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A ngie was taken in, but it wasn’t long before her family’s wealth and influence came into play. Just one of the many perks of having a filthy rich dad who came from old money.

Within a day, she posted bail and was free.

I envisioned her striding out of the jail with a smug expression plastered on her face. I feared she would be a true agent of chaos after her brief incarceration, and it did not take her long to turn my fears into reality.

I was in the backyard with Rufus, who was finally showing signs of recovery, his limp disappearing as he trotted around the yard. Charlie had done a good job.

Sloane came to the back door with an envelope in her hand.

Moving toward her I asked, “What is it?”

She was pale and I saw the envelope was addressed to her in neat handwriting. She looked into my eyes and there was the shadow of fear upon her face. She handed it to me without a word .

I opened it to find a short note inside; far too short to contain all of the hatred and jealousy Angie had festering within her. But the message was clear:

He is mine, Sloane. He always was and he always will be. You'll pay for stealing him.

M y throat tightened. I wanted to destroy the paper in my hands, throw it into a fire and watch it burn. But something about this note? It felt like an omen. Angie was planning something dark, something sinister.

Sloane’s eyes were cold. A look of quiet resolve settled over her face. “She’s not going to stop, is she?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She isn't.”

We didn’t talk about it further. There was nothing left to say.

I called Detective Harlan, who arrived wearing an N95 mask that barely hid the weariness etched into his face. The tension in the air was thick, not just from Angie’s escalation, but from the suffocating reality settling over the world as the pandemic began to sink its claws in.

He took the note as evidence with gloved hands, nodded solemnly, and assured us that the paperwork for new warrants was being processed.

“Once the judge sees this, it’ll be clear this woman is a threat and issue a permanent TPO,” he said, voice muffled by the mask. “It’s only a matter of time."

I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t shake the sense that time was the one thing we were running out of.

Over the course of the following week, life felt as if it were on the edge of shattering again, but this time the tension came from a different place.

I’d kept my head down, to focus on repairing what was broken around the house and pushing away the fear that Angie might come back to hurt us in some other way.

While Rufus had been given the greenlight to come home, he still needed daily visits from a veterinarian, which would have been difficult given the pandemic and shutdowns.

However, Considerate Charlie, ever the professional, had offered home visits for his closest patients.

And since we were only ten minutes away from the clinic?

Charlie had been in and out of the house every day that week.

On the surface it was to check in on Rufus’s recovery. But each visit lasted a little longer than the previous one, and led to more frequent and deeper conversations between him and Sloane.

That would have made me uncomfortable on its own, but it was the added fact that Rufus's cancer treatment was being fully paid for by Charlie's nonprofit. He didn't have to do that; he knew he didn't have to. Anybody who took a single glance at our home would recognize we weren't hurting for money.

Then there was the nonprofit itself, funded by Charlie's lucky investments.

It ate at me that I had either forgotten entirely, or possibly was never even aware, that the man had his own nonprofit in my previous life.

It was a painful reminder of just how little the Old Me noticed anyone or anything that did not directly benefit or hinder his daily life.

Yet despite all of those unsettling pieces, the part that caused me the most unease was that first visit when Charlie came to check on Rufus.

I'd opened the door to let him in, and his composed mask of confident competence cracked a fraction; he was shocked, perhaps crestfallen, to see me standing in the house I had built. I knew Sloane had told him about our separation, but it was apparent she hadn't mentioned I'd moved back in .

That first visit, he sat down with me and Sloane to talk through Rufus's treatment plan, and ensure we didn't have any questions.

During our conversation, Sloane asked if I could grab pen and paper from my room.

When I returned, I saw the realization sparkle in his eyes and the ever so subtle upturn of a smile; he knew I wasn't sleeping in the master bedroom.

The man's face was almost unreadable, but there was a hungry hope there that never left my mind.

Despite the obviously tense situation, he and I remained cordial.

After that first week, with Rufus nearly recovered from his initial injury, Charlie’s visits grew sparse.

He came less frequently, only popping in a few more times for check-ups.

Until one day when he showed up at the front door with a different look on his face.

It was subtle, but it was there… a shift in his demeanor.

There was something in his eyes, something more certain, more intentional.

When I opened the door to him that afternoon, he didn’t offer his usual easy smile. Instead, his gaze was firm, calculating, as if he’d made up his mind about something. It was disarming, and elevated the tension between us.

“Levi… how is Rufus holding up?”

“Better,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral. I held the door open for him, trying to appear welcoming. “A little more energy, but still on the mend.”

He nodded as he stepped inside, but he lingered in the doorway… almost as if assessing the space between us. He studied me for a moment before he spoke again, his voice lower this time.

When he spoke next, his tone was casual, but there was an edge beneath it. “You know, I have been thinking about a few things. About you and Sloane. ”

I froze, my fingers clutching the front door knob as every muscle in my body turned rigid. “What about us?”

His eyes narrowed. “Sloane told me what you did."

Bullshit. Sloane isn't the type to gossip about our problems.

But I knew he was telling the truth. This was the man she married in my previous life, the man she grew to love and trust. That relationship did not start in a vacuum; it started with her sharing the parts of herself with him that she felt she couldn't share with anyone else.

I took a deep breath before I said, "And?"

"And I know you are trying to do the right thing this time. But the truth is, I have seen the way things are between you two. We both know how this plays out-"

You don't know shit, buddy.

"So do you agree that you should do what is best for Sloane?"

My face was a furnace as I clenched the doorknob. I wanted to rip the front door from its hinges and beat the smug prick with it.

Instead I asked, "I suppose you know what's best for Sloane?"

He shook his head. "No, Levi. Only Sloane knows what is best for Sloane. I am asking you… are you capable of allowing her to decide what that is?"

