I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the sliver of moonlight bleeding through the curtains. The house was quiet—too quiet. Abigail had fallen asleep hours ago, clutching her new stuffed bunny, and Dante… Dante hadn't said a word since dinner.
Not even a glance, not a sigh, just silence. That heavy, choking kind that sits in your chest like lead.
I turned slightly, hoping he might be watching from the doorway, or pretending not to, but the hall was empty. No footsteps, no tension in the air. Just this strange stillness that felt worse than any fight.
I wasn't sure when exactly he had stopped talking to me. Maybe it was when I walked through the front door after taking Abigail to see Marcus. Maybe it was the exact moment I told him the truth. Or maybe it was even before that—when I chose not to tell him about Marcus texting again.
I thought honesty would help. That confessing everything would somehow soften the blow. But I guess some truths were still betrayals in disguise.
Earlier that day, Dante had come home early. It should've made me smile. I was cleaning up the living room, trying to focus on the little things—the mess of Abigail's toys, the blanket half-folded, the faint smell of her shampoo in the air—when I heard the garage door open. I turned, feeling a strange flutter in my chest. That pull I'd come to recognize every time he came home. That little hope that maybe tonight would be one of the good nights. But when the door opened and he walked in, something was off. His face was unreadable. Not cold, not angry, just distant. Like he'd built an invisible wall between us on his way home.
"Hey," I said quietly, wiping my hands on a towel.
"Hey," he replied, setting his keys on the counter.
No kiss, no smile, no warmth. My heart sank a little, but I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was a long day at work. Maybe he was tired.
"I was just about to put dinner together," I offered, trying to keep my tone light.
He nodded. "Don't go out of your way. I'm not that hungry."
I watched him walk past me like I wasn't even there.
Like I didn't just share my body and heart with him days ago. Like I hadn't just let him see every vulnerable piece of me.
Now, hours later, I sat in the dark, running over every word I'd said to him since Marcus showed up again. Replaying each conversation, wondering what I could've done differently.
I wanted to believe this distance was temporary. That he was just upset, not… over it.
But it was hard to pretend when the man who once looked at me like I was the center of his universe now barely looked at me at all.
The next morning was worse.
He left before I woke up.
No note. No "see you later." No kiss on the forehead like he used to do when he thought I was still asleep.
I walked into the kitchen with Abigail perched on my hip, hoping maybe he'd just stepped out for coffee—but the house was empty. And my heart felt a little more hollow than the day before. I tried calling him later that day, Just once, No answer. I didn't text. I didn't want to be the girl begging for a man's attention. But God, it hurt. The silence was louder than any argument we could've had. And every second that passed without a word from him felt like a confirmation—that I'd broken something between us.
That evening, when he finally came home, I was folding laundry in the guest room. I heard the door. Heard his footsteps. But he didn't come looking for me, didn't call out, didn't even ask where Abigail was. He went straight to his home office and shut the door.
Three days passed like that. Three. And in those days, I saw a version of Dante I wasn't prepared for. Cold, distant, unreachable.
The man who once hovered over me protectively during pregnancy checkups, who argued with nurses when they took too long, who touched me like I was something sacred… now barely acknowledged me at all. And worst of all—I couldn't blame him.
I was the one who said yes to Marcus seeing Abigail. I was the one who didn't warn Dante first. I was the one who cracked the fragile thing we'd been building together. But that didn't make the ache any easier to carry. On the fourth day, I couldn't take it anymore.
I waited until Abigail was asleep, then knocked gently on his office door, no answer. I pushed it open anyway.
He was at his desk, staring at something on his laptop, but I knew he wasn't really working. His hands weren't moving. His expression was blank.
"Dante," I said softly.
He didn't look at me. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," I whispered. "You're shutting me out."
He closed his laptop slowly. Still no eye contact.
"You made your choice, Sienna."
"I didn't choose him over you—"
"You didn't choose me at all," he cut in sharply. His voice was low, but the pain in it was piercing. "You didn't even think to tell me you were taking Abigail to see him."
"I just thought—"
"That's the problem," he snapped. "You were thinking instead of trusting me. Instead of us." His words hit like a slap.
"I wasn't trying to hurt you," I said, stepping closer. "I just… I felt guilty. I thought maybe Abigail should meet him. Even if I hate him. Even if he doesn't deserve it. I didn't know what the right thing was."
He looked up finally. And God, his eyes were tired- Hurt.
"I get that you're trying to do the right thing for your daughter," he said. "But you're not the only one with something to lose here."
My throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I've been here. Every day. Every night. I've held her. Fed her. Watched her sleep. And you didn't think I deserved to know that the man who left you was suddenly back in the picture?" Tears welled in my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know how to handle it. I was scared."
"Of him?" he asked bitterly. "Or of me?"
"I was scared of what it would do to us," I admitted.
For a second, the wall cracked. Just slightly. His face softened.
But then it hardened again. "Maybe it already did."
That night, he slept in the guest room. He didn't kiss me goodnight, didn't touch me, didn't say a word. And I lay awake for hours, wondering if this was the beginning of the end.