The knock came late.
The kind of late that made her stomach twist. The kind of knock that felt like memory instead of hope.
Jade didn't move at first.
She'd been curled on the couch, wrapped in the hospital blanket they sent her home with.
It still smelled like antiseptic and old dreams.
The penthouse was too quiet, too clean, too untouched. People had sent messages. Left food. Flowers. None of it mattered. Nothing touched the hollow ache inside her.
She opened the door without thinking.
And there he was.
Cole.
Still handsome in that distant way. Jacket sharp. Hands in his pockets. Not a hair out of place. Like he had just stepped out of a meeting instead of her life.
For a second, she thought maybe the grief was hallucinating him.
Then he spoke.
"Hey."
Not Are you okay?
Not I'm sorry.
Just hey.
Jade stared at him, one hand still gripping the door.
"What do you want?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't soften. His eyes scanned the room behind her like he might be bored.
"I thought I should come," he said simply. "Now that things have... settled."
Settled.
The word hit her like a slap.
She stepped aside. Not out of kindness, but because anger needed space to breathe.
Cole walked in like it wasn't a crime scene. Like this wasn't where her world ended.
He didn't look at her.
Didn't ask how she was.
Didn't ask about the baby.
She watched him take in the untouched bassinet in the corner, the unopened packages of diapers, the little stack of pregnancy books she hadn't been able to throw away.
Nothing flickered on his face.
"I see you haven't cleaned up yet."
The words hung there.
Cold.
Sharp.
Jade blinked.
It took a moment to process that he actually said it.
"Excuse me?"
He shrugged, casual. "I just figured... it might help to start moving on."
Her breath caught.
Moving on?
It had been five days.
Five days since they told her the heartbeat was gone.
Five days since she lay bleeding on a gurney, whispering the baby's name into the dark.
"You weren't there," she said, voice low. "You didn't come to the hospital. You didn't call. Not even a text."
"I didn't think it would change anything," he said, like it was obvious. "It was already over."
Jade felt something shift in her chest—something small and soft finally tearing.
"You think showing up now fixes it?" Her voice rose. "You think walking in here like a stranger and talking about moving on makes any of this okay?"
He met her gaze finally, but his eyes were flat. Distant.
"What do you want from me, Jade? A breakdown? An apology I don't mean?"
She stared at him.
Stared hard.
Because in that moment, she realized: he hadn't just left during the miscarriage.
He had been leaving for months.
Piece by piece.
Emotion by emotion.
And now there was nothing left but this stranger in a tailored coat, standing in the wreckage of what used to be a life.
"I wanted you to care," she whispered. "I wanted you to at least pretend it mattered."
His jaw tightened.
"It doesn't help either of us to stay stuck in something we can't undo."
Jade took a step back, like his words were a physical blow.
Her arms wrapped around her body, as if that might hold her together.
"I carried her," she said. "I sang to her. I planned a life around her. And you—you erased her like she was a mistake."
"She wasn't real, Jade," Cole said, too quickly. "You never even saw her."
Jade's face crumpled, and for the first time, she didn't bother to hide it.
She let the tears fall, silent and furious.
"She was real to me," she said. "She was mine. Even if no one else wanted her."
Cole turned toward the door.
"I thought coming here might help. Clearly, it didn't."
Jade didn't answer.
There was nothing left to say.
He walked out without looking back.
The door clicked shut behind him.
She stood alone in the silence, the only sound her own breath breaking, again and again.
And for the first time, Jade realized—he didn't just miss the loss.
He was the loss.