Finally, I met Belle’s eyes fully. Relief flooded my system. Maybe I haven't lost her yet.
“May we speak?” I asked quietly. “Privately.”
Belle studied me for a long moment before she nodded.
It wasn’t an easy nod. It was measured. She turned slightly toward the other two women.
“You can go,” she said quietly.
Mel didn't move. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“I’m not in danger,” Belle replied evenly.
Mel’s eyes flicked to me like she was testing that statement.
I held her gaze without flinching.
Finally, Eleanor touches Mel’s arm. “Kitchen,” she murmured.
Mel reluctantly followed her out of the living room.
Belle entered fully into the living room and sat on the couch. The room felt smaller once they were gone. I stepped forward slowly and took the seat beside Belle, just near enough to speak with my voice remaining soft.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” I said again.
She did not soften. She didn’t even nod. She just looked at me with a wounded glare.
I inhaled slowly. “I promise,” I continued carefully, “I will not let it happen with you like that again.”
The words matter. I did not offer promises lightly.
Her jaw shifted slightly, but she said nothing.
“Will you come home?” I ask.
The word slipped out naturally. Home. Her eyes lifted at that. I was the smallest of flickers.
She exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t just mad that you yelled,” she said finally. Her voice was steady. “I mean—I was,” she corrected herself. “You don’t get to roar at me because I walked into a room I didn’t know was sacred.”
“You’re right,” I answered quickly.
“But it wasn’t only that.”
I remained silent. She deserved space to say whatever she needed to fully.
“I told you everything,” she said. “About the van. About Dad. About not being able to afford an apartment. About feeling like I was drowning.” Her voice tightened slightly. “I let you see that.”
“Yes. You did.” I couldn’t seem to help it. I reached for her hand, and my heart soared when she didn’t pull it away. I held it like a lifeline.
“And I think I fooled myself into thinking this was something else,” she said, with a slight tremble of her lip.
The words landed with more force than the glare did.
“I let myself forget this was just a business arrangement,” she finished.
I did not interrupt, but she was wrong. She was so wrong.
“I agreed to a six-month fake marriage,” she continued. “I agreed to insurance, to cooking and cleaning.”
