The door between us

The door between us

CATHERINA’S POV

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

The silence in Dante’s study pressed against me like a weight. I stood there, arms crossed, back straight, trying not to let the nerves show. The smell of cedar and paper still hung thick in the air. It reminded me of control, his control, and how it always filled the room before his words did.

“I wanted to tell you something,” I began, my voice soft, almost uncertain. “I signed the divorce papers.”

His pen stopped mid-line, but he didn’t look up.

“And,” I continued, “I’m going to William’s. To get the rest of my things.”

For a second, there was nothing. Then his head lifted slowly. His eyes met mine, and then dropped, almost instantly, lingering where they shouldn’t. I saw the way his jaw tightened, how his throat bobbed as if he’d swallowed something sharp.

His gaze flicked away, quick and deliberately.
“You don’t have to,” he said, voice low but firm. “Whatever you left there, I’ll replace. Everything.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the calm in his tone. “You can’t buy closure, Dante.”

He looked to the side, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “It’s not closure. It’s unnecessary risk.”

I took a step forward, my words pushing out before I could stop them. “You think keeping me here, pretending it never happened, will make you heal?”

His brows drew together. “This isn’t about me.”

“It always is.” My voice cracked slightly. I hated that it did. “I just came to tell you what I was doing. You don’t get to decide for me anymore.”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. His gaze lifted again, steady this time, unreadable. “You’re not ready to see him.”

“I didn’t ask for your permission,” I shot back, my tone sharp now. “I came to inform you, not to seek your blessing.”

His eyes darkened, the kind of silence that fills the space right before thunder. But I didn’t wait for him to answer.

I turned on my heel and walked out before the quiet could trap me again.

Outside, I exhaled. My chest felt lighter, though my pulse still raced. Conversations with Dante always ended that way, me angry, him unreadable, and both of us pretending it didn’t hurt.

Downstairs, my mother was waiting at the table again, tea steaming between her hands.
Her eyes lifted as I appeared. “How did it go?”

I forced a small smile. “Fine. He understands.”

It was a lie, of course. Dante never understood anything that wasn’t logical, measured, or wrapped neatly in silence.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” I added, grabbing my bag before she could question me further.

Outside, a sleek black car idled by the curb. Leonardo stood by the driver’s door, his hands tucked in his pockets. It felt strange, having someone drive me. I’d never hired a driver before, but I needed distance from everything today.

He opened the door for me, smirking. “Didn’t think the mighty Miss Catherina would need a chauffeur.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I said, sliding into the back seat. “You’re getting paid to drive, not talk.”

His laugh was quiet, teasing. “Professional and rude. Noted.”

The car rolled forward, the city slowly fading behind us. I tried to focus on the blur of passing trees, but my thoughts kept circling back to Dante’s study, the way he looked at me, then looked away like I burned.

“Where to, ma’am?” Leonardo asked after a moment.

I gave him the address.

He glanced at me through the mirror, eyebrows raised. “That side of town? It’s... not exactly a place for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

He chuckled. “You know, polished. Expensive. The road down there’s all dust and broken fences. You sure you have business with commoners?”

Flattery, I thought. The oldest form of disarmament.
I smiled faintly. “Maybe boundaries are meant to bend a little. Love makes poets of fools and fools of poets.”

He blinked, maybe unsure how to respond. “So... this William guy?”

“I don’t talk about him,” I cut in. My tone was calm but cold enough to end the conversation.

He nodded, wisely falling silent.

The road turned rough after a while. Potholes jolted the car, and the air outside carried the sour smell of rotten cabbages from the nearby market. I stared out the window, watching the neighborhood crumble into fragments of memory and dust.

When we finally stopped in front of the small, familiar gate, my heartbeat slowed.

I stepped out, the chill in the wind brushing against my bare legs. My knuckles rapped lightly on the door, once, twice.

From inside, a voice I hadn’t heard in months drifted through. Calm. Familiar.

“Who’s there?”

I didn’t answer. My throat refused to form the words.

The door opened, and there he was, William.

His gaze swept over me, slow and assessing. I saw the flicker of recognition, then something duller. No spark. No pain. Just polite emptiness.

He smiled faintly. “Catherina. You’re early. Come in. I was just about to have breakfast.”

And just like that, every memory I’d tried to bury came crawling back to the surface.

I almost laughed when I saw him.
He looked… normal. Too normal for someone who’d once sworn I was the only thing that kept him breathing.

“Don’t,” I said quietly before he could speak again. “Don’t put up this act. We’re not friends, William.”

His smile faltered, the warmth in it slipping into something thinner. “Catherina…”

I didn’t let him finish. I pulled the papers from my bag and dropped them on the small table between us. They landed with a soft thud, but the sound was sharp enough to slice through whatever friendliness he was trying to build.

“Those are your copies,” I said. “Signed.”

For a second, something in his eyes flickered, regret maybe. But before he could reach for the papers, a voice drifted from inside the house.

“Will? Who’s at the door?”
It was soft, feminine. Then, almost immediately, “Can you help me with the baby?”

I froze.
The world seemed to still around me.
The door creaked open wider, and the voice found a face.
A woman appeared, barefoot, hair loose and tired but radiant in a way that hurt to look at. In her arms, a baby.

My throat tightened.

The child had William’s eyes. His exact eyes, same shade, same shape. This meant that he had a life outside marriage. He always kept saying how much he hated kids. And now, he had one.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. Every part of me wanted to cry, but the tears didn’t fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

William shifted awkwardly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Kate, uh… could you…”

“Kate,” I repeated softly, tasting the name like something bitter. “You don’t have to go.”

Her brows knit slightly, unsure of what we were discussing.

I forced a smile. “Your baby is beautiful.”

She blinked, almost startled. “Thank you.”

“I’m Catherina,” I added, still smiling. “H…” I paused, thinking of the perfect word. “Someone he used to know.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush the air between us. William’s face drained of color. Kate’s grip tightened protectively around the child.

I turned back to him, my voice calm in the way only anger can be when it’s done breaking. “I’m just here for my things, William. I won’t be long.”

That was when I saw it, my necklace.
The gold one. The one he’d given me the first day we met. It hung around Kate’s neck, glinting faintly in the light like it belonged there.

My stomach twisted.

I met his gaze again, and this time I didn’t look away.
He did.

“I see you found good use for everything I left
behind,” I said quietly. “At least something still shines in this house.”

Without waiting for a reply, I brushed past them and stepped inside.

.