Hudson Hull
I didn't leave.
For three days after Cora's revelation, I slept in my office, claiming I had a major case that required all-nighters. The truth was, I couldn't face her. Not after she'd laid out my entire double life like a prosecutor presenting evidence.
I kept telling myself it wasn't that bad. Affairs happened. Men strayed. It didn't mean I didn't love her.
But the look in her eyes when she'd read that paternity report...
I'd never seen Cora like that. Not even during her worst spirals three years ago. Back then, she'd been frantic, desperate, clawing at reality like a drowning woman. Now she was calm. Still. Like the eye of a hurricane.
It terrified me more than any of her panic attacks ever had.
On Friday, my mother called. "Hudson, what's this about a family dinner? Cora invited us. She sounded... strange."
"Everything's fine, Mom."
"Hudson." Her voice sharpened. "I'm not an idiot. What's going on?"
I closed my eyes. "I'll explain later."
"Hudson James Hull—"
I hung up.
That night, I drove to Bridgett's apartment. She opened the door with Leo on her hip, her face lighting up when she saw me—then falling when she registered my expression.
"What's wrong?"
I pushed past her into the small living room. Toys scattered across the floor. A half-eaten fruit pouch on the coffee table. The evidence of my other life, everywhere.
"She knows," I said.
Bridgett went pale. "Knows what?"
"Everything. The paternity. The apartment. The Wednesday visits." I laughed bitterly. "She had a DNA test done, Bridgett. She took Leo's sippy cup from daycare."
"Oh my God." Bridgett sank onto the couch, clutching Leo. "Oh my God, Hudson. What are we going to do?"
We. Like we were a team. Like I hadn't spent three years lying to both of them.
"I don't know." I rubbed my face. "She wants you at dinner on Sunday. With Leo. In front of both our parents."
"She wants to humiliate us."
"She wants the truth." I looked at Leo—my son, with his mother's dark curls and my gray eyes. Three years old. I'd missed his first steps, his first words, everything that mattered, because I was too cowardly to choose.
"You should go," I said finally.
"What?"
"To the dinner. Bring Leo." I stood. "Let her have her moment. Maybe then she'll agree to a quiet divorce. No public scandal. No destroying my career."
Bridgett stared at me. "That's what you're worried about? Your career?"
"What else is there?"
She laughed—a broken, incredulous sound. "How about your marriage? Your wife? The woman you've been gaslighting for three years?"
"I didn't gaslight her—"
"Yes, you did!" Leo stirred in her arms, and she lowered her voice, but the fury remained. "You told me she was crazy. That she'd never believe the truth anyway. That it was easier to let her think she was paranoid than to actually be honest." Her eyes glistened. "And I believed you. God, I'm as bad as you are."
She stood, carrying Leo toward the bedroom. At the door, she paused.
"I'll come to your dinner, Hudson. But not for you. For her. She deserves to hear someone say they're sorry." Her voice broke. "Even if it's not you."
