Chapter 123: Hundred and Twenty Three

The retreat had only been two days. Two days away from home, away from Jacob, and it had felt like I could finally breathe. For a moment, I let myself believe that the air wouldn’t change once I returned, that maybe, just maybe, things would slip back into routine without consequence.

But Jacob noticed everything.

Since the retreat, he’d been even more suspicious of everything.

I’d be in the kitchen rinsing fruit, and I’d feel his stare from across the room, making the hair on the back of my neck raise. He didn’t ask how the trip had gone, didn’t ask if I was tired, and didn’t ask about my sprained ankle at all.

Instead, he was always circling me about the same things. “Who did you sit with during meals?”

I blinked at him, startled, an apple still in my hand. “What?”

“At the retreat,” he pressed. “Who did you sit with?”

I forced a smile, hoping to diffuse the tension already building. “Different people. We were in groups half the time.”

He hummed, but it wasn’t agreement.

The questions didn’t stop there. They grew more precise, more invasive.

“What did you talk about in the sessions?”

“Why do you keep smiling to yourself when you think I’m not looking?”

“Why did it take you so long to get down from the bus?”

I answered carefully, evenly, as though I could soothe the paranoia into silence. But no explanation ever satisfied him. He pressed until I felt cornered, like no matter what I said, he had already decided the verdict.

The worst was my phone.

Once, I walked into the living room and found him scrolling through it, his thumb flicking through my texts like he had every right. He didn’t even look guilty. When he finally set it down, he didn’t meet my eyes.

“You’ve been… distracted lately,” he said, his tone sharp, accusing. “Ungrateful, too. You don’t even realize what I do for you. For Noah.”

Ungrateful. The word cut deeper than he knew. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, forcing myself not to react. Because if I snapped back, if I dared to meet fire with fire, it would only grow.

So I nodded, murmured soft reassurances. I had to keep the peace.

For Noah’s sake. Always for Noah.

But inside, it felt like the walls were closing in. Each day the house shrank smaller, tighter, until it was hard to breathe. I’d catch myself pausing at the window, looking out like there was something beyond the glass that could save me if I just stepped through.

That night, after Noah was asleep and Jacob retreated to his study, my phone buzzed under my pillow. My heart stuttered as I pulled it out.

A single message.

Declan: Did you get home safe?

Four words. That was all. And still, my chest ached.

I stared at the screen, at the small rectangle of light in the dark room, and wanted to cry at the simplicity of it. I wanted to answer. I wanted to say yes, to thank him, to tell him how those words wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t know I’d been missing.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. Just one word. One emoji. Something.

Instead, I locked the phone and shoved it back under the pillow, my pulse hammering. Even silence felt dangerous.

The next evening, the three of us sat around the table. Dinner was quiet. Jacob was chewing mechanically, his eyes darting to me every few seconds, while I kept my gaze fixed on Noah’s little hands as he tried to balance peas on his spoon.

“Mommy?” Noah asked suddenly, his small voice breaking the silence.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I forced brightness into my tone.

He looked between me and Jacob, his little brow furrowed in thought. “Why can’t we all be together?”

My stomach dropped. The spoon slipped from my hand, clattering softly against the plate. “What do you mean, love?”

He smiled innocently, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “You, me, Daddy… and the man from the bus. The nice man. He looks really sad, all the time.”

The room froze.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t. My heart thrashed against my ribs as I turned, slowly, to Jacob.

His face had gone still. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his eyes narrowing to slits. He didn’t say a word, but the silence between us screamed louder than any outburst could have.

I forced a laugh, brushing Noah’s hair back, my hand trembling. “That’s not how families work, baby.” My voice wavered, just barely, but enough.

Noah frowned, confused, before happily returning to his peas.

But Jacob never touched his food. He sat there, staring down at his plate, his knuckles white around the fork. I could feel the anger radiating off him like heat, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And I sat across from him, every nerve in my body on edge, knowing something had shifted.

That night, I lay awake long after Noah had drifted into soft, steady breaths beside me. Jacob was downstairs still, pacing the length of the living room, the sound of his footsteps carrying through the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I clutched the phone under my pillow, the unanswered message still sitting there. Four words. Did you get home safe?

It should have been nothing.

And I realized, with a shiver, that what scared me most wasn’t Jacob’s suspicion. It was how desperately I wanted to answer.

How desperately I wanted that love to belong to me.