Evenings are the hardest.
The house is too quiet, and the ache of loneliness settles in my chest like a weight I can’t shake. Some nights, I sit by the window and stare out at the city, wondering if Leon even remembers I’m here.
It’s not just Leon’s absence that eats at me. It’s the silence between us when he’s here, the way he looks at me with something that feels less like love and more like obligation.
He wanted an heir,I remind myself bitterly,not a partner. He wants me to stay right here. Until the baby is born and he has no use for me anymore.
More often than not, I spend my evenings thinking of his other self. The one who offered desperate kisses and longing moans and words that praised me and pushed me over the edge of my own control.
The man who graces me with his presence only to dart back out of it at his earliest opportunity is nothing like the man who had held me that night.
I can see it on his face, the exhaustion that lines his every expression. This is a man built for war, a man able to continue on nothing more than fumes. There’s no life there anymore, just action and firm words and practical solutions.
By the time I’m ready for my twenty-two week scan, we feel almost like strangers.
“Lie down whenever you’re ready,” the pre-approved doctor tells me as I drop down onto the bed.
Leon had brought up all the equipment necessary to do my checkups personally, as if worried it might spontaneously explode if he didn’t check it all over himself. Now, the ultrasound machine hums non-threateningly in my ear as the doctor lifts up my shirt.
“There,” the sonographer says, angling the screen toward us.
Leon automatically sits beside me, his hand finding mine, solid and steady.
The image of a tiny, perfect profile appears on the monitor, and my breath catches. I’ve seen ultrasounds before in books and movies, but nothing compares to this—to seeingourbaby.
“And here’s baby number two,” the sonographer continues casually.
Leon’s grip tightens on my hand. “Two?” he echoes.
The sonographer smiles, nodding. “Twins. Two healthy heartbeats.”
She adjusts the wand, and I see it: two tiny shapes nestled together in perfect harmony.
My chest tightens, and tears blur my vision. I glance at Leon, expecting his usual calm composure, but his face is anything but. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide and glassy, unguarded in a way I’ve never seen.
“Twins,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He leans closer to the screen, his hand trembling in mine.
The sight of his rare vulnerability breaks something loose inside me. The tears come harder, and the words spill out before I can stop them.
“Leon, I can’t stay locked away anymore. I need to breathe. Please.”
He tears his eyes away to look at me; shock and sorrow and pure, unfiltered longing echo across his face.
“It’s okay.” An arm around my shoulder, holding me. I crave it like nothing else. “I’ve got you.”
“This is important,” I half choke on the word. “I want to share it. I want Cas to know, Isabella. My dad. Leon, please. I need to feel human again, I need to get out of here and I need to see them. Let me…let me have a baby shower.”
He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the screen. Then, slowly, he turns to me, his eyes damp.
“A baby shower,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles so gently. “For you three, anything. A small one. Our family, our people.”
Relief crashes over me as I cling to his hand like it could anchor me to my sanity.
“Anything, Mia. I promise.”
20
LEON
