The Child You Called A Bastard

Summary

Kendra was carrying Brett’s child.

She was the same girl who had once pinned me against the cold, graffiti-scratched tiles of our high school bathroom while her friends recorded my humiliation on their phones. Now, she was sitting in the middle of my marriage bed, her fingers resting lightly on the small swell of her stomach, speaking to me with an unbearable, honeyed deference.

When I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a paring knife, determined to tear our shared life down to the studs, Brett didn't even hesitate. His hand cracked across my jaw with enough force to spin me around.