Chapter 206 075
DINNER had been unexpectedly warm.
Not extravagant, not formal. Just warm and simple.
The long dining table that usually felt too large for three now felt comfortably filled, Adrian at the head, the twins on either side, George seated modestly toward the end, and Wendy beside her father.
Conversation flowed easily.
Gabriel had been the first to break the ice.
“So, Wendy,” he began, sitting straighter than usual, “what grade are you in?”
Wendy smiled politely. “Fourth.”
Gaddiel’s eyes widened.
“You are older than us.”
“By a year,” she replied playfully.
“That explains why you look… you know…” Gabriel trailed off.
“Like what?” Wendy asked, amused.
“Like you know more things,” Gaddiel jumped in quickly, trying to recover the moment.
Adrian raised a brow.
“More things?”
Gabriel nodded very seriously.
“Important things.”
George cleared his throat to hide a chuckle.
Wendy simply laughed softly.
“I’m not sure about that.”
The meal had been simple but comforting— roasted chicken with herb gravy, buttered green beans, soft dinner rolls, and creamy mashed potatoes. Lemonade for the boys. Sparkling water for Adrian. George and Wendy had taken the same.
At one point, Gaddiel had leaned toward Wendy and whispered, not quietly enough though, “Do you like soccer?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Gabriel straightened immediately.
“I play striker.”
“I’m better,” Gaddiel countered.
Adrian shook his head, hiding his smile as he cut into his chicken.
“Eat your food.”
Wendy’s laughter had lingered softly around the table like music.
And the twins had been gone ever since.
Now, upstairs in their bedroom, the boys sat on their respective beds— facing each other, legs crossed, still riding the emotional high of the evening.
Gabriel flopped back against his pillows.
“She is the prettiest girl I have ever seen.”
Gaddiel gasped.
“That is what I was going to say!”
“Well, I said it first,” Gabriel replied smugly.
“That doesn’t count. I was thinking it first.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“I can too!”
Gabriel sat up again.
“Did you see her smile?”
“Yes!” Gaddiel shot back quickly. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she laughs.”
Gabriel froze. “I noticed that too.”
They stared at each other.
Silence.
Then simultaneously—
“She smiled at me more.”
“She asked me more questions.”
Gabriel pointed accusingly.
“She looked at me when she talked.”
“No, she didn’t. She looked at both of us.”
“But more at me.”
“You are imagining things.”
“I’m not!”
Gaddiel slid off his bed and marched closer.
“Listen. Since I’m younger by two minutes, that means I deserve her more.”
Gabriel’s jaw dropped.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does! People always say you should let the younger one have things.”
“That is for toys!”
“She is not a toy!”
“I know that!”
They paused again.
Gabriel narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Are you saying you like her?”
Gaddiel folded his arms defensively.
“Maybe.”
Gabriel mirrored him.
“Well… maybe I do too.”
The air shifted.
Playful tension.
“So what are we going to do?” Gaddiel asked suspiciously.
Gabriel thought for a second, then declared confidently, “We will let her choose.”
Gaddiel’s mouth fell open.
“Choose? What if she chooses you?”
Gabriel grinned.
“Then you will have to accept defeat.”
“Oh no. No way.”
“Yes way.”
“I’m telling Dad.”
“You can’t tell Dad!”
Before the argument could escalate further, the door clicked open.
Both boys froze mid-glare.
Standing in the doorway was their father.
His arms were folded loosely across his chest, expression unreadable but calm.
The twins slowly turned their heads toward him like synchronized robots caught in the middle of mischief.
“Dad…” Gabriel said cautiously.
Adrian stepped into the room.
The boys straightened instantly on their beds, sitting properly as though they had been discussing homework.
Adrian’s gaze moved from one twin to the other.
And neither dared to speak.
“Haven’t you two slept? Tomorrow is school,” Adrian said, raising a brow as he stepped fully into the room.
Gabriel cleared his throat quickly.
“We were just… talking.”
“Important matters,” Gaddiel added with a nod that was far too serious for his age.
Adrian crossed his arms.
“Important matters at nine-thirty at night?”
The twins exchanged a glance.
“It couldn’t wait till morning,” Gabriel muttered.
Adrian sighed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Well, whatever it is, it can definitely wait. You both need sleep. First full school day tomorrow.”
“We know, Dad,” Gaddiel said, sliding under his covers.
Gabriel followed suit but added,
“We are not nervous or anything.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But we are not,” Gaddiel insisted.
Adrian shook his head lightly.
“I’m glad to hear it. Now lie down properly.”
They obeyed this time without argument.
Adrian walked first to Gabriel’s bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin.
“Alarm is set for six-thirty. George will have breakfast ready before you leave.”
“Okay.”
Then he moved to Gaddiel, smoothing a hand over his son’s hair.
“No racing down the stairs in the morning.”
Gaddiel grinned sheepishly.
“No promises.”
Adrian leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Promise.”
“…Promise.”
He straightened, then moved back to Gabriel and kissed his forehead too.
“Goodnight, boys.”
“Goodnight, Dad,” they chorused.
He walked to the switch and turned off the lights. The room fell into soft darkness, only the faint glow of the hallway light stretching briefly across the carpet before the door clicked shut.
Inside the quiet room, the twins shifted once or twice, whispering a final hushed, “Goodnight,” to each other before stillness settled.
But Adrian did not carry that same stillness with him.
As he walked back to his room, the mask he had worn downstairs slowly slipped away.
His shoulders sagged.
The smile faded.
The house, though full, felt empty.
He closed his bedroom door behind him and stood there for a moment in the dim light, staring at nothing. The silence pressed against him. It was always worse at night.
He took off the polo on him slowly, mechanically, and draped it over the chair, he was now on a singlet. His movements were practiced, more like routine, the routine of a man who had learned to keep functioning even when something inside him had cracked.
He walked to the closet.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he slid the door open and reached toward the upper compartment at the back— the one he rarely touched.
He shifted a stack of old documents aside and pulled out a small envelope.
His fingers tightened slightly around it before he withdrew a photograph.
Amelia.
It was an old picture. Not posed. Not formal. She had been laughing at something, head slightly tilted back, eyes half closed, sunlight catching in her hair. It had been taken on a random afternoon years ago.
Before everything fell apart.
Adrian sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
He traced the edge of the photograph with his thumb.
“I was a fool,” he murmured to the empty room.
His jaw tightened.
He had convinced himself he could manage everything, pride, ego, distractions. He had believed he wouldn’t lose her. That she would always stay.
But he had been wrong.
He leaned back against the headboard, staring at her image as if it might move, as if she might step out of it and speak to him the way she used to.
He remembered her voice in the mornings.
The way she would scold him for skipping breakfast.
The way she would look at him when she was disappointed, not angry, just disappointed.
That look haunted him more than anything.
His throat tightened.
Carefully, almost reverently, he lay down on his side, still holding the picture. He pulled it closer to his chest, as though proximity could somehow shrink the distance between them.
“I would fix it if I could,” he whispered into the quiet. “I would.”
But regret had no time machine.
The house remained silent.
After a while, exhaustion overtook him— not peaceful rest, but the heavy, defeated kind. His grip on the photograph remained firm even as his breathing slowed.
Adrian finally drifted into sleep, Amelia’s smiling face pressed against his heart, clinging to a memory he could maybe reclaim.