Chapter 16
A Future Without Her
H e didn’t mean to stay the night. But when he woke up with Camille curled into his side, her leg draped possessively over his hip, her breath warm against his neck, he didn’t rush to leave either.
It was quiet. Peaceful.
No kids banging on the bedroom door. No cold shoulder across the bed. No guilt-heavy silences. Just the hum of the city through the hotel window and the woman beside him who made everything feel so easy.
She stirred, smiled lazily.
“Morning.”
He grunted, voice still thick from sleep.
“What time is it?”
“Still early,” she murmured, stretching.
“Stay.”
He hesitated.
Camille rolled over, propping her head on her hand, watching him like she was memorizing every inch of his face.
“You’re always rushing back to a place that doesn’t feel like home anymore.”
“She’s still my wife.”
Camille arched an eyebrow.
“Technically. But emotionally?” She traced a finger down his chest.
“You haven’t belonged to her in a long time.”
Nate didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
“I’m not asking you to burn your life down,” she added, softly now.
“But if you ever did… I’d be here. Waiting. Not as the other woman. But as your woman.”
He sat up slowly, heart thudding in his chest, staring out the window.
A future without Lila?
He hadn’t let himself think that far. Not truly. It had always been this messy middle ground—cheating but not leaving, lying but not losing, living two lives that could never coexist.
But Camille… she made it feel like a choice he could make.
She kissed his shoulder gently.
“You don’t have to decide now. Just know... there’s a world where we don’t have to hide.”
And for the first time, Nate didn’t recoil from the idea. He entertained it. Let it take root.
Lila
She passed out in the shower that morning. Not long. Just enough for the water to go cold and Ava to start banging on the door. When she came to, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the floor until the dizziness passed, heart racing, eyes stinging.
“Mom?” Ava’s voice was worried.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing her voice steady.
“Just tired.”
Lies. She was telling so many of them lately, she’d started believing her own.
That afternoon, she canceled her doctor’s appointment. The next day, she rescheduled it. The cycle repeated itself until she realized—what was the point?
If Nate noticed her weight loss or the way her hands trembled sometimes, he said nothing. He barely looked at her anymore.
But the children noticed.
Ava watched her too closely now. Caleb lingered when she coughed. Both of them started staying in her orbit like gravity had shifted and pulled them closer.
She tried to shield them from it. From the slow collapse happening beneath her skin.
But kids always saw what adults tried to hide. One night, Ava cornered her in the laundry room, arms folded.
“You’re sick.”
Lila blinked. “What?”
“You’re not eating. You sleep all the time. And you nearly fainted at Caleb’s soccer game.”
“I’m just tired—”
“Stop lying.”
The words hit her like a slap. Ava’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
She was her mother’s daughter—sharp, perceptive, stubborn.
“You promised we could always talk,” Ava whispered.
Lila’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
“Then tell me, Mom.”
She didn’t. Not yet. But that moment made something shift. She knew she couldn’t wait forever.
Nate
That night, he came home late—again. The kids were in bed. The house dark. Lila was in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a mug of tea, shoulders slumped.
He paused in the doorway. For a split second, the guilt rose like a tidal wave. But then she looked up at him, and there was no accusation in her eyes. Just exhaustion.
“Long day?” she asked.
He nodded. And walked right past her. Up the stairs. Into the shower. Back to his quiet war of denial.