Alysa POV:
Kevin stood there, a plastic bag dangling from his hand. Inside, I could see a haphazard assortment of fast food containers. It was a stark contrast to the carefully prepared meal Julian had brought earlier, now sitting warming on the stovetop. Kevin's eyes narrowed, a storm gathering in their depths. His jaw clenched.
"What is going on here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Julian met my gaze, a silent question in his eyes. I gave him a small nod. He passed Leo back to me, then moved away, giving Kevin the space he clearly wanted. Julian lingered by the door, a silent guardian.
"Julian," I said, my voice steady, "thank you. We needed you."
"Alysa, what is he doing here?" Kevin ignored me, his gaze fixed on Julian.
"He was helping me," I stated, pulling my son closer. "Now, go get me some food. I'm starving." My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. I watched his face contort with a mixture of confusion and anger.
I looked at Kevin, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across my lips. "Oh, and by the way, Julian is Leo's godfather now. I decided just a few minutes ago."
Kevin's face drained of color. His eyes went wide, then narrowed into slits of pure rage. "You decided? You decided with him? You discuss our son with an outsider?" His voice rose, sharp and incredulous. "What gives you the right?"
I met his gaze, my own eyes cold. "Outsider?" I emphasized the word, letting it hang in the air between us. "That's an interesting choice of word, Kevin. Especially from you."
A memory, sharp and painful, sliced through my mind. It was a few weeks before our wedding. I walked into our shared apartment after a long day at work, tired but happy. The front door was ajar. Soft music drifted from inside. I pushed it open further.
And then I saw her. Cassidy.
She stood in our living room, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. She wore my wedding dress. My mother's dress. The vintage lace, the delicate embroidery, all of it. My mother had lovingly hand-stitched every bead, every pearl, before she passed away. This dress was more than just fabric; it was a tangible piece of her, a connection to a love I cherished.
Kevin stood opposite her, his phone raised, snapping pictures. He laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. "You look beautiful, Cass! The most beautiful bride I've ever seen!"
My blood ran cold. I felt a primal scream clawing at my throat. I stood frozen in the doorway, witnessing his betrayal, the desecration of my most precious memory. My mother's legacy, my future, all mocked by the woman he claimed was "just a friend."
I had exploded. "What are you doing? Get out of my dress, Cassidy! Kevin, what is this?!"
Cassidy, feigning innocence, had cowered behind Kevin. Kevin, instead of apologizing, had turned on me. "Alysa! Don't be so dramatic! It's just a dress! Cassidy was helping me plan a surprise for you, trying on different styles. She's doing you a favor!" He had shouted at me, accusing me of being "ungrateful." "She spent hours finding this dress online! You're so cold and selfish!"
I had threatened to call off the wedding. It was the first truly harsh thing I had ever said to him, born of pure, unadulterated shock and pain. I thought it would wake him up, make him see. But it hadn't. He had stormed off, calling me "unreasonable" and "paranoid," leaving me to clean up Cassidy's mess. I felt like an outsider in my own life, in my own wedding.
Now, watching Kevin's enraged face, I wondered how he liked the taste of his own medicine.
"Don't compare these things, Alysa!" Kevin spat, his voice laced with fury. "This is completely different!"
I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "Is it, Kevin? Is it really? When you bring Cassidy, your ex-girlfriend, into our home, let her wear my mother's wedding dress, and call her 'the most beautiful bride,' that's just a 'favor,' a 'kind gesture.' But when Julian, your best friend, helps me feed our starving child, he's an 'outsider'? He's 'meddling'? That's quite the double standard, wouldn't you say?"
Kevin's jaw worked. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was speechless with rage, his face a mottled red. A small flicker of satisfaction bloomed in my chest.
