This changes things.
There’s no way it doesn’t.
The quiet doesn’t last as long as I want it to.
She shifts beside me, not drifting off the way I thought she might, but pulling back just enough that I feel it before I see it, like she’s already putting distance back where it belongs.
“I can’t stay,” she says, her voice low, steady, but there’s something under it that tells me this isn’t easy. “I have to go get Hadley.”
I nod once. I knew that was coming even if I didn’t want it to, and I don’t make it harder by asking her to do something she’s not ready for.
“Yeah,” I answer. “You should.”
She studies me for a second, like she’s waiting for pushback that never comes, then exhales quietly and sits up, reaching for her clothes without rushing, but not lingering either.
I sit up with her, giving her space while she gets dressed, the living quarters feeling different now. Not empty, but shifting back toward something real, something that exists outside this one moment.
When she turns back to me, there’s a pause, like we’re both aware there’s more to say and neither of us is quite ready to say it yet.
“This doesn’t change what I said,” she adds, softer now. “About taking it slow.”
“It doesn’t change what I said either,” I reply.
Her gaze holds mine a second longer, then she nods once, like that’s enough for now, and heads for the door.
I don’t follow her out.
I let her go.
By the time morning comes, the light pushing through the window feels sharper than it should, and I wake alone, the quiet settling back in around me without her in it.
I lie there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling, letting everything from last night line up in my head without trying to smooth it out or make it easier than it is.
Last night wasn’t a mistake.
But the way she walked out right after to go and get our daughter…
That’s what’s going to make this complicated.
Chapter eight
I Can’t Do This
Riley
Chapter 8 - I Can’t Do This
Riley
I wake before the sun, not because of the hour, but because of the memory waiting the second my eyes open.
For a second I stay still, staring at the ceiling, letting the room settle around me. The familiar smell of coffee and something warm on the stove should ground me. It always has.
This time it doesn’t, not with last night still under my skin. I close my eyes again, willing it back, willing last night to stay exactly where it belongs.
It doesn’t.
I push up before I can think about it too long, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and grabbing my clothes without hesitation. No lingering. No slow morning pretending nothing shifted. I move with purpose because it’s the only way I keep control.
