulled them away from her grasp.
"I need to talk to you,” he said to me.
Vivie huffed out a breath. "At ten thirty at night? Without calling and letting anyone know you're coming?"
He looked at his watch, almost as if he hadn't realized what time it was. I realized there was something off about him. He looked a little lost.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking about the time." His eyes were almost pleading as he looked at me again. "Can we talk?"
"She has nothing to say to you. And I can’t imagine you have anything to say that she wants to hear." Vivie stepped in front of him, blocking me from him.
"It's okay, Vivie. You don't need to protect me."
Vivie kept her narrowed eyes on him as she stepped back to let him into the condo.
"Can we talk alone?” he asked.
“This is my place, bub." Vivie crossed her arms.
"Can we go for a drive, then?" He kept his gaze on me. I wished I could read his eyes, but I couldn’t.
Vivie rolled her eyes. "I'll go to my room so you can talk." As she headed toward her bedroom, she reached out her hand, putting it over my forearm. "Call if you need anything."
I nodded.
It was probably rude not to offer him anything to drink, but I wanted to get this conversation done and over with, so I went to the couch and sat down, pulling the throw blanket off the back and covering my legs and belly.
I nodded for him to sit down, but he paced for a moment and then stopped. Holding out the envelope, he asked, "Is this what you want?"
I stared up at him, confused. After a moment, I began to consider that he didn't want the divorce now because something was going on with the board. He needed our fake marriage to continue.
Despite knowing the situation, that realization sent a new wave of pain through me. "I can't continue to pretend."
He stared at me for a long moment. "So when you told me how you felt, that wasn't real? Or is it gone?"
Once again, I was left trying to decipher what he was asking.
"You told me you loved me,” he clarified.
Mortified that I’d allowed myself to be so vulnerable, I turned away, pretending I was straightening out the blanket that covered me. "What does it matter now?"
"It matters to me."
I didn't think the pain could get any worse, but at that moment, it did. Why was he doing this to me? Why was he bringing up how I'd given him everything, my heart, my soul, but he'd tossed it all away like it was nothing?
Looking at him, his expression seemed tormented, like he needed to hear me say it, but what about what I needed? Or, more accurately, what I didn't need. I didn't need to be having this conversation with him. "Are you just here to bring back the papers?"