Page 14

The guilt slams into me like a gut-punch.

I pull back.

Kieran’s hand slips from mine. His face twists, not in confusion, but in something closer to heartbreak.

And then the world shatters.

The lights above explode into streaks. The music warps, distorting into static. The air grows too thick to breathe. I try to call his name, but no sound comes.

The ground gives out beneath me, and I fall. Wind screams past me. My body is weightless. Helpless. Hurtling downward like I shouldn’t have landed in this moment.

And then I wake.

Heart thrashing. Drenched in sweat and shame. My body jolts upright in bed, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

The room is still.

Quiet.

The darkness is thick, like it hasn’t decided whether to hold me or smother me.

The dream clings to me. My skin buzzes. Every nerve lit up like it still remembers how I felt that night.

I glance at the clock. 2:27 a.m.

The other side of the bed is empty.

I push the covers back and slide out, my feet hitting the cold floor with a quiet thud. For a moment, I just stand there in the hallway, listening to the stillness.

Then I see it. The faint glow of light beneath the door at the end of the hallway. David’s study.

I move before I can think better of it. Light steps. Bare feet. Hands loose at my sides.

The door creaks slightly as I ease it open. And there he is. Hunched over the desk. Back to me. Hands pressed to his temples like the weight of the world lives there. The screen’s glow casts long shadows across the room, painting everything in pale, flickering blue.

I follow his gaze straight to the monitor.

That familiar layout. That sickening rhythm.

My chest tightens.

He promised. Swore , actually, after the last time. Said he was done. Said he was different now.

And here he is.

Again .

The morning light cuts through the curtains, sharp and cold, painting fractured lines across the floor like cracks.

The house is silent, but not peacefully so.

It’s the quiet that hums with tension, like the air is waiting for something to snap.

My chest feels tight. My stomach is hollow.

Every breath I take feels like it has to sneak in.

When I get downstairs, David’s already at the kitchen table.

Head bowed over his phone, scrolling with that detached focus he always has when he’s avoiding reality.

He doesn’t look up. But he doesn’t need to.

The tension hangs thick and sour in the air, twisting like a storm cloud waiting for the strike.

I sit across from him, fingers gripping my knees to stop the tremble. My pulse is loud in my ears, fast and uneven. I swallow, forcing my voice to steady. “David… can we talk?”

He glances up, briefly. A flicker of something, then gone. Replaced by that calm, careful expression I know too well. “Sure, babe. What’s up?”

I open my mouth. Close it again. My fingers twitch in my lap. The words are there, coiled and ready, but I can’t seem to push them out.

“Last night…” I begin. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I saw the light in your study, I just…” I trail off.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches me. Quiet. Waiting.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I try again. “The light was on, and I…”

David sighs. Soft, but it lands like a slap. He sets his phone down slowly. Deliberately. Like I’ve already accused him. Like I crossed a line.

“Ellie,” he says, voice low. “Why don’t you just man the fuck up and say it?”

My heart drops.

He leans back in his chair, arms folding. His jaw clenches, and his eyes cut straight through me. “You think I was gambling.”

The words land with a thud. He said it, not me. But it feels worse that way. Like I’ve confessed to something unforgivable without ever opening my mouth.

They scrape against something fragile inside me. Guilt. Or fear. Or that small, quiet voice that’s been growing louder lately. The one that’s wondering if I do know the difference. If maybe I’m not just being paranoid.

I want to defend myself. Say, I didn’t mean it like that . But maybe I did.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Another blow. Not because he’s right, but because he sounds right. Wounded. Reasonable.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just. I saw…”

“You saw what?” His voice sharpens. “You wake up, see a light on, and that’s your first thought? That I’m gambling again?” He laughs, dry and humourless, as he shakes his head. “Jesus, Ellie. Do you even hear yourself?”

I flinch. His tone is calm, but it’s laced with something venomous. He looks at me like I’ve betrayed him. Like I’ve attacked him.

Maybe I have? When he puts it like that. Have I crossed a line?

“But—”

His hand slams down on the table—sharp, sudden, loud.

The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot, rattling the edge of my nerves.

I flinch, instinctively.

“I wasn’t gambling!” he shouts. “I was working . Something urgent came up. You know my job doesn’t just clock out at five, right? Half the time I’m pulling strings when you’re fast asleep.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” I say, too fast, trying to diffuse the situation. “I just… it felt like before, and I panicked. I thought I saw?—”

He cuts me off. “Before. Right. Because none of it matters. Nothing I do now counts. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, how hard I’ve worked. You still think I’m that guy.”

My gut twists. I cross my arms around myself, holding tight. And just like that, the doubt slips in. Sharp-edged. Unwelcome. But familiar.

What if I’m wrong?

What if I just saw what I was expecting to see?

David exhales through his nose and rakes a hand through his hair, like he’s the one who’s hurt. Like I’m the one making this hard.

“I’ve done everything for this family,” he says. “For you. For Mia. And I still have to defend myself every time you let your imagination run wild.”

His eyes find mine. Cold. Frustrated. “Do you really think I want to be up late in that office instead of lying in bed next to you? You think I enjoy this, Ellie? Someone has to keep this life going. Someone has to provide. Especially since you’re not exactly bringing much in right now.”

There it is. Slipped in neat and quiet, like it’s just a fact, not a jab. Like I’m the charity case in my own home.

And sure, technically, he’s not wrong. I’m not earning, not really.

Just a student nurse with a mountain of debt, scraping by on student loans that barely cover the mortgage and a box of tampons.

But the way he says it? Like my ambition’s a burden.

Like I should be grateful he hasn’t handed me a bloody invoice.

My breath catches then, and the guilt creeps in like smoke.

He has been better. Working more. And maybe I am the one who can’t let it go. The one who keeps dragging us back into old patterns.

“I wasn’t trying to start a fight,” I whisper.

David leans back, sighing like he’s made peace with a tantrum. “I know,” he says, softer now. “But Ellie, you’ve got to trust me. We have a good thing. You, me, Mia. We’re building something here. But every time you pull this shit? Every time you doubt me? That’s what breaks it. Not me. You .”

The words sting. Sharp and heavy. My throat tightens, but I say nothing. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe I am the problem.

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. His grip is firm. Steady. Like a lifeline. Like he’s already forgiven me.

“I love you, Ellie. I love Mia. But you’ve got to stop making up problems that don’t exist. Let me prove I’m not that guy anymore, without turning it into a war every time.”

I nod, numb. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll… do better.”

His lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. “That’s all I ask, baby.”

The tightness in my chest doesn’t leave. It just sinks deeper and heavier.

Not because I believe him. But because, once again, I tell myself this is my fault. That I’m the one who’s in the wrong.

Even if some small, aching part of me is finally wondering…

What if I’m not?