The house felt emptier than it should have, even though I was the only one in it.
Morning light spilled softly across the floor, but it didn't warm the chill that settled deep inside me. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to will my heart to stop racing and my thoughts to slow down.
Dante was somewhere else, but it wasn't just the distance between rooms. It was something heavier—like an invisible wall built of things left unsaid and feelings too raw to face.
I couldn't shake the weight pressing down on my chest, the same one that made me question every choice I'd made lately. Every step I took felt like walking a tightrope stretched over a pit of doubt and fear.
And then my phone buzzed.
The buzzing didn't stop. Marcus's name kept flashing on my screen, a relentless reminder of the impossible knot I was trying to untangle. But Marcus wasn't giving up. Not yet.
"Sienna, please. Abigail deserves to know her father."
"I'm here, willing to do whatever it takes. Let me be there for her. She needs me."
Each message was a tug on my heart and my sanity. Part of me wanted to believe him, wanted to believe there was still some good left in him for Abigail's sake. But the other part was screaming to protect myself, protect Dante, protect the fragile peace I was desperately trying to hold on to.
I stared at the screen, torn between fear and hope, anger and guilt.
The messages kept coming, each one digging a little deeper, stirring up feelings I thought I'd buried for good. I'd always known Marcus was persistent—maybe even stubborn—but this was something else entirely. It wasn't just about him anymore. It was about Abigail, and that made everything harder.
I ran my hands over my face, the weight of the day crashing down all at once. How did I end up here? Between a "fake husband" who barely spoke to me and an ex who refused to let go.
I hated the secret I'd kept from Dante—taking Abigail to see Marcus again without telling him. It felt like a betrayal, and deep down I knew that was the wedge driving us apart. But I also believed in giving Abigail a chance to know her father. She deserved that much, at least.
But was I just opening a door I couldn't close?
The fear of what Dante would say if he found out—no, if he knew—clenched my throat. Would he ever forgive me? Could he? And what about Marcus? Was this really going to work, or was I just setting us all up for more heartbreak?
Every text from Marcus was a reminder that the past wasn't done with me yet, that the future was uncertain, and that the present was impossibly fragile.
I sighed, leaning back against the wall, closing my eyes to shut out the chaos.
I couldn't stop replaying our first encounter with Marcus in my mind. How Abigail's little hand had reached out to him with such innocent trust, like she already knew him somewhere deep inside. It tore at me, that simple connection, making the choice I'd made feel less like a betrayal and more like a desperate hope.
But every time I thought about Dante, the tension tightened around my heart. He'd looked at me like I was a stranger—the hurt and confusion swimming in his eyes was something I couldn't just brush aside. I wanted to explain, to tell him why I did it, but the words got stuck somewhere between guilt and shame.
I was caught between two worlds—one where I was trying to rebuild a life with Dante, the man I loved and feared losing, and another where I had to face the consequences of a past I wasn't sure I could fully escape.
The quiet in the house felt heavier than ever. I wanted to scream, cry, beg for some clarity. But instead, I sat there, scrolling through Marcus's messages again.
"I'm not perfect, Sienna. But I'm willing to change—for Abigail, for you. Please give me a chance."
"She deserves a father who's present, who fights for her. Don't shut me out."
His words were desperate, raw. And somewhere beneath all the hurt and anger, they reached a fragile part of me—the part that still wanted to believe in second chances, even if it scared me.
I wiped a tear that escaped, hating how vulnerable I felt but unable to stop it.
How do you fight for the future when the past keeps pulling you back?
The house was quiet, but inside me, a storm raged on.
I kept asking myself over and over—what was right? What was wrong? Every choice felt like walking through quicksand, sinking deeper no matter which way I turned.
I thought about Abigail, her bright eyes full of questions she didn't yet know how to ask. She deserved a father who was there, who loved her without conditions. But could Marcus really be that man? Could I risk trusting him again after everything?
And then there was Dante. The man who had stood by me through so much, the man whose quiet strength was the anchor I clung to every day. But now, between us, there was a distance I didn't know how to bridge. I saw the hurt in his eyes, the frustration that simmered just below the surface, and I wondered if it was something I had caused—or if it was something beyond repair.
I felt like I was living two lives—one with the man I loved and one haunted by the ghosts of my past. And every message from Marcus was a reminder that the past wasn't done with me yet.
I wanted to be strong. For Abigail. For Dante. For myself. But sometimes, strength felt like a lie I told just to keep going.
The weight of it all pressed down on me until I thought I might break.
I didn't know how to fix this. I didn't even know if it was fixable.
But I knew one thing for certain—running away wasn't an option anymore.
The silence between us was suffocating by the time Dante finally came home. I was in the kitchen, trying to pretend I wasn't listening to the sound of his footsteps, the click of the door shutting behind him. But when he entered, the weight in the room shifted like a storm about to break.
He didn't say anything at first, just stood there, watching me with those guarded eyes. I could feel the tension radiating off him, thick and heavy, like we were both waiting for a spark to ignite the fuse.
"Did you take Abigail to see him again?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge there I couldn't miss.
My heart clenched. I wanted to lie, to say no, to avoid this fight, but the truth spilled out anyway.
"Yes."
That single word seemed to fill the room with electricity. Dante's jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might say something I wasn't ready to hear.
Instead, he exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Sienna… why didn't you tell me again? Why keep it a secret, when you know I'll always find out?"
I swallowed, trying to steady my voice.
"I thought… I thought it would only make things harder."
He shook his head, a mix of frustration and hurt flashing across his face.
"Secrets only make things worse."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. I wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap, but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, I stood there, feeling more alone than ever.