10. Gianna
— ? —
Gianna
I woke up to silence, and my first thought was that something was wrong.
Not the good kind, like maybe Alex had finally figured out how to sleep. The bad kind where your heart starts pounding before your eyes are even fully open because silence and newborns don’t go together. Silence means something happened. Silence means you need to move.
I threw off the covers and was halfway to the door before my brain caught up with my body.
Wait.
I stopped and listened.
There was sound. Just not crying. A low voice, barely audible through the thin walls of my apartment. A man’s voice, deep and steady, the kind of voice that used to make me feel safe before it started making me feel invisible.
Orion.
I crept to the bedroom door and cracked it open, just enough to see into the living room.
He looked like death. That was my first thought. Orion Barnes, the man who’d once graced the cover of Texas Monthly looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine cover, was standing in my living room looking like he’d been dragged behind a horse for six miles.
His shirt had a milk stain on the shoulder. His hair was sticking up on one side. The stubble on his jaw had crossed the line from rugged into homeless. And the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked painted on.
But Alex was calm against his chest. Not sleeping, but calm. Those little eyes blinking up at his father while Orion swayed gently by the window, the morning light turning them both golden.
“…and that’s the south pasture,” Orion was saying, his voice low and soft.
“That’s where your great-great-grandfather ran his first cattle.
Just him and twenty head and a whole lot of faith.
He didn’t have anything when he started.
No money. No connections. Just the land and the work and a stubborn belief that he could build something that would last.”
Alex made a small sound, like a comment.
“I know,” Orion said. “It sounds crazy. But that’s how the Barnes family started.
One man who refused to quit.” He shifted Alex slightly, adjusting his grip with a carefulness that made my chest tight.
“Someday I’ll take you out there. When you’re older.
We’ll ride out at sunrise and I’ll show you where it all began.
And you’ll understand that you come from people who build things. Who stick around. Who don’t give up.”
His voice cracked on the last part.
I must have made a sound, because he looked up. Our eyes met across the dim apartment, and for a moment neither of us moved.
He looked absolutely wrecked. And somehow that made something in me soften, just a little, even though I didn’t want it to.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” I stepped out of the bedroom doorway, pulling my robe tighter around myself. “How long have you been up?”
“What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
“Then… about seven hours?” He said it like he wasn’t sure, like time had lost meaning somewhere around 3 a.m. “He woke up twice. I handled it.”
“You handled it.”
“The bottle warmer is… not intuitive.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “There may have been some trial and error. And one small explosion.”
“Explosion?”
“The cap wasn’t on all the way. There was spillage.” He glanced down at the stain on his shirt. “Significant spillage.”
I should have been annoyed. I’d pumped that milk for shared feeding. Should have reminded him that he’d never changed a diaper in his life before yesterday, that he didn’t know the first thing about caring for a baby, that he was probably doing everything wrong.
But I’d slept for five hours. Five uninterrupted hours, the first time since Alex was born. My body felt different, lighter. Like I’d been carrying a weight I didn’t even know about until someone lifted it off my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said. The words came out before I could stop them. Maybe this is what a good sleep does, you start being thankful to everyone.
Orion’s expression shifted. Something vulnerable flickered across his face before he locked it down. “Please don’t thank me. This is what I should have been doing all along.”
“But you weren’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And now you are.”
He nodded slowly. Didn’t try to turn it into a bigger moment than it was.
I appreciated that more than I wanted to admit.
“Can I hold him?” I asked.
“Of course.” He crossed to me carefully, transferring Alex with more grace than I’d expected.
His hands were gentle, supporting Alex’s head, guiding my arms into position.
For a moment we were standing too close, the three of us connected, and I could smell him, that scent I used to bury my face in when I couldn’t sleep.
I stepped back. Put distance between us.
“You should get some rest,” I said. “The couch is terrible, but-”
“The couch is fine.” He ran a hand through his disaster of hair. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Have you?”
“Not in this way,” he admitted. “But any place without you in it is just a worse place to sleep.”
Despite everything, I almost softened. Damn, a good sleep is making me weak.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt.
“You can stay. But you’re my helper. Nothing more.
You do what I tell you, when I tell you, how I tell you.
You don’t make decisions about Alex without asking me first. You don’t try to buy your way out of trouble with gifts.
You don’t act like you’re doing me a favor by being here. ”
“Understood.”
“And if I tell you to leave, you leave. No arguments. No negotiations. You just go.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Orion.”
“I know you do.” He met my eyes, and there was something in his expression I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Humility, maybe. Or just exhaustion so deep it had stripped away all his usual defenses.
“I’ll be whatever you need me to be. A helper.
A stranger. A guy who holds the baby while you take a shower.
I don’t care what you call me. Just let me be here. ”
I looked at him for a long moment. This man I’d married. This man I’d loved so much it scared me. This man who’d broken my heart in ways I was still discovering.
“Okay,” I said finally. “You can stay.”
He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.
***
That night, I was scrolling my phone during one of Alex’s rare quiet moments when I saw it.
Demi’s Instagram. A new post. Long caption, the kind she wrote when she wanted sympathy without actually asking for it.
Some people can’t handle when you’re thriving. Family members who always play victim. People who can’t stand to see you succeed so they have to ruin every good moment. I’m learning that the best revenge is living well and letting the haters watch.
The comments were full of support. So true babe! and Toxic family is the worst and You’re better off without them.
My hands started shaking.
She was making me the villain. After everything she’d done, she was making me the toxic one.
“Gianna?” Orion’s voice came from the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
I looked up. He was standing in the doorway, dish towel over his shoulder, concern written all over his wrecked face.
I turned the phone around so he could see the screen.
He crossed to me. Took the phone. Read the caption, his jaw tightening with every word.
“She’s not even subtle about it,” I said, and I hated how my voice shook. “Everyone thinks I’m the problem. Everyone thinks I’m the jealous sister who couldn’t handle her success.”
Orion handed the phone back. His expression was hard now, the softness from this morning replaced by something colder. Something I recognized from boardrooms and negotiations. The Orion Barnes who destroyed obstacles.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
I looked at him.
“The right thing,” I said.
He held my gaze. Then he nodded once.
“Okay.”