Or maybe that’s because of the news I have to share.

Kimba sits on one of the cream-colored sofas and gestures to a seat across from her, a queen holding court. So formal. I won’t let her strip this of intimacy, of feeling. This is the most real thing I’ve ever had, and if I lose it, I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. I ignore her suggestion and sit beside her as close as I can. She flicks me a wry look and scoots back until she’s in the corner of the couch.

“You said we needed to talk?” she asks, her words as crisp as her dress.

“Yeah, I…” Is there any way I can say this that makes it sound better, that gives me a chance? “Aiko’s appointment was this morning.”

She nods. “I figured as much. And?”

“Seven weeks along.”

I see the devastation in her eyes before she can mask it, a flash quickly snuffed. “Okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Tru, we can still—”

“I can’t, Ezra,” she says on a harsh breath. “Before you ask me, I cannot.”

I reach for her, but she stands, steps out of my reach. I follow. She’s my magnet, and even when I try to resist, I’m drawn to her. This is supposed to be our second chance, and I’m not giving up on it, on us, without fighting for it.

“Can we at least talk about this?” I ask.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She settles on the edge of another cream-colored settee.

“The hell…” I grind the words to dust between my teeth and try to compose myself. I’m used to being in control, but she makes me crazy. She drives me mad like a drug. A hallucinogen that convinces me we belong together, that we could work, that she could love me enough to stay. To fight.

“Don’t do this to us, Tru. Not again.”

She closes her eyes, and tears spill over her cheeks, breaking me inside. I’m hurting her, which kills me, but I can’t stop. I have to try.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask, swallowing a million pleas. “How do I prove to you this could work?”

“You have a family.”

“I want you!” It comes out loud, a declaration blaring through the deserted house. “I want…” My voice breaks, my pain in accord with hers. “I’m only half without you. You have to give me this chance.”

“I can’t.” Her mouth and her hands tremble. “Don’t ask me to watch another woman carry your child when I might never be able to.”