I laughed it all off.
Laughing had always been my defense, against pressure, against questions I wasn’t ready to answer, against futures that felt too heavy when spoken out loud. Ro let have it. He always did. Or at least, he let think he did.
He didn’t push after that. He just smiled. That familiar, self-assured smile that made it seem like everything had already fallen into place, whether I realized it or not.
"Co on," he said, nudging gently with his shoulder. "You’ve had a long day. Let’s eat. I ordered sothing earlier."
"You planned that too?" I teased.
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "I don’t like being unprepared."
That should’ve been my first clue.
Ro prepared everything at the dining area.
I slid into one of the chairs while he set the food on the table, removing lids and arranging plates without thinking. Watching him like that, I felt that familiar tug in my chest, the pull that had always drawn to him in the first place.
He noticed my stare and smirked. "What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You really like doing everything your way, don’t you?"
He laughed. "Is that a complaint?"
"No," I replied honestly. "Just an observation."
"Good," he said, sitting across from . "Because you fit into my way perfectly."
I smiled at that, heat creeping up my neck. It sounded flattering.
We ate and talked about small things—school, people we both knew, places he wanted to take soday. He spoke about the future like it was sothing already mapped out in his mind. Vacations. A future family. Expansions. Growth.
Us.
I listened, nodded, laughed when appropriate. I told myself this was what stability looked like. That this was what commitnt felt like when soone truly ant it.
When dinner was over, he reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb brushing absently over my knuckles.
"You know," he said casually, "I’ve already cleared space in the closet for you."
I blinked. "You did?"
"Of course," he replied. "I assud you’d move in properly within the week."
"Ro," I laughed, half-amused, half-surprised. "What if I don’t agree to live with you? Then everything you prepared would just go to waste."
"I don’t need to worry about that," he said, squeezing my hand. "I know we’re on the sa page. And even if you don’t agree, I’ll still make space for you here—by my side."
I hesitated, just for a second.
But then I nodded. I could feel my whole face reddening, and arguing with him felt unnecessary. Because I loved him, and love, I believed then, ant trusting the person who sounded so sure.
That night, I lay beside him in bed, staring up at the ceiling while his arm rested heavy around my waist. His breathing was slow, steady—already asleep.
I wasn’t.
The unfamiliar space felt too quiet around us. I told myself it was just new. That I’d get used to it.
Still, I shifted carefully, testing the limits of his hold. His arm tightened instantly, even in sleep, pulling closer.
Mine.
****************
The word echoed in my mind. I closed my eyes and pushed the thought away. The mory dissolved slowly, like smoke.
I opened my eyes to a different ceiling, in a different room, with a very different weight pressing on my chest. I was lying awake in my own bed.
What a strange dream. Of all dreams—why did it have to be about Ro?
I knew it. eting Ro again would only bring back mories I had been forcing myself to forget.
I slowly got up, afraid that if I closed my eyes again, I would dream about him once more.
The children were still sleeping side by side on the sofa when I stepped out of the bedroom. One by one, I carefully carried them to the bedroom and laid them down. Outside, I could hear the faint hum of people going about their day.
It was already afternoon, and I realized I hadn’t cooked for the kids. We had all been exhausted from staying at the hospital to watch over Cairo, and this was the first ti we were truly catching up on rest. So I let them sleep a little longer.
When I had finally laid all of them down, I looked at my children once more.
They were my life now. The steady rhythm of a life I had built piece by piece—far away from that condo, far away from Ro.
And yet—
He had found his way back.
My mind replayed my son’s words over and over.
He looked like he was scared of losing you.
Children saw things adults tried to hide. They felt truths buried beneath polite smiles and careful silences.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Had Ro looked at like that?
I thought back to earlier that day—the way his gaze had lingered, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands curled as if he were restraining himself from reaching out.
Yes.
He had looked scared.
Not of .
But of what he might lose.
This was exactly what I had tried to avoid.
Ro didn’t do half-asures. He never had. If he learned the truth, if he found out about the children, there would be no gentle conversations, no careful pacing.
He would act.
Decide.
And worst of all—claim.
I crossed the room and stopped in front of the mirror. The woman staring back at wasn’t the sa one who had laughed things off in that condo.
She was older. Sharper. Worn in places that didn’t show on the surface.
A mother.
I pressed my palm flat against my chest, grounding myself.
