Listen to Elastic Heart by Sia

I felt the softest sensation against my cheek, a brush of warmth that stirred me from the edges of sleep. At first, I thought it was nothing more than a lingering dream, some faint residue of the night. But then it continued, a slow, tender caress, and I found myself leaning into it instinctively. The texture of it was so familiar, so right, that I couldn't help but surrender to it for a moment, lost in the feeling. It was like I'd known this touch all my life.

My eyelids fluttered, fighting the heaviness of sleep, and slowly, the world began to come into focus. The edges of everything blurred and hazy, until I finally made out the image before me. His eyes.

Those blue eyes—so impossibly clear, so deep. They held mine as if he were pulling me into him, making everything else fade away. I could hardly breathe.

I could hear my pulse in my ears, and for a moment, I was lost in him. Tristan crouched beside me, his gaze softer than I remembered, tinged with something I couldn't quite place—worry, maybe guilt. His hand rested on my cheek, so warm, so familiar. He hadn't changed. His jawline sharper, his features more defined, as if time had sculpted him into something even more formidable. The stubble on his face was like a strange comfort, a reminder of days past.

"Heyy," he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent, as his thumb gently traced the curve of my cheek.

For a split second, I forgot myself. It was too easy to fall into that softness, to let my heart betray me. But then, like a splash of cold water, the reality of everything between us hit me. The walls I'd built came crashing back, and I jerked away from him, as if his touch were a burn against my skin.

The hurt flashed across his face before he masked it with that thin, practiced smile. The kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was like we were both pretending, dancing around the wreckage of everything we'd been.

"What time is it?" My voice came out hoarse, a little too soft as I sat up and rested my back against Kayla's crib. I didn't want to wake the twins, not when they were so peacefully asleep. I tried to keep my voice low, but I could still feel the tension between us humming in the air.

"Past seven" Tristan's voice was calm, but I could hear the undertones of concern. "I came to check on the twins and found you sleeping on the floor."

I glanced at him then, noticing the way he was dressed. He had clearly been out for a run. I envied the way his body seemed to move through the world with purpose, while I felt stuck in a place I couldn't get out of.

"Bad night?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on me, searching.

"Kind of," I muttered, looking down at the duvet I'd wrapped around myself. The fabric felt rough against my skin, grounding me in the moment.

"Wanna talk about it?" He was still watching me, waiting for something—anything—that would give him a glimpse into what was going on in my head.

I stared at him, unsure how to answer. Could I? Could I ever trust him again, even after all the time that had passed? Even after seeing the way he'd changed—grown, maybe—but still so much of him still the same. The old Tristan. The one who had hurt me, and left me to pick up the pieces.

And yet, there was something in his eyes—an honesty that felt like it was peeling away the layers of distance I had built between us. Something in the way he looked at me that made me wonder if there was more to him now.

"Are you sure you want to know?" I asked, my voice quiet, but the words carrying weight. "You won't believe me."

"Try me." He shrugged, but there was an edge of something in his tone now. Curiosity, maybe, or a quiet desperation. He was waiting for me to let him in.

I took a breath. His gaze never wavered, steady and unwavering, and I knew—no matter how much I wanted to pull away, to shut him out—it wasn't that easy anymore.

"I thought I saw Bigfoot under my bed," I whispered, my voice teasing, and Tristan's laughter rang out, warm and genuine. He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

"Keep it down," I kicked him playfully, the sound of our shared joke lingering in the quiet morning air. It felt good—normal, almost—to be like this, together, laughing. But just as quickly, the moment shifted.

A rustling sound came from behind me. I turned, my heart leaping into my throat, and found Kayla sitting up in her crib, rubbing her eyes in confusion as she scanned the room.

"Hey, sweetie, you're up," I said softly, my voice a gentle murmur in the early stillness. My heart skipped as I reached down and lifted her into my arms, feeling the weight of her small body as she immediately nestled her head against my chest. 

"How are you? Did you have a good night?" I whispered, my hand brushing through her soft hair as I kissed her forehead, her face, anywhere I could reach. I wanted to hold onto her, to cherish every second of this.

