Zane took a slow, stumbling step toward her—then another—and Willow felt her breath trap in her throat.
Because she knew that look.
It wasn't anger.
It was devastation begging for oxygen.
His voice came out hoarse, almost childlike in the way it broke.
"So that's it?"
She couldn't answer. She couldn't even breathe.
His gaze dropped to the tiny green tutu pressed against her stomach. He inhaled sharply, like the sight physically wounded him.
"Pregnant," he whispered.
The word shook.
"You're—God, Willow, you're pregnant."
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Zane laughed once—quiet, breathless, horrible. It cracked like brittle glass.
"You lied to me."
Willow jerked as if slapped. "Zane, no—"
"You LIED to me."
His voice broke on the last word—splintering straight through her.
"You called me a hypocrite. You stood there at that damn engagement party and told us we were all liars—every one of us—and you…"
He dragged a trembling hand down his face.
