Chapter 104: Hundred and Four

The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across my bedroom floor. I lay there for a few minutes longer than I should have, watching the corner of the room as it was lit up in the glow of the sun. It was quiet. Jacob had already left for the gym, and the only sound was Noah singing to himself in the next room.

For a moment, I let myself breathe. Pretend. Pretend that everything was steady, that last night hadn’t happened, that I wasn’t holding a secret like a live wire under my skin.

“Mommy!” Noah’s voice rang out, bright and demanding. “Can I wear my dinosaur shirt today?”

I smiled despite myself, rolling out of bed. “Only if you roar every time someone looks at you,” I called back.

When I stepped into his room, he was already half-dressed, the little green shirt with the cartoon T-Rex pulled down over his head, sticking awkwardly against his hair. His arms flailed like he was drowning in fabric, and I had to stifle a laugh as I helped him tug it the rest of the way.

“There,” I said, straightening the shirt. “The scariest dinosaur in the whole city.”

He grinned up at me, cheeks round, eyes bright. My beautiful baby. He didn’t know the mess I was carrying. He didn’t know the man who kept reappearing in our lives. He could change everything in Noah’s life too. He was so young, my Noah. So sweet. I had tried my best to give him the best childhood I could. All he knew was dinosaurs, peanut butter sandwiches, bedtime stories. I wanted to keep it that way.

The day unfolded like it always did. Breakfast had Noah insisting his toast looked like a shark; the scramble of packing his bag; the walk to school, his small hand swinging in mine.

When I left him at the classroom door, he waved with exaggerated seriousness, like a tiny businessman going off to important meetings. “Bye, Mommy. Don’t forget to get me today.”

I kissed his head. “I wouldn’t forget for anything.”

At work, I forced myself into routine. Emails, calls, progress reports on the nonprofit’s latest project. My colleagues chatted about weekend plans, the latest movie releases. I nodded, smiled, pretended my heart wasn’t still catching whenever I thought of Declan’s face.

I hadn’t seen him today. Maybe I wouldn’t at all. Relief prickled through me, though it carried guilt too. I had told Jacob, with all the conviction I could muster, that Declan meant nothing. That what happened was a mistake. And I had told myself that it was all a mistake. The kiss. The casual flirting.  But conviction didn’t erase the heat of memory, and I hated myself for it.

Jacob’s texts were curt when they came. Just updates about work, nothing more. No warmth. No teasing. Just clipped words that told me he was still angry, still circling in suspicion. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to go home and cook dinner, to talk to him about anything but Declan, to be the couple we used to be.

That evening, I tried. I picked Noah up from school, we stopped for ice cream, we drove home slowly under the dark sky. His laughter was a balm to my pain, chasing away the heaviness. At home, I made fish, set the table, put on the playlist Jacob liked while I stirred the sauce.

When he walked in, he paused at the doorway, briefcase in hand. His eyes flicked from me to Noah, then to the table. “You didn’t have to,” he said, voice flat.

“I wanted to,” I replied softly.

Dinner passed quietly. Too quietly. Noah filled the silence with chatter about dinosaurs and spelling tests, but Jacob barely looked at me. I tried to catch his gaze, but when I did, it was sharp, searching.

Later, when Noah was in bed, Jacob and I sat in the living room, the glow of the lamp painting everything in amber. I shifted closer, rested my hand on his arm. “I don’t want us to fight anymore.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either. “Then don’t give me reasons to.”

The words stung, even though I knew they were coming. I swallowed hard, blinking fast. “I’m trying. I’m here. With you.”

He said nothing, and in the silence, the ache in my chest grew heavier.

That night, I tucked Noah in. He wriggled under the blankets, clutching his stuffed bear. “Mommy,” he whispered, sleep already tugging at his voice, “how come I don’t look like Daddy?”

The question sliced through me. My heart stopped, then thudded painfully back to life.

“You do,” I said quickly, brushing hair from his forehead. “You’ve got his smile.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “But my eyes are different.”

Children notice everything. Their honesty is sharp, unfiltered. I kissed his cheek, hoping it was enough to quiet him. “You’re perfect the way you are. That’s what matters.”

He yawned, already letting it go. But I couldn’t. His words stuck in my chest long after he drifted to sleep. He would ask more questions as he grew up. How long could I keep this up?

I crawled into bed beside Jacob, who was already turned away from me, his back stiff. I stared at the ceiling in the dark, trying to memorize the sound of Noah’s even breathing down the hall, the steadiness of the house around me.

This was supposed to be normal. A family. Safe.

But the cracks were there now. Jacob’s distrust, Noah’s questions, Declan’s shadow pressing closer every day. I could feel it in my bones: the life I had built was trembling.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it from collapsing.

Or if I even wanted to.