Hundred and Seventy One
Hundred and Seventy One
For the next few days, I couldn’t stop seeing it. The scene would replay in my head every time I looked at Noah.
The way that woman had darted to Noah. The way Noah’s face had gone still, the way he had asked if this would happen again.
It replayed in my mind on a loop, always ending with that woman’s voice echoing in my head: “Declan Ashwell’s secret son…” And then Noah’s face would come to my mind. Would he always be known as this? Would this sordid gossip follow him all his life?
Every time, to the thought of that, my stomach twisted.
Declan was trying to move forward. I knew he was trying, but I still felt this strange anxiety whenever he was near me.
After all, it was his mother who was behind all this.
The moment I told him, he threw himself into damage control, making phone calls, talking to lawyers, contacting publicists. He had enlisted a bodyguard to follow Noah around discreetly.
Declan was everywhere and nowhere, pacing the house with his phone glued to his ear, his anger palpable every single second.
I, on the other hand, shut down.
I still went to work. I still packed Noah’s lunch and checked his homework. But something in me closed off, a quiet, invisible wall that even Declan couldn’t scale.
At dinner, I smiled when Noah told stories about school, but my laughs were mechanical, too light, too careful. Declan noticed. He always noticed.
He’d reach for my hand under the table, and I’d find an excuse to get up for water.
He’d try to meet my eyes, and I’d busy myself with clearing plates.
That first night after the incident, I told myself I just needed time. By the third, I wasn’t sure time would fix anything at all.
On the fourth evening, Noah went to bed early. Declan and I were left alone in the dim light of the kitchen. I stood at the sink, drying dishes.
He leaned against the counter, watching me dry a plate I’d already wiped three times. “You’ve barely looked at me in three days.”
“I’ve been tired,” I said quietly, still avoiding his gaze. “And busy.”
He let out a low, humorless laugh. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I set the plate down too hard. “Declan, let’s not do this tonight.”
“Yes, we’ll do this tonight.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge under it. He rarely ever directed this anger toward me, so this voice sent a chill down my spine. “You’re shutting
me out. You think I don’t see it, but I do. You flinch when I touch you. You barely talk to me.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come out. He was right.
He stepped closer. “Talk to me, Willow.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“How about the truth?”
The exhaustion in his tone hurt more than anger would have.
I looked up at him. The sight of his face almost undid me. His sleeves were rolled up, there were dark circles under his eyes, worry written all over his face. This man who’d fought for me,
for Noah, for us, and I couldn’t even give him reassurance.
My throat felt tight. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened at the school,” I said finally. “About how easily it could happen again. How your world, it isn’t built for people like us. And I am worried Noah will be hurt in this process.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not my world, it’s ours.”
I shook my head. “No, Declan. It’s yours. And now it’s hurting Noah.”
He stared at me, disbelief flickering across his face. “You think this is about money? Status? Willow, this is about control. And I won’t let her control us. Noah is my son, too. I love him. I’m going to protect him. He’ll get used to this ‘world’,” he breathed, “Some extra money never hurt a child, Willow.”
“But she already is,” I whispered. “Emma, the press, the headlines, they’re in his head. Noah’s caught in the middle of a mess I made.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “I told you, I’ll look into this. I have people working on it.”
“I don’t want your people,” I snapped, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I want peace, Declan. I want normal. I want my son to go to school without cameras in his face. I want to stop wondering what headline he’s going to read about himself when he’s ten. I want to stop worrying about him Google-ing his own name.”
He looked gutted. “You think I don’t want that too?”
“I think you don’t understand what it costs,” I said, voice trembling. “You can afford lawyers and PR. I can’t afford to lose him.”
Silence.
He stared at me for a long time, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “We’re not going to lose him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve already lost too much. I’m not losing you or him. Not now.”
Something in his tone cracked me open, but I couldn’t stop the fear that had already taken root.
“Maybe Noah would be safer,” I said quietly, “without me dragging him through this mess.”
The look that flashed on Declan’s face was pure devastation.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare make it sound like you’re the problem.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “I just…”
“No.” His voice rose, loud and authoritative. “You don’t get to decide that. Not alone. You don’t get to give up because it’s hard. I told you I’d handle this. I told you to trust me.”
Trust.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I was so tired of watching the world chip away at everything I loved.
I turned away, blinking hard. “I can’t do this tonight.”
He let out a sharp breath, the kind that sounds like it hurts. For a moment, I thought he’d say something else. Instead, he just nodded once.
“Fine,” he said, voice flat. “Don’t.”
He left the kitchen without looking back. The sound of his footsteps down the hall, the quiet click of the guest room door closing. It was deafening.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the sheets cold and untouched on his side.
The house felt too big. Too still.
Because all I could think was: I’d wanted stability for so long. And now that I had it, I was the one tearing it apart.
I pressed my hand to my chest, as if that could keep the pieces from falling any further.
In the silence, I whispered, “Please, just let him be safe.”