Chapter 21
Her Eyes No Longer Search for Him
N ate stared at the journal for a long time. The words blurred, not because he couldn’t read them—but because they felt like an indictment. Each line a quiet accusation, not of rage or betrayal, but of absence.
And that hurt worse.
She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t begged. Hadn’t even asked why he was pulling away. She’d just learned how to disappear gracefully. That was Lila. Graceful, even in grief.
He put the journal down like it might catch fire in his hands, and walked down the hall to their bedroom, where the door was cracked open. She was in bed. Her back to him. The sound of her breathing was so faint, he paused just to make sure she was still there.
Still real.
Still… his.
But that word felt false now.
His.
She hadn’t felt like his in a long time. And the shame of it twisted in his gut like a blade. Still, he didn’t crawl in beside her. Didn’t pull her close or whisper apologies. Instead, he watched her for a few seconds longer, then turned away.
Even now, when he could feel something was breaking beneath the surface, Nate couldn’t bring himself to face it. He didn’t know how to reach for her anymore.
Camille
“You’re quiet tonight.”
Camille’s fingers toyed with the edge of her wine glass, her eyes flicking up to meet Nate’s across the small table at the back of the dim, expensive restaurant. Her lipstick was darker than usual—rich, wine-colored, sultry. Her neckline lower.
She looked like temptation, personified. And still, for once, his appetite dulled.
Nate pushed his plate aside.
“Just tired.”
She studied him with interest.
“Is something wrong at home?”
He hesitated too long.
She sat back. “Is it her?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Camille reached across and placed her hand over his. Her thumb traced a soft line over his knuckles.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Nate.”
And that—her quiet invitation to be honest—was what always made him come back
She never judged, never demanded, never withheld her warmth. She let him be weak. Be selfish.
Be the man he couldn’t be at home.
Still, when she leaned in, her scent intoxicating, her lips ghosting over the shell of his ear, he didn’t respond the way he usually did. He didn’t feel the fire.
He felt guilt. And something worse.
Fear.
Fear that he’d already lost something he could never get back.
Lila
She woke up at 3 a.m., a cold sweat soaking through her shirt. Not from a dream —but from the familiar ache deep in her side, one that had become more constant over the last two months. The pain that no longer waited until morning. She got out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Nate.
Not that he was there.
He hadn’t come home yet.
Lila stood in the mirror, pale and drawn, her skin almost translucent in the bathroom light. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her abdomen.
Something was wrong.
She knew it now. It wasn’t just exhaustion. And so, the next morning, without telling anyone—not Nate, Ava or Caleb, not even her sister—she booked an appointment.
Just in case.
Just to know. Because a part of her was preparing. Not for death. But for something she would have to face alone.
Because she already was.
Nate
She didn’t ask where he’d been the night before. That was what haunted him most. Not the yelling. Not the tears. The quiet. The resignation.
Her eyes no longer searched for him when he walked in the door. They looked through him, past him.
And something in him cracked.
But still… he didn’t stop seeing Camille.
He told himself it was habit. That he needed the escape, just a little longer. Just until things made sense again. He told himself what he always did. That he was still a good man. Even when everything he did said otherwise.