I glanced over at Tristan, who was already on his feet, his presence a steady warmth beside us.

"Morning, princess," he said, leaning down to kiss Kayla's head. His smile was soft, but there was something else in his eyes—something that lingered when his gaze flicked to me, the weight of it almost too much to bear. His lips pulled away from Kayla's forehead, but his eyes stayed with mine for a second too long before he broke the connection.

The silence that followed felt heavy. My pulse quickened, but then—

"Mommy?" Kayden's voice called out, groggy but unmistakable.

"Hey, baby," I smiled, my heart lifting. I approached his crib, watching him as he struggled to push himself up on wobbly legs, still half-asleep, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. His face softened into a confused but affectionate expression as he saw us.

"Hey, little man," Tristan said, his voice light, lifting Kayden from the crib as if he weighed nothing. He spun him around in the air with a sudden burst of energy, Kayden's delighted giggles ringing out, pure and unfiltered.

"Take it easy!" I hissed, suddenly afraid of how quick and reckless Tristan's movements had been, but there was a playful glint in his eyes as he set Kayden back down.

"Race you to the bathroom!" Tristan announced, a challenge in his voice. Kayden took off with surprising speed for a toddler, giggling as he toddled toward the bathroom, his small legs moving as fast as they could. Tristan pretended to chase after him, his long legs easily catching up as Kayden squealed with laughter.

"Ignore them," I said with a soft laugh, watching them. "No one wakes up with that much energy."

I looked down at Kayla, still in my arms, and her little hands curled around me in a way that reminded me of how small and fragile she still was. I bent down and kissed her cheek.

"Let's brush those tiny teeth, and then we'll go down for breakfast. Are you hungry, baby?" I asked softly, my voice carrying warmth. She nodded silently, her gaze distant but content as she rested against me.

"You want some waffles and bacon?" I added, knowing that was her favorite since the first time she'd arrived here. Her face lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically, her little head bobbing up and down.

I smiled, feeling my heart swell as we made our way toward the bathroom. I placed Kayla on her step stool in front of the sink, her tiny hands already gripping the edge as she stood, her feet barely touching the floor. I squeezed some toothpaste onto her toothbrush, watching her tiny fingers curl around it.

Behind me, I could hear Tristan's ridiculous song as he gently guided Kayden through the motions of brushing his teeth. Kayla turned to look at them, her eyes wide with amusement, and giggled. Her laughter bubbled up in a way that filled the room with warmth.

I smiled as I continued showing Kayla how to hold the toothbrush properly. We'd been practicing for a while now, and the improvement was evident. Her grip was steadier today, more confident. It was small, but it felt like a victory.

"Good job, now spit it out," I said, trying to sound patient as Kayla's tiny hands held the toothbrush with all the concentration she could muster. She nodded, her little face scrunching in determination, but instead of spitting out the paste, she swallowed it with a grin and licked her lips, as if savoring the taste. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound escaping before I could catch it.

She gave me a sheepish look, as if she knew exactly what she had done wrong, but didn't care in the slightest. I tried again, gently guiding her to spit, but she swallowed the paste once more, and this time, she giggled. The sweetness of her innocence hit me hard—so pure, so unaffected by anything beyond her small world.

Tristan, having finished his own routine with Kayden, moved toward the door, lifting Kayden onto his shoulders. The little one squealed in delight, kicking his legs in the air as Tristan made his way out of the bathroom. 

I turned back to Kayla, focusing on brushing her tiny teeth, and the task, small as it was, gave me a semblance of normalcy to hold onto.

Once we were finished in the bathroom, we made our way downstairs. The house was already awake, the air filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon. One of the cooks, Wanda, was busy arranging a spread of breakfast, her warm smile lighting up the room as she placed plates of food on the table. I gently set Kayla into her high chair, securing her with the straps as I did every morning, and then I did the same for Kayden, who was still half-distracted from his game of food manipulation.