I won’t let anyone hurt you, I had promised.
That included him.
Evening ca too quickly, accompanied by the sound of small feet padding across the floor and hushed whispers drifting from the living room.
"Mom?"
I exhaled slowly and forced myself to stand, pushing past the ache in my limbs and the heaviness that hadn’t left my chest since the night before.
"I’m coming~" I called out, steadying my voice.
The children greeted as if nothing had changed, smiles, sleepy eyes, arms wrapping around my waist as if the world was still exactly as safe as it had been yesterday.
And for their sake, I smiled back.
I made dinner. Listened to stories about their favorite toys. Laughed at the right monts. Nodded at the right places. All while my mind stayed several steps ahead.
I waited—half-expecting one of them to ask sothing. But none of the three did. No one asked about Ro. No one asked who he was.
They just played happily among themselves. Even Paris and Egypt, who were usually full of questions, stayed quiet, playing with Cairo as if nothing had happened.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief when they started growing sleepy. Soon, all three of them were dozing off on the carpet I had laid out in the living area.
I cleaned up after dinner, washed the dishes, then stepped outside to breathe in so fresh air.
I hadn’t been out there long when a familiar voice stopped cold.
"Sylvia."
I froze.
The voice didn’t sound the way I rembered it. I turned slowly.
The man standing a few steps away from our house looked nothing like the Ro who had filled my dream. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. The porch light caught his face just enough to reveal the exhaustion etched into his features—the faint shadows under his eyes, the tightness around his mouth.
For a brief second, I didn’t recognize him.
"W-what are you doing here?" I asked cautiously, my voice guarded and distant.
He blinked, as if that single question had thrown him off balance.
"I j-just want to s-see you.." he said, taking a hesitant step forward.
"You..y-you shouldn’t be here."
A heavy quiet settled between us.
My chest tightened, my breath catching before I could stop it. I straightened instinctively, every muscle in my body going rigid.
Relief flickered across his face, but it didn’t last. It was replaced almost imdiately by sothing else, uncertainty, maybe even fear.
"I w-wasn’t sure either why I ca here," he admitted quietly. "I just... my f-feet brought here on their own."
I glanced past him, down the slowly darkening street, half-expecting the mont to dissolve—to wake up again and find myself staring at another ceiling.
But he stayed.
Real. Standing right there.
"Have you been here for a while? Didn’t I already tell you I don’t want to talk to you?" I asked, trying to keep my tone steady even as my pulse raced.
He hesitated. "I know, but... it wasn’t easy. I was afraid you might r-run away again, just like before."
That answer told more than he probably intended.
A heavy silence stretched between us. The night air suddenly felt too thin, too sharp. I beca acutely aware of the house behind , the quiet inside, the children asleep just a few steps away.
I took a small step back without thinking.
His eyes followed the movent instantly.
"I’m not here to cause trouble," he said quickly, as if reading my thoughts. "I just—" He stopped, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair. "I needed to see you. To know if you’re still here."
I studied him then. Really looked.
This wasn’t the Ro who had everything planned, everything controlled. This man looked lost—like he had followed sothing familiar only to end up sowhere he hadn’t prepared for.
"You shouldn’t be here"
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I know."
"Then why don’t you leave now?"
His gaze lifted to mine, raw in a way I hadn’t seen before.
"Because I saw you today," he said quietly. "And I realized sothing..."
The words stirred sothing deep and dangerous in my chest. I folded my arms, grounding myself, forcing space where my body wanted to close the distance.
"I d-don’t care what you realized or whatever you want to say," I replied. "It doesn’t change anything."
"I’m not asking it to," he said. "I’m just hoping—maybe—you’re ready to talk now."
I shook my head. "This isn’t a good ti."
"Then tell when it is," he pressed softly. "Because walking away again without knowing when... that would be worse for . So please—tell when you’re ready."
I swallowed. I couldn’t find the strength to face him. Maybe because I had dread of him, I didn’t know how to look at him now, with the mories still so fresh. I didn’t know—sohow, whenever Ro crossed my mind, I ended up dreaming about him, about the past we once shared.
"There are boundaries now," I said carefully. "You can’t just show up here. Not with my children around."
His eyes flickered past , toward the house. The light. The quiet.
Sothing shifted in his expression.
"...Are they still awake?" he asked.
My heart slamd hard against my ribs.
I clenched my fist.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to.
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