There are moments that stay with you—not because they're the loudest or the most dramatic, but because of the quiet ache they leave behind. That's how I felt after I met with Marcus. The air around me was still, but inside, my heart was a storm cloud that just wouldn't clear.
I sat by the window with a cup of tea, staring out at the flowers. The sky was pale, almost blank, like it couldn't make up its mind between sunrise and cloud. And me? I couldn't make up mine either.
Dante hadn't said much the night before. He held me, quietly. Kissed my forehead and whispered that he was here for me—but there was something in his eyes. A flicker of restraint. Like he was holding back something heavy. Maybe a thousand questions, maybe disappointment, maybe fear, and I couldn't blame him. Because even though I told myself I met Marcus for closure, a part of me was still haunted by the past. Not because I wanted it back. God no. But because the pain I'd buried was resurfacing in ways I hadn't anticipated. And I was starting to realize that letting go of someone you once loved wasn't always clean. Sometimes, it was a messy, guilt-ridden process.
That morning, I kept my phone on silent, not because I didn't expect him to text—but because I already knew he would.
By the time I picked it up around noon, there were six unread messages from Marcus.
> Marcus: Thank you for meeting me, Sienna. I know I don't deserve your time, but I'm grateful you gave me some.
Marcus: I couldn't sleep last night. I kept thinking about our baby.
Marcus: I've missed so much. Her first words. Her first steps.
Marcus: I want to see her, Sienna. Please. I won't make a scene. I just... I need to see my daughter.
Marcus: Please. Even if it's just once.
Marcus: I swear, no drama. Just a father meeting his child.
I stared at the screen, my heart pulsing heavily behind my ribs. Part of me wanted to ignore it, delete the messages, move on. But another part—maybe the part of me still hanging on to the love we once shared couldn't let me. Maybe it was reckless and stupid, but I found myself replying.
> Me: I'll bring her. One hour. That's all.
He replied almost immediately.
> Marcus: Thank you. That's more than I deserve.
I didn't tell Dante.
I told myself it was because I didn't want to burden him, not after everything he'd already done for me. But deep down, I knew the truth. I didn't tell him because I knew he wouldn't like that.
Later that afternoon, I dressed Abigail in her softest pink romper and brushed her curls with gentle fingers. She babbled while I worked, her innocent giggles cutting through my guilt like a blade. She had no idea what today meant. No idea what doors I might be reopening.
When I arrived at the café Marcus had suggested, he was already seated outside. He looked… different. Not just in appearance—though he'd lost weight, and the lines on his face seemed deeper—but in energy. Softer. Tired.
When his eyes landed on Abigail, something in him broke.
He stood, like he didn't know what to do with himself, and I gently lowered Abigail into the stroller. "You can say hi," I said cautiously, watching every movement.
"Hi," he whispered, dropping to his knees.
Abigail blinked at him curiously, then giggled as he made a silly face. I watched, frozen, as he reached for her tiny hand, she didn't pull away.
"I missed so much," he said, his voice thick. "She looks just like you."
I didn't respond.
We sat for a while. He asked questions—what foods she liked, if she was talking much, if she had a favorite cartoon. And I answered, though carefully. Guarded. I wasn't here to open a door wide. Just to give him a peek through the crack.
But he leaned in like he was desperate to squeeze through that opening.
"I want to be there for her," he said. "I know I failed you. I know I abandoned you both. But I want to make it right."
"It's not that simple," I replied.
"I know. But let me try. Let me prove I can be a father."
I didn't say anything, because how do you respond to a man who left you when you needed him most? How do you weigh the future of your daughter against the betrayal that still lingers in your bones?
He reached across the table. Not to touch me—but to hold his heart in his hands. "I never stopped loving you, Sienna. But even if you can't forgive me, please… don't take her away from me."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Abigail babbled, banging her tiny hands on the table, and Marcus smiled through wet eyes.
"I'll think about it," I whispered.
And I meant it. Not because I wanted him back. But because Abigail deserved to know where she came from.
That night, Dante came home late. I was curled on the couch with a book I hadn't touched for two hours. The silence between us was immediate the second he walked in.
He dropped his keys, glanced at me, and frowned.
"You okay?"
I nodded. "Just tired."
He walked over, leaned down, and kissed my forehead. "Abigail asleep?"
"Yeah."
He pulled off his jacket, walked to the kitchen, then paused.
"I got a call," he said without turning around. "From someone at the café near the hospital."
My heart dropped.
"They said they saw you… with Marcus?"
The room froze.
I sat up. My throat closed.
"Dante—"
"Did you meet him again?" His voice wasn't angry. It was calm. Too calm.
"I… I took Abigail to see him," I confessed.
He turned around, eyes narrowing. "You what?"
"He asked to see her. I thought… I thought she deserved to know him. At least once."
"You thought." He took a step forward. "And you didn't think to tell me?"
"Because I knew you'd be upset," I said quickly.
"I'm not just upset, Sienna. I'm furious. Not because you took her. But because you did it without me. Without telling me."
"He's her father," I said, standing now. "He has a right to—"
"He lost that right the day he walked out on you while you were pregnant!" His voice cracked.
"He had no idea I was pregnant" I whispered, low enough for him not to hear me.
"I've been here," he continued, pacing. "Every damn day. I've protected you. I've taken care of Abigail like she's my own. And you went behind my back to reintroduce her to the man who left you to raise her alone?"
Tears burned behind my eyes. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."
"Well, you did," he snapped, then paused, rubbing his face. "God… I feel like a fool."
"You're not."
"I am," he said bitterly. "Because I let myself believe we were building something real. That maybe… maybe we were more than this deal."
I looked at him, stunned.
"You think this is still just a deal to me?" I whispered.
He didn't respond.
He just stared at me with eyes full of something I couldn't read. Hurt, betrayal, maybe even love.
"I didn't do this to hurt you, Dante, I promise. I did it because I thought it would be terrible of me not to let Abigail meet her biological father, at least once."
He shook his head, stepping back.
"I need some air."
And then he was gone.
I stood there for a long time. In the empty living room. In the echo of the door slamming shut.
And I realized something that broke me just a little more.
I hadn't lost Marcus, but I might have just lost Dante.