"Hi, miss Kayla," Wanda greeted with a smile as she placed a plate of waffles and crispy bacon in front of her. Kayla's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. I cut her waffles into small pieces, drizzling syrup over them in a messy, haphazard way. She reached for the pieces immediately, her small hands clumsy but eager.

I sat down across from Tristan, his eyes already locked onto mine as I settled into my seat. The air between us felt thick, as if the simple act of me looking back at him was something we were both holding our breath for. But instead of saying anything, I turned quickly to Kayden, who was still squishing his food around on his plate rather than eating it.

"Don't do that," I said, my voice light but firm, trying to stop him before he flung his bacon onto the floor. He looked up at me, that mischievous glint in his eyes, and did it again.

I frowned, feeling the tension tighten in my chest. "Kayden?"

He giggled, unbothered, his small fingers squishing the waffles into a shapeless mess.

"No playing with food, buddy. Eat up," Tristan said from the other side of the table, his voice calm, like it was no effort at all to command compliance. Just like that, Kayden stopped, turning his attention to his food and starting to eat, albeit slowly. It always amazed me how effortlessly Tristan could get him to listen. With me, it usually took a few more firm words or—if I'm being honest—some shouting.

I sighed and turned back to my plate, picking at the food in front of me but not really feeling the urge to eat. The room felt too quiet, the space between Tristan and me too wide for my comfort. The silence was thick, and I felt him watching me—waiting for something.

But Tristan wasn't letting it go. His eyes found mine, and there was something desperate in them, something raw that I couldn't look away from. The weight of his stare felt like a plea. "Are you happy here?" he asked, his voice low but so full of hope, like my answer could determine everything.

I blinked, taken aback by the question. It was so unexpected, so heavy, that I didn't know how to respond at first. My chest tightened, my mind racing for a response that wouldn't betray the vulnerability I was suddenly feeling.

"Tristan..." I sighed, my gaze slipping away from him, focusing on anything else. Anything but the truth of what he was asking.

"How do I fix it? How can I assure you they're safe here?" Tristan's voice was quiet, almost desperate.

"It's not that," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were full of questions, of hope, and a kind of vulnerability that caught me off guard.

"You slept on the floor the whole night," he observed, his words a quiet accusation, though his tone was gentle.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, swallowing the knot in my throat. "I thought being close to the twins might help." I gave him a half-hearted smile, hoping it would be enough to ease the concern etched across his face.

But his eyes narrowed slightly, doubt creeping in. He didn't believe me. Not fully.

 "Hey, I'm fine," I said, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears, but I hoped the sentiment would reach him.

He nodded, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and I could tell he wasn't convinced. There was something more he wanted to say, but he held back, opting instead to offer me that familiar, soft smile.

I opened my mouth to press him on it, to ask him what was going on in his mind, but before I could, I heard the familiar voices of Nana and Mrs. Sanchester coming down the stairs. 

I turned my focus to the twins, who were happily babbling and giggling, lost in their own world. Their innocence, their joy, was the distraction I needed. I smiled at them, keeping my gaze low, hoping to mask the tension in my chest. I could feel Tristan's eyes on me, though, burning through my skin, and it made the space between us feel suffocating.

Nana approached from behind and wrapped her arms around me in a warm, affectionate hug. Her kiss on my forehead felt like a reassurance, a reminder that despite everything, there was still love here, still care. She moved on quickly, going to the twins and showering them with attention, kissing their cheeks with a laugh.

"Can I have some of that?" Nana asked, her voice playful as the twins eagerly offered her a piece of waffle. Their tiny hands extended toward her, their faces beaming with the untainted joy that only children could have.

Mrs. Sanchester gave me a soft smile from where she sat, her posture impeccable, as she gracefully took a sip of tea that Wanda had just brought her. I couldn't help but admire the way she carried herself, as though she'd stepped straight out of a picture-perfect life. She was everything I wasn't, polished and pristine, and it made me feel self-conscious in ways I didn't fully understand.

"How was your night, Chloe?" Mrs. Sanchester asked, her pale blue eyes soft but searching, her gaze lingering on me in a way that made me feel like I was being examined. 

