CHAPTER 2

  It wasn’t that long ago that it was him.

  That it was us.

  Even after everything he’d done, I could still feel the emotion between us then. The heat of it. The pull. The way silence didn’t feel empty yet—just unfinished.

  The knock on the door was sharp and controlled.

  Of course it was.

  Elias never wasted movement. Not even when he was inconveniencing someone.

  I pressed my fingers into my temples before unlocking the door, steadying myself. He stood there in a dark sweater and jeans, posture calm, contained. That same quiet confidence. If you didn’t know him, you’d think nothing ever touched him. That nothing ever got to him.

  But I knew better.

  I always had.

  “Hey, Eli,” I said, letting the name land sharp on purpose.

  I knew he hated it. I didn’t care anymore.

  His jaw tightened just slightly. A flicker of irritation—quick, restrained. But beneath it, I saw it. The look I used to recognize as mine alone. The one that came from broken promises and sleepless nights.

  “You’re late,” I added, folding my arms and leaning into the doorway.

  “I got caught up.”

  Typical.

  No explanation. No apology. Just the quiet expectation that I’d let it slide—like I always had.

  I stepped aside and let him in.

  EJ was in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, building something out of blocks. Completely absorbed. Until he wasn’t.

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  “Dad!”

  Elias’s entire face changed.

  It always did when he saw our son. Like something heavy finally loosened. It was the only time I ever saw his guard drop completely.

  “Hey, little man,” Elias said, crouching down and pulling EJ into a hug.

  I should’ve been happy he was a good father. I should’ve felt relief.

  But in moments like this—when I was at my weakest—all I could think about was how easy it was for him to love our son, and how impossible it had been for him to love me.

  “I left his bag on the couch,” I said, keeping my voice level. “He already ate. Just make sure he brushes his teeth before bed.”

  Elias looked up at me. “Yes. We know.”

  The smugness—small, barely there—still rubbed me wrong.

  “And maybe,” I snapped, “don’t leave him with your parents while you go play house with some other family.”

  It was too much.

  I knew it as soon as it left my mouth. But I didn’t stop it.

  Elias’s expression shifted—not anger. Something sadder. He looked down at EJ.

  “Hey,” he said gently, “go grab your dinosaur so you can bring it with you.”

  EJ tilted his head. “The one that reminds me of you, Dad?”

  Elias nodded.

  I scoffed. “What are you even talking about now?”

  Elias straightened and met my eyes, his tone calm but firm. “Enough.”

  I didn’t back down. “Your son says things. He notices things. Maybe don’t make it so obvious that we were a mistake.”

  I was stretching the truth. I knew that.

  But it felt real to me.

  “My son isn’t—and never will be—a mistake.”

  What he didn’t say—but what I heard anyway—was that I was.

  “You never loved me,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “You never believed in us. Why didn’t you just leave instead of making me a regret in your life?”

  His eyes softened. That almost made it worse.

  “I never said you were a mistake,” he said quietly. “Without you, I—”

  He stopped.

  “Forget it.”

  He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is why I don’t say much. Why I don’t show everything I feel. No matter what, you find a way to drag us back to the worst parts. Even when I’m trying to be peaceful—trying to just move forward—nothing progresses.”

  Was he right?

  If he was, I wasn’t ready to admit it.

  Because I was trying. I was progressing. But some wounds don’t fade—they reopen. His distance. His infidelity. The way I felt abandoned when I needed him most. The humiliation of realizing I was happy in a moment that meant more to me than it ever did to him.

  For a second, I thought he might push it. Say something—anything—that would make this easier. Or harder. Or at least honest.

  But EJ came back, dinosaur in hand, ready to go.

  So Elias didn’t.

  He just nodded, lifted EJ into his arms, and walked out.

  Just like that.

  Gone again.

  I closed the door and leaned my forehead against the wood.

  I hated him.

  I hated the way he never fully let me go—even when he wasn’t holding on.

  But worst of all—

  I hated that I still loved him anyway.

  Can you blame me?