Page 22 of Let's Be Forever

I bring my clammy hands to my nape. “I-I don’t know,” I stammer, frantically trying to wrap my mind around the possibility. “There’s no way…I—fuck, I don’t know.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“No, just what I told you. She was vague and so fucking angry.” I drop to my haunches on the terrace as Marc fishes out his phone. “What are you doing?”

“Going to look her up on Instagram? Surely she’ll?—”

“She blocked us, remember?” It wasn’t just me but all our friends and my sister. Thea’s still annoyed at me about it. Anna had really grown on her, like she had with everyone else. I did make a fake account. I was desperate to reach out to her, but it was too late because she’d already made her profiles private.

“Right…wait—” His face lights up. “She probably didn’t think to block us on her business account, and I’m sure it’s public.”

I stand, my eyes lasered on his fingers as they move on the screen. My lungs constrict and I’m unable to move. All I do is wait as he continues to drag his index finger, tapping away.

He glances at me and shakes his head. “Nothing here…” My stomach sinks. “It’s all pictures of the stuff they bake and sell, and very few of her and the other girl…oh, wait, I’m going to try one more thing.”

I hold my breath, then inhale the last of my smoke. Her words replay, and despite how many times I tell myself that we’re probably reading into it, I can’t help but feel—no,knowthat our assumption is right.

I justknowit is.

“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling on edge.

“Looking at Clementine’s Instagram account,” he answers, gaze locked on his bright screen. His cigarette is tucked in thecorner of his mouth, ashes fluttering on the floor. But a second later, the cigarette joins them as his jaw drops.

“What? What did you find?” I stand next to him, taking the phone from his grasp.

His throat works a thick swallow, face pinched with discomfort. “A picture of Clementine, Anna, and this little one.” He carefully points at the tiny human between the two girls, the tip of his finger barely touching the screen.

His anxiety is palpable. I hear each beat of his heart knock against his rib cage. Or maybe it’s mine. No, it definitely is.

I look at the toddler. She’s sporting a toothy grin, pink frosting coating her pink-stained lips. She’s wearing a tiny tiara with the wordsBirthday Girlon it.

“She doesn’t look like either one of them,” Marc chimes in after a moment because I can’t bring myself to say anything.

“No…no…she doesn’t.” I feel out of body, completely dazed and confused. I zoom in on her, note the green of her eyes, her brown curly hair, the dimples on her round cheeks. She looks nothing like Anna. And certainly nothing like Clementine. I slide to the next picture, the little girl in a sparkly pink dress with two small heart-shaped cakes. The next picture is one of Clementine, one of the cakes, the little girl. The other is Anna, the other cake, and the little girl.

I read the caption.

My favorite girl turns two today!! *unicorn emoji* *pink heart emoji* *cake emoji* Happy Birthday, Rosie!!! I definitely made the better cake, but we’ll let your mom believe hers was the best.

It’s dated December 13.

“That picture was posted just last year,” Marc states. “If she turned two this past December…then she was born…” His voice wavers as he does the math in his head, and then his grave eyes connect with mine. “Two and a half years ago. And two and a halfyears ago, you got injured and broke up with Anna. What month was that again?”

I struggle to breathe out the word, the memories like a bolt of lightning flashing in my head.

“May.”

“I don’t know much about babies, but aren’t women usually pregnant for…nine months?”

I nod, processing the million thoughts running rampant through my head. “Yeah…nine months.”

One night after a win, we were drunk and happy…

He takes the phone from me, but I don’t pay attention to what he’s doing. I’m still trying to piece everything together, make sense of what isn’t all that complicated to understand.

“Look up.” Marc holds the phone next to my face. I side-eye it and understand why. He took a close-up screenshot of the little girl. “Smile.”

My lips curl upward. It’s forced, hard to make it look genuine, but whatever I’m showing is enough because he gawks at me in disbelief.