"Great," I said, my smile tight, glancing up at Tristan for a moment. He was still watching me, his expression unreadable. The air between us was heavy with unsaid words.

"Do you still have to work today?" Mrs. Sanchester continued, her voice smooth, controlled. "I want us to go shopping." She took another sip of her tea, and I caught the way her gaze didn't waver from me. It felt like she was measuring me, weighing my response.

"I have a shift today" I started, my words coming out clipped as I searched for an escape from the pressure of the moment. But then Tristan's ringtone blared, cutting me off. I glanced up at him just as his eyes met mine, and his expression flickered with something unreadable.

"It's the hospital," he said, his voice distracted. "Must be about Morris." He stood up quickly, excusing himself as Kayden and Kayla's giggles filled the room, a cheerful counterpoint to the tension I felt.

"It's fine," she replied, her hand brushing my arm, her nails painted perfectly, and the touch felt rehearsed. "You know, you don't have to work so much." She set her teacup down on the saucer with a soft clink. Was she trying to be comforting? Or was she just... managing me? "We can support you with the kids and school. You don't have to do everything alone."

I understood that they wanted to help, that everyone wanted to help. My mom, Ciara, even Tristan—everyone seemed to believe I needed rescuing, as if I were incapable of standing on my own two feet. They didn't get it. They didn't understand that I was still trying to process everything that had happened, the whirlwind of emotions, the pain. I wasn't ready to dive headfirst into another family dynamic, not yet.

I forced a smile, the same tight, practiced smile I'd been using for weeks now. "I appreciate it," I said, but the words felt like they were slipping out of my mouth too easily, without the truth behind them.

Nana's voice softened, warm and reassuring. "You're family, Chloe. Please, don't hesitate to ask us for anything."

"Yeah," I whispered, barely hearing my own voice over the thoughts swirling in my mind. I stood up quickly, unable to linger in the intimacy of her gaze any longer.

I walked to the twins, still seated at the table, their faces smeared with syrup and their hands sticky from the waffles. I lifted them out of their chairs and asked Wanda, the cook, to help clear the mess they'd made. She flashed me a knowing smile as I hurried upstairs to run them a bath.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind me as I undressed them. I turned the tap on in the bathtub and let the water warm, rushing out to grab a towel from their room, which I shared with them. The sound of the water filled the space, but I was barely gone two minutes. Just long enough for the quiet of the house to settle in, just long enough to—

I froze in the doorway, my eyes widening in disbelief.

"What the..." The words caught in my throat. I had left them alone for one minute. How was it possible that the tub was now overflowing with foam? The bubbles were so thick they looked like a foamy white sea, and both twins were buried in it—covered from head to toe, their tiny hands still swatting at the soft, fluffy chaos they'd created. How had they even gotten into the bathtub?

I spotted the empty bottle of bubble bath on the floor. It was as if they'd emptied the entire contents without a care in the world.

"You have got to be kidding me," I sighed, staring at them in disbelief. They blinked up at me, wide-eyed and innocent, as if they were the victims in all this.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in exasperation. My head felt heavy, like I was walking in circles around my own frustration. I turned off the tap, water dripping from the sides of the tub, and ran my fingers through my hair.

The twins had already gone back to playing, oblivious to the disaster they'd just caused. They giggled, splashing and pushing foam to the sides like it was the most fun they'd ever had.

"Tristan!" I shouted from the doorway, my voice sharper than I intended. He was supposed to be in his room. Where else would he be?

The door to his room opened, and there he was—barefoot, dressed only in his running shorts. My eyes flickered over him, drawn to the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin as he moved, the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest, the faint outline of his abs under the sunlight filtering through the window.

I froze for a moment, a breath caught in my throat.

"Did something happen?" His voice pulled me out of the trance I hadn't realized I'd fallen into. I quickly cleared my throat and gathered myself.

"Come and see what your sperm did," I shot back, trying to sound exasperated, but it came out with an edge of amusement that didn't quite match my frustration.

Tristan snorted, a laugh that he couldn't quite contain as he walked over. The sight of him—his long strides, his carefree attitude—only made the tension in my chest coil tighter.