Sloane came up behind me, her voice full of surprise and warmth. “Charlie!” She greeted him like an old friend, her tone inviting and genuine.

I excused myself with a slight nod and stepped into the kitchen to busy my hands with the dirty dishes. It gave me the distance I needed, allowing me to stay out of their line of sight… but within earshot.

Because eavesdropping on your wife is a great way to rebuild trust, you idiot .

From the kitchen sink, I heard how they interacted with each other; the warmth in her voice, the laughter, the easiness in how she spoke with him.

It was torture, exquisite and unbearable, to hear her laugh at another man's jokes, to accept another man's compliments, and to know there was love kindling there.

It was subtle. Nobody else in the world besides me, or perhaps Sloane's sister Dawn, would have heard it. She had feelings for him.

Charlie, for his part, seemed to understand that he didn’t need to rush her.

He wasn’t pushing or making any overt moves.

He was simply… there. Listening, being present, offering a shoulder without expectation.

I knew he wasn’t trying to force anything; he was patient, giving her space to figure things out on her own.

It gnawed at me, the quiet undercurrent of their interactions.

I sensed the shift in her, the slow pull of something that might turn into more.

And despite how I tried to shut the thoughts out of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Charlie’s patience turned into something more than just friendship.

I didn’t have to wait long.

He cleared his throat. “I was thinking... maybe we could go grab dinner sometime? I know you have been through a lot, but if you are up for it, I’d really like to take you out. No pressure, just... a chance to unwind.”

There was a moment of hesitation before I heard Sloane's reply. “I think I’d like that, Charlie. Thanks.”

Jealousy and anger simmered under my skin.

Don't be a hypocrite, big guy. You did a hell of a lot more than take Angie out for dinner, remember?

I had already done enough damage to Sloane. If she could find solace in someone else, maybe that was the best for her ?

Maybe Charlie was what she needed.

I swallowed hard and focused on the dish in front of me, but I couldn't ignore the cold knot that settled in my stomach.

Rufus padded into the room, sitting down beside me with a low whine, as if he could sense the shift in the air too. I scratched behind his ears, "It's okay boy."

I heard the door close and Sloane’s soft footsteps on the stairs to check on the kids.

I guess she will tell me whenever she's ready.

Later that night, as I sat alone at the kitchen table, silence lorded over the house.

The kids were upstairs, tucked away behind closed doors, their laughter from earlier in the evening already fading into dreams. Rufus was asleep at my feet, tail twitching against the floor.

I stared into a cold cup of coffee I had no intention of drinking.

Sloane came in and stood by the counter for a moment, her arms crossed, a mug clutched in her hands. She looked tired but clearer, too, as if something inside her had settled into place.

“I need to talk to you,” she said softly.

Well fuck. Here goes.

I straightened in the chair. “Okay.”

She didn’t sit next to me and instead stayed by the counter, a safe distance away. “I’d like to go out with Charlie,” she said. “On a date. A real date.”

I stared at her. My teeth clenched hard enough to crack a diamond. I hadn’t prepared for the honesty of it, not like this. She wasn’t asking for permission. She was informing me.

“Good for you, Sloane." I kept my voice light because, in a bizarre and fucked up way, I was happy for her. I knew how difficult this had to be for her, to process these emotions and share her desires with me. I was proud of her.

She cleared her throat. "Did I hear you correctly? Or did you forget to add sarcasm to that?"

I chuckled into my cold coffee. "I know he’s a good man. I can see that about him. It seems you two have a good friendship. He makes you laugh.”

Sloane nodded, her gaze not leaving mine. “That’s not why I said yes. I said yes because I need to know if this,” she gestured vaguely between us, “is something I want to fight for… or something I’m just used to surviving.”

I swallowed. My mouth tasted like ash, "Can you explain more?"

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Levi,” she went on, her voice steady but gentle.

“But I don’t trust this new version of you, this new version of us.

Not yet. I don’t know if what we had can exist anymore without all the hurt in the middle.

And I don't want to feel like I only let you back in because I didn’t want the kids to be without a father. "

“You’re allowed to figure that out,” I said, though god fucking damn it pained me to say it. “You deserve to know what it’s like to be... happy.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t move closer.

“This isn’t about revenge,” she added, “or some weird kinky polygamy plan.”

I blinked. “Well, that’s oddly specific.”

She cracked a small smile. “Just wanted to cover all the bases. In case you thought this was some long game where I show up one day with a boyfriend and a spreadsheet titled ‘Polyamory Pros and Cons.’ ”

“That’d actually be the most organized emotional disaster I’ve ever been part of,” I said, trying to smile through the ache .

She shook her head, the amusement evident in her voice. “This isn’t about making you feel what I felt when you cheated. It’s about finding out if there’s still a version of me that can breathe, without the weight of everything you and I have been through.”

“And… if there isn’t?”

She shrugged. “Then I guess I suffocate quietly in a well-decorated apartment with Charlie and a rescue dog named Peanut Butter.”

I surprised myself with my own laugh; it felt foreign in my throat. “At least name the dog after me if that happens.”

“Only if he is a leg-humper who needs constant validation,” she shot back with a smirk.

Good fucking god, I love this woman.

“Ouch.”

She turned to leave the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. “I’m not shutting the door on us, Levi. But I need to do this.” And with that, she was gone, back into the room we used to share.

I looked down at the table, down at my hands; my thick fingers and scarred knuckles. Those were the hands of a lifelong carpenter, mechanic, mason, builder. Those hands were meant for creating… yet they had destroyed so much.

Some things had to be broken before they could be rebuilt. But damn if it didn't hurt to be the one holding the hammer.

She will come back. You are doing everything you can to prove you are worth coming back to.