Chapter 113 One Hundred And Thirteen
The silence that followed felt heavier than the confrontation itself.
Moments ago, she had been smiling at the thought of him coming. Fixing her hair. Reapplying lip gloss. Feeling that soft flutter in her stomach.
Now?
That warmth had vanished.
Replaced by something cold and uneasy.
“Do you want to tell me what that was?” Kennedy asked again.
His voice wasn’t raised.
It wasn’t aggressive.
But it wasn’t warm either.
And that subtle shift unsettled her.
“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said quickly. “I swear.”
Kennedy’s eyes studied her face carefully, like he was searching for cracks in glass.
“How did he know where you live?”
The question came immediately.
Direct.
She blinked. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
“Clearly that’s not true.”
Her chest tightened. “I said I didn’t know he was coming.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The tone.
There it was.
That edge.
That interrogation-like calm.
She felt something defensive rise in her.
“He showed up uninvited. That’s it.”
Kennedy let out a humorless chuckle and walked past her into the house without waiting to be invited.
She followed him inside, closing the door softly behind them.
He set the bouquet down on the table.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
The gift bag followed.
Her son stirred faintly in the crib down the hallway, but didn’t cry.
Kennedy ran a hand over his jaw.
“How did he know where you were?” he asked again, slower this time.
“I don’t know!” she repeated, frustration creeping into her voice.
“You expect me to believe he just magically appeared?”
“I expect you to believe me.”
His eyes flashed at that.
“Do you hear yourself?”
Her stomach dropped.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Austin doesn’t do anything randomly.”
“That doesn’t make it my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault.”
“You’re implying it.”
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
He walked toward the window and looked out, jaw tight.
She watched his posture stiffen.
Jealousy.
Anger.
Resentment.
It was all there, written plainly across his back.
She swallowed.
“Why does this feel like I’m on trial?” she asked quietly.
He turned around slowly.
“Because I don’t like being played.”
Her breath caught.
“Played?”
“You think I didn’t notice the way he was talking?” Kennedy continued, voice still calm but simmering underneath. “The insinuations. The unfinished business.”
“There is no unfinished business.”
“Then why did he say you left without closure?”
Her pulse quickened.
“That was between us.”
“And now it involves me.”
She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
“It does when he shows up at your door.”
Her hands clenched at her sides.
“You’re making this bigger than it is.”
“And you’re minimizing it.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
She hadn’t expected this.
Not today.
Not when she had been looking forward to seeing him.
The tension between them felt like a wall forming brick by brick.
“You were smiling when I arrived,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “What?”
“You looked… flustered.”
Her cheeks warmed, but not in the sweet way they had earlier.
“You think that was because of him?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
The honesty in that statement hit harder than anger would have.
“I was smiling because you were coming,” she said quietly.
He didn’t respond immediately.
His jaw flexed again.
“And yet he was already here.”
“He arrived before you.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
She stared at him.
“Call you? Why would I call you?”
“To tell me your ex was standing at your door?”
“I was trying to get him to leave!”
“Didn’t look like it.”
That one stung.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You were arguing with him.”
“Because he wouldn’t leave!”
Kennedy stepped closer.
“And what exactly was he demanding answers about?”
She hesitated.
And that hesitation was all it took.
His eyes darkened.
“There it is,” he muttered.
“What?”
“That pause.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
“I’m allowed to have a past.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because your past keeps showing up at your door.”
She exhaled sharply.
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “that there are things you’re not telling me.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Like what?”
“Like why he seemed so convinced you owed him something.”
Her heart pounded louder.
“This is the same man that was having an affair with my late wife under my nose.” He continued, "I don't trust him."
“You don't trust me either.”
His expression shifted briefly.
Regret.
Then pride swallowed it.
“You think I don’t see it?” Kennedy continued, quieter now. “The way he looks at you?”
She said nothing.
“Like he still has a claim.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then why does he believe he does?”
Her throat felt tight.
“Because he’s arrogant.”
“Or because you never shut the door properly.”
The accusation hung in the air.
Her eyes filled with disbelief.
“What's really going on here, Kennedy?” she whispered.
His gaze flickered.
“Did you?” he persisted with his initial question.
The question shattered something inside her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said, voice heavy now, “every time I start to believe we can rebuild something. I discover something that stops me.”
The words cut deep.
She stared at him.
After everything?
After telling him she loved him?
He still doubted her.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Antonia's chest felt tight, constricted.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered.
“What isn’t?”
“You walking in here already angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“You are now.”
“Because I don’t like surprises.”
“Neither do I!”
Her voice rose slightly.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident now.
“I come here to see my son… to see you. And instead I find him standing there like he belongs.”
“He doesn’t belong.”
“But he looked comfortable, and I still can't figure out how he knew this place if you didn't tell him.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“How did he know where you were?” Kennedy asked again.
The third time.
Softer.
But more dangerous.
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Her head snapped up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means think.”
“I am thinking.”
“Then think harder.”
The implication landed.
Distrust.
That’s what this was.
Her voice trembled slightly. “You don’t believe me.”
He didn’t answer.
That silence said everything.
Something inside her shifted then.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Disappointment.
“You know what hurts?” she said quietly.
“What?”
“That ten minutes ago I couldn’t wait for you to get here.”
His expression flickered.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I feel like I have to defend myself.”
He looked away.
She continued, “You didn’t even ask if I was okay. If I wanted him here. You just assumed.”
“I saw him.”
“And that was enough?”
“Yes.”
The honesty was brutal.
Her throat burned.
“So that’s all it takes? One sighting and suddenly I’m guilty?”
“I didn’t say guilty.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He stepped back slightly, creating distance between them.
And somehow that distance hurt more than when he had grabbed Austin earlier.
“I need air,” he muttered.
Her heart dropped.
“You’re leaving?”
“For now.”
The finality in those two words sliced through her.
“You’re not even going to see your son?”
He hesitated.
Pain flashed briefly across his face.
“I’ll come back later.”
The tension between them felt like a fragile thread stretched too tight.
He paused at the door.
For a split second, she thought he might turn around.
He didn’t.
The door closed behind him.
And the silence that followed was colder than before.