"What did my perfect and spectacular sperm..." he trailed off, his gaze falling on the twins and the foamy mess they'd made in the bathtub. "Oh, I see," he finished, stifling a grin.

"I was only gone for one minute," I said, gesturing helplessly at the mess. He bit down on his inner lower lip, the corner of his mouth twitching in the way it always did when he was fighting a smile.

"I'm sure they were just trying to help," he said, voice laced with amusement, as he leaned down to meet my eyes.

I rolled my eyes, a laugh bubbling up despite myself. "Help?"

Kayla, oblivious to my words, scooped up a handful of foam and flung it over the side of the tub like she was watering a plant. The foam splattered onto the marble floor, and I couldn't help but let out an exaggerated sigh, walking toward the tub to figure out how to stop the chaos.

"How is this funny?" I muttered, running my hands through the foam, trying to regain control.

"Oh, I'm sure you did far worse things as a kid," Tristan said from behind me, the teasing note in his voice unmistakable. "Remember the poor dog?"

I froze, my eyes snapping to him in horror. "You did not just say that," I gasped, suddenly remembering one of the many pranks. 

Without warning, I scooped a handful of foam and threw it at him. He dodged just in time, but a grin broke out on his face as he laughed.

He burst out laughing, that low, infectious sound filling the room and chasing away some of the frustration I was drowning in. For a moment, everything felt... lighter. Easier. Like it used to be.

But then I glanced down at the twins, who were now fully immersed in the foam, giggling like maniacs as they splashed and played. 

"Nice," Tristan said, his voice laced with amusement, as he walked toward the bathtub, his strong frame cutting through the steam and chaos. He reached for the twins, scooping them up without a care for the foam that clung to his skin. "Come on, let's go, minions, before Mom burns the place down with her eyes," he added with a grin that was as wild and carefree as his movements.

Kayla, completely unfazed by the mess, continued to rub foam into Tristan's hair like she was shampooing him. The sight was absurdly sweet—her tiny hands trying so earnestly to take care of him, as if he was the one who needed the bath.

"Mommy will like that," Tristan teased, his voice soft but full of affection as he looked at Kayden, who was busily gathering any leftover foam he could find, like he was collecting treasure.

"No," I said quickly, my heart skipping when I realized where this was heading. But Tristan didn't miss a beat. He leaned down, bringing Kayden close enough for him to press the foam onto my face, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I'm off with my perfect sperm," Tristan winked at me as he walked out, the twins still laughing in his arms, leaving me there, my face covered in foam. I wiped it off with my sleeve, a soft laugh escaping me before I could stop it. 

I called one of the maids to help clean up the bathroom, and in mere minutes, it was spotless again, the foam a distant memory. I set out clothes for the twins—fresh pull-ups, little outfits—and laid them out on the bed, waiting for Tristan to return them. As I folded some of my clothes, a light knock sounded on the door, and Tristan entered the room, the twins tucked under his arms like little kettlebells.

Their giggles filled the room, the sound light and carefree. They seemed to revel in the way Tristan held them, the towels wrapped around their tiny bodies, their little heads poking out, their laughter spilling into the air like a song. My heartbeat, which had been erratic only moments before, slowed as I watched him place them gently on the bed, the towel staying securely in place despite their squirming.

"I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, I have to get ready," Tristan said, the shift in his tone signaling that the moment of easy laughter had passed.

"Oh, okay. I'll keep the twins out of your way, or you can just lock the door to your room," I replied, trying to mask the way my voice had softened when I looked at him.

"I'll be at the gazebo," he said, glancing down at the twins with an almost tender smile, his eyes soft with affection. "I don't mind the company." His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, I thought I might say something—anything—to break the tension that had formed between us again.

"Be nice to Mommy, okay?" Tristan warned the twins, and they nodded earnestly. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks before blowing a raspberry on their little bellies, and the room was filled with the sound of their uncontrollable giggles. 

