Chapter 105: Hundred and Five

By the time Friday came around, I was fraying at the edges. It was like I was having a continuous panic attack. Every small sound at work startled me. Every single knock at the door, every step in the hallway made my stomach tighten as if Declan would suddenly appear, eyes sharp, ready to ask the question I wasn’t prepared to answer.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he moved like a shadow at the periphery of my days. I’d catch glimpses of him, his tall frame across the office courtyard, his profile in a meeting room window, the low rumble of his voice in the corridor. Each time, my body reacted before my mind could rein it in: pulse quickening, breath shallow, memories crashing into me uninvited.

And worse than his presence was his silence. He wasn’t avoiding me, not really. I knew he was biding his time. I could feel it, like static in the air. Declan was never one to forget, never one to let go without answers.

And I knew, even though I had been so firm with him that day, he wouldn’t stop digging till he had the satisfaction.

At lunch, I sat with my colleague May, forcing down bites of salad I could barely taste. She chatted about a conference paper she was submitting, words flowing easily, but my attention snagged on movement behind her shoulder.

Declan.

He was walking past the glass wall of the cafeteria, phone in hand, expression unreadable. He didn’t look inside, didn’t even glance my way. But the sheer act of seeing him pulled the ground from under me.

“You okay?” May asked, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Just… not hungry.”

She studied me for a beat longer, then let it go. But my hands trembled as I set my fork down.

That evening, when I picked Noah up, he bounded into my arms, all happiness and motion. His teacher handed me a worksheet covered in shaky letters and stickers, praising his improvement. I smiled, thanked her, did all the right things. But inside, the question he’d asked earlier in the week - why don’t I look like Daddy? - was still lodged in me like a shard.

At home, Jacob was already there, stretched out on the couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. He barely looked up when we came in.

“Hey,” I said softly, setting my bag down. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” His eyes stayed on the screen.

Noah plopped onto the floor with his toy dinosaurs, immediately staging a battle between T-Rex and Stegosaurus. His shrieks filled the room, masking the silence that grew every single day between Jacob and me.

I busied myself in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, stirring rice, anything to keep moving. I could feel Jacob’s distance like a wall, and I hated how normal it was beginning to feel.

Later, after Noah was in bed, I sat at the dining table with my laptop open, trying to finish a report. But the words on the screen blurred, my mind circling the same relentless loop: what if Declan already knows? What if he’s just waiting for proof?

The thought made me nauseous. Because the truth wasn’t just mine anymore, it was Noah’s. His entire sense of identity hung in the balance.

I closed the laptop and pressed my hands over my face. My heart thudded, heavy and erratic.

When I finally looked up, Jacob was standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’ve been distracted all week,” he said flatly. “What’s going on with you?”

I forced my expression into something neutral. “Work’s been stressful. That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed, searching mine. For a second, I thought he would push harder, demand answers. But he just shook his head, muttered something under his breath, and walked away.

Relief and shame tangled inside me, leaving me raw.

That night, I dreamed of Declan.

Not the version from years ago, not the man who had once held me under summer skies and whispered promises we both knew we couldn’t keep. But the man he was now. Older, sharper, with some sort of sadness etched into his features.

In the dream, he stood in Noah’s room, staring at the sleeping child with an expression so devastatingly tender it broke me in two. When he turned to me, his eyes were wet, his voice rough. Why didn’t you tell me?

I woke with tears on my cheeks, my chest heaving. Beside me, Jacob slept on, oblivious.

Saturday morning came with rain, steady and relentless. Noah pressed his face to the window, narrating an elaborate story about dinosaurs surviving a flood. I listened, smiling when I could, but my nerves thrummed with every roll of thunder.

When my phone buzzed on the counter, I jumped.

It wasn’t Declan. Just a reminder email from work.

But the fear that it could have been him calling, texting, demanding the truth, left me shaky.

By evening, the storm had cleared. Jacob had gone out to have drinks a friend, leaving Noah and me to our little rituals. We made popcorn, curled up on the couch, watched a cartoon.

Halfway through, Noah rested his head against my arm and sighed. “Mommy? Are you sad?”

The question nearly undid me.

“No,” I lied softly, brushing his hair back. “I’m right here with you. That makes me happy.”

He studied me with solemn eyes, then nodded, satisfied. Within minutes, he was asleep, small and warm against me.

I sat there long after, staring at the shadows from the cartoon show flickering across the walls, my heart aching.

Because the truth was coming. I could feel it pressing closer, inevitable as the tide. Declan wouldn’t stay silent forever.

And when he finally stepped into the light of it, when he looked at me with the weight of everything I had hidden, I didn’t know if I’d be able to survive it.