Chapter 26 #2
That sentence was a knife that cut cleanly through the tangled mess of emotions in my head. Combined with Laila's words earlier, my thoughts suddenly cleared.
I thought back to today in the rehearsal studio, the look in Luna's eyes when she saw me—not just anger, but suppressed fear.
The kind of fear that comes from worrying your most important person will be taken away, worrying you'll be controlled again.
"You think she didn't want to tell you?" Chloe's voice continued.
"You know how many times she almost said it?
When you braided Laila's hair, when you cooked dinner yourself.
.. She wanted to tell you. But she didn't dare gamble.
Because what you did before destroyed her trust. Getting a woman who's already died once to trust you again is nearly impossible. "
She sat down beside me, her voice softening slightly.
"It's not that Luna doesn't love you. If she really didn't, she wouldn't have moved in, wouldn't have let you near Laila, and definitely wouldn't have—let you touch her."
Those words surprisingly calmed me down. I turned to look at Chloe, self-mockery in my tone. "You actually sound like my big sister right now."
Chloe shrugged. "Just can't stand watching you spiral."
"Yeah." My head started clearing. "It's my fault. I thought if I just showed Luna I loved her, that would be enough. I didn't see that she was scared."
"So," Chloe's voice was soft, "what you need to do is give her enough security—make her believe you won't hurt her again, that she can pursue her dreams freely, and that you won't use the child to control her." She stood back up, looking down at me.
"If you can't do that, then you don't deserve them at all."
She left. The door closed quietly.
I sat alone in the darkness.
The room was so quiet I could only hear my breathing. The bottle was still on the table, but I didn't touch it again.
I stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights, one by one glowing. I took a deep breath, hands braced on the windowsill, fingers ice-cold.
I started thinking from Luna's perspective. If I were her, after all that hurt, would I easily trust the person who'd hurt me? The answer was no.
Damn it, what had I done? I'd used marriage to bind her, hurt her with cold words, and used emotional neglect to make her feel inadequate.
Now she'd finally made herself better and come back, and I demanded she trust me immediately, blamed her for not letting me exercise my rights as a father.
I walked back to the couch and sat down, hands in my hair, gripping hard. My head was heavy, my stomach still churning, but I didn't drink more.
Luna must be completely done with me.
I thought of Laila at the concert today, pulling my hand and shouting loudly. She'd smiled with her eyes crinkling into crescents, and I'd shouted with her, voice hoarse but exhilarating.
In that moment, I'd felt what being a father meant for the first time. But now, I felt like it was all slipping away.
I sat in the darkness until the distant horizon began to show gray light.
That night, I replayed the past few months like a slideshow in my head. Then I realized I hadn't really changed at all. Every time I tried to please them, I'd been subconsciously demanding something in return—demanding her love, demanding her promise to "stay."
I never asked her if carrying Laila had been hard. If raising a child alone had been exhausting.
Fuck, I'd only been accusing her.
I'd just stubbornly shoved what I thought was good into her life, then moved myself with my own performance, thinking that was reconciliation.
Damn it, Cassian, you're a complete, thoroughly selfish bastard!
I looked at the pink hair clip in my palm. The plastic pearl caught the morning light, refracting a cheap but pure glow.
I stood up and walked into the bathroom, washing away the alcohol and despair with ice-cold water.
The man in the mirror was pale, eyes sunken, jaw covered in stubble, but the near-pathological need for control in his eyes had finally melted away.
I changed into a soft, light-colored shirt. No tie. The kind Luna once said made me look "less scary."
I picked up my phone with its cracked screen, my finger hovering over the dial button for a long time. My palm was sweaty.
I was terrified. What if she didn't answer? What if she coldly said, "See you in court"? Or packed her bags and disappeared from Washington at dawn?
The phone rang for a long time. Each waiting tone was like a dull blade sawing at my heart.
Finally, someone picked up. No voice on the other end, just heavy, restrained breathing.
"Luna," I spoke softly, trying to keep my voice steady and sincere, non-threatening. "It's me. Cassian."
Silence on the other end, like wordless resistance.
"I know you're planning to leave. Chicago next month, right?
" I closed my eyes, throat tight, bitterness spreading.
"Before you go, can we meet? At that old pizza place you like, or anywhere you feel comfortable.
We won't fight. I won't fight you for custody of Laila.
I just want... as Cassian, not your husband, to talk with you properly.
One last time. Just the two of us. Please? "
I held my breath, waiting.
After what felt like a century, a barely audible sigh came through the phone.
"Okay."
After hanging up, I leaned against the cold wall and let out a long breath.
I felt something hollow out inside me, but at the same time, the pressure I'd been carrying lifted.
Because I finally knew what I needed to do.