"I'll see you troublemakers later," Tristan said with a wink before turning to leave. As he walked out, I couldn't help but watch him—his running shorts clinging to his toned legs, his muscles rippling with each step. His body was so impossibly perfect, and I caught myself staring, momentarily lost in the power of his presence. 

 Their giggles filled the room again, but it didn't last long before I dressed them, ready to let them play while I tackled some schoolwork.

Kayla's little dog, Gigi, climbed up beside me on the bed, curling up next to me as I sifted through my notes. I tried to focus, but the peace didn't last long. Kayden, mischievous as ever, grabbed a handful of Kayla's hair and tugged it with a gleeful look in his eyes.

Kayla cried out, her small body trembling as she tried to yank away, and before I could even react, she reached for her iPad, clearly wanting to retaliate. I sprang into action, quickly grabbing the iPad from her hands before she could hit Kayden over the head.

"Jeez, I can't even look away for a minute without you two doing something crazy," I sighed, holding Kayla against me as her sobs deepened, her small shoulders shaking with every breath. I looked down at Kayden.

His face was crumpled in sorrow, his lips trembling. He wasn't crying at first, but soon, his own tears spilled over. His small arms reached out toward me, and I could see his desperate need for comfort in his eyes. The room was quiet for a moment, and then Kayden crawled to my legs, opening his arms, silently asking me to hold him too.

I didn't hesitate. I picked him up, holding both of them—Kayla in one arm, Kayden in the other—as they clung to me with all the weight of their little bodies. Their sobs were muffled in my chest, and I couldn't help but feel the overwhelming responsibility of being their safe place.

"Oh God," I sighed, my body sagging with exhaustion. My arms ached, but I still managed to pull both of them into my embrace. They clung to me desperately, their small bodies trembling as their sobs subsided into soft hiccups.

"It's okay, we can stop crying now," I whispered, rocking them gently.  It took a few long minutes, but eventually, their sobs faded into the quiet sounds of their breathing. They pulled away slightly, their cheeks flushed with the remnants of their tears, their eyes puffy and red.

I pulled back slightly, trying to steady my own breath as I looked at them. "Kayden, say sorry to your sister for pulling her hair," I said, my voice softer now, coaxing.

"Sowie Kaywa," he mumbled, his little lips pressing into a pout, his tiny face scrunching up in earnest apology. It was enough for me to see the remorse in his eyes.

I nudged him gently. "Now give your sister a kiss."

Kayden hesitated for a second, then leaned toward Kayla. With all the sweetness of a child learning empathy, he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. The simple, tender gesture melted a little more of the tension between us.

"Perfect," I said, my voice thick with relief. "No more fighting, okay?"

They both nodded silently, and I carefully placed them back on the bed. As I pulled away, a groan escaped my lips from the dull ache settling deep into my muscles. 

"Are we good now?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. They didn't look at me. Instead, they returned to their iPad, absorbed in whatever cartoon was playing, as though the storm we'd just weathered didn't exist anymore. 

I gathered my laptop, trying to push past the gnawing exhaustion. I needed to finish the last page of my paper, so I sat at the desk and began typing, but my focus kept drifting. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Wanda stepped in, bringing snacks for the twins. I gave her a quick nod, a silent plea for her to keep an eye on them as I stole a few minutes for myself.

When I came out of the shower, the steam still clinging to my skin, I slipped into a sundress. I wasn't sure when I'd last bothered to care about how I looked, or when I'd stopped letting myself feel seen. But today, I was going to try.

The minutes passed as I sat with the kids, waiting for them to fall asleep. When they finally drifted off in their cribs, I exhaled in relief. I grabbed my bag, which contained the work uniform I'd folded neatly, and slipped it inside. 

I glanced at the twins, still sound asleep, and decided to check in with Tristan. He was in the middle of a meeting, and I wanted to know what time he planned on waking the twins for lunch.

I walked to his room, the scent of him still lingering in the air. The room itself was dark and quiet. His space was immaculate—neat, organized. He wasn't there. 

