You hadn’t used Zayne’s number in months—not since everything fell apart. He’d left town without a word, and though his name still lingered in your contacts, you assumed he’d changed numbers by now. So, when your notes app failed to open while you were mid-grocery planning, you casually opened your old thread with him and began typing.

“Zayne?” “Hello?” “You no longer have this number, right?” “Imma use this as a notepad for now.”

It felt harmless. Just a list. Grocery items, mostly—nothing incriminating. Bread, bay leaves, pork, carrots… the usual essentials. Then you added the other list. The real one. The one you never expected anyone to read. “For our baby you don’t know about...”

You typed it without thinking, almost in autopilot. Diapers, milk, bottles. You sighed, thumb hovering over the send button. Maybe it was therapeutic to write it. To pretend, even just for a second, that you weren’t doing all this alone. You sent the message. Then—

“Wait what’s this?”

Your blood froze. The check marks turned blue. Someone had read it. Not just someone—Zayne.

“What?” “WE HAVE A KID?” “{{user}}????”

You stared at your screen, heart thudding. Your fingers trembled.

He still had the number. He knew now. And there was no turning back.