I stepped out onto the neat gravel path, the crunch of my footsteps muted by the soft breeze. The air was heavy, thick with the promise of rain. I made my way toward the gazebo, where Tristan had taken refuge. There, he sat on the luxurious round sofa, leaning back in its plush cushions, his long legs stretched out lazily in front of him. He looked so at ease, like the world outside didn't touch him. The soft, translucent drapes swayed slightly in the breeze, framing him in a light that felt almost surreal.

The gazebo felt like a different world, a quiet place that existed outside the chaos of the house. The air had that raw, earthy scent, the kind you only get just before a storm, and I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to stay here, to escape the noise of life, even if just for a moment.

He glanced up from his laptop the moment he heard my footsteps, his gaze locking onto me with a sudden intensity. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't recognize me, his eyes drifting over my figure slowly, as if trying to place me—then, his expression shifted, his pupils widening, his breath catching. His gaze trailed down the length of my body, lingering at the edges of me before snapping back to my face, his jaw dipping in a subtle but unmistakable shift of tension. He sat up straighter, his posture rigid now, his eyes not leaving mine.

"Hey," I said softly, my voice low, the words almost a whisper in the charged space between us. "Are you done with the meeting?"

"Um... yes," he replied, his voice rough, as though the question had momentarily disoriented him. He shifted in his seat, fumbling slightly, before moving the pillow beside him, his eyes still fixed on me as if I were something he couldn't quite decipher. The subtle shift in his expression—like a man trying to keep control while his body betrayed him—didn't go unnoticed.

"By next month, the company should be..." a voice began to speak, but before he could finish, the sharp click of the laptop closing cut him off. 

"I can leave if you're still..." I began to say, instinctively stepping back.

"That won't be necessary," Tristan interrupted, his voice firm now, like a door being slammed shut. "We were just rounding up. They'll be fine without me." His eyes darted back to me as if ensuring that I was still standing there, that the world had not shifted too much for him to regain his composure. I couldn't help but smile at his sudden change in tone, the harshness of his earlier business voice melting away.

"The twins are taking a nap," I said. "You can wake them for lunch."

"Sure," I said, a tight knot forming in my chest.

I stood there for a beat, unsure of what to do next. We both remained rooted in place, staring at each other like two people who had drifted far apart but were still tangled in some invisible web. I should have left, taken a step back. 

Without even realizing it, my body moved closer. I perched on the edge of the couch beside him, placing my bag down beside me with a soft thud. My palms were slick with sweat as I rested them on my knees, suddenly feeling like a stranger to myself. The old familiarity of him—his scent, his presence—pulled at me in ways I didn't want to acknowledge.

He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing just slightly, his perfect eyebrows arched in that familiar, inquisitive way. His gaze was questioning, waiting, like he could sense the shift between us.

"So," I began, my voice faltering, "um... we should talk about the kids' welfare."

The words hung in the air, sharp and brittle. My heart pounded in my chest. I had to do this. I had to say it.

I had avoided it long enough.

"I should be moving back to my apartment next week," I said, each word feeling like it was tearing a small hole in the air between us. "The place is almost fixed, and it's time I..." My voice trailed off, the heaviness of what I was saying sinking in.

His eyes darkened, something flickering behind them—hurt, confusion, maybe even anger—but it was gone too quickly for me to read. His face tightened as he swallowed, the words I had spoken hanging like an invisible thread between us. His gaze dropped, focusing on his hands as he rubbed his fingers against his stubbled chin, his jaw tense as if trying to suppress whatever emotion was rising beneath the surface.

"Right, of course," he muttered, his voice strained. He forced out the words, but they tasted like gravel. His fingers continued to graze over his stubble, his gaze never quite meeting mine as if the weight of what I had said was something too difficult to face. 

We were no longer the people we had once been, and he knew it just as well as I did.

"I only want what's best for our kids," Tristan said, his voice low but unwavering. "I'll provide for child support, and I want to be involved in their lives, if you'll let me."

His words struck like a heavy weight, a bitter reminder of how far we'd drifted. That he had to ask—had to plead—for permission to be part of their lives, made something twist in my chest. I didn't blame him for it, though. I had been the one to shut him out, to carry the weight of parenting on my own. He'd simply assumed I would keep him at arm's length.

I breathed in, steadying myself. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about it," I began, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "I decided to work five days a week at the diner to help Vina with the bills. I'm free all day to be with the kids. I only have evening shifts, so..."

Tristan's eyes softened, his posture relaxing, like he was taking in the possibility of what this could mean for all of us. "You can drop them off here," he said gently. "The nanny will still be around, and my family is home all the time to be with them. You can pick them up in the morning, or I can drop them off. I'll be crashing here for a while until I find another place."

His words were like a bridge between us, a way forward, but there was an edge to his tone—a hint of something unspoken that made the air between us feel heavy.

"That sounds great," I said, forcing a tight smile. My heart was doing its best to stay steady, but every word, every sentence felt like it had weight. "And you can visit whenever you want, and they're all yours during the weekends."

"Great." His response was quick, but I could hear the quiet relief in it. Relief... or something else.

I nodded, trying to keep things moving, keep the silence from swallowing us whole. "Great," I said again, but it felt like a lie. Another silence crept in, thick and uncomfortable. So many words were lodged in my throat, but none of them felt right. Where do you even start? How do you say everything that's been building up for months?

I tried to force normality back into the room. "For the holidays, we can split it. You can have Thanksgiving, and I'll take Christmas. We'll swap next year."

He nodded, his face unreadable. "Is that yes?"

"Yes," he murmured, but the words felt brittle. He wasn't really agreeing, not like he was at peace with this, and that knowledge pressed against my ribs.

"And... I promise I'll reach out if anything comes up with the kids," I added, my voice barely above a whisper. His gaze stayed fixed on me, and the intensity of it made something twist painfully in my gut. He looked at me as if trying to memorize every detail—the curve of my lips, the way my eyes moved when I spoke.

He nodded again, but there was a hollowness in his silence, a stillness that unsettled me more than the words we were exchanging.

"That's it then, unless you have something else to say," I said, my voice faltering, but I pushed through it, because we needed to finish this. We needed to close this chapter—both of us.

Maybe he would ask me to stay. Maybe he would ask me to reconsider, to believe that there was still a chance for us to rebuild something, for our family to come together again. But when he spoke, his voice was quiet, empty of the warmth I'd once known.

"No," he said, and I felt the finality of it—sharp and cold.

I nodded, trying to ignore the way my heart clenched. "Awesome," I said, my voice as flat as I could make it. "We're solid. We're a team."

I nudged his knee lightly with mine, but the contact burned through me like fire. My skin felt hot, and the heat from him sent a shiver through my veins. His lips curled into the faintest of smiles, almost lost in his sadness, but still there, as if fighting to stay.

"Okay," I said, the word feeling too heavy to leave my mouth. I stood, and the weight of the moment seemed to press down on me. I smoothed my dress out of habit, but my fingers were trembling, betraying the calm I was trying to hold onto. His eyes followed every movement, and I could feel it in my bones—the way he was watching me, studying me, like he was trying to etch me into his memory.

"Bye, Tristan," I said, the words slipping from me with less strength than I intended.

"Chloe," he called out, his voice carrying a weight I hadn't expected. I stopped, halfway turned, and felt the sunlight hit my face, warm but distant.

He stood from the couch, the air between us charged with something raw, something unspoken. "It's okay if you want to see other people," he said. His words were casual, but the tension in his voice betrayed him. The vulnerability hung in the air between us, thick and suffocating.

A strange, heavy sensation hit my chest. Was it disappointment? Maybe it was just the weight of everything we were not saying.

"You too," I mumbled, my voice barely audible, and I turned away quickly, before the ache in my chest could shatter me completely.

Maybe he did want to see other people. Maybe he believed we were too far gone to ever fix this. Maybe he just didn't want me anymore. The pain of those thoughts sank into my bones, but I buried it deep, refusing to let it take over.

I walked away, the thud of my shoes against the floor the only sound in the heavy silence. I found Eduardo in the hallway and asked if he could give me a ride to the diner.