Chapter 42
She's quieter now.
Not calm.
Not healed.
Just... quieter.
Like something in her got turned down instead of fixed.
Chloe still gets up, still feeds Ava, still says the right things when she needs to, but there's a distance in her eyes that doesn't leave. Like part of her is always listening for something that isn't there anymore.
Or something that might come back.
I notice it most in the mornings.
She sits on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before she moves, like she has to convince herself the room is real.
Ava helps.
Ava always helps.
When Chloe's hands shake too much, she focuses on Ava. When she goes quiet for too long, she watches Ava breathe like it's the only proof she needs.
And I stay.
That part hasn't changed.
I don't leave anymore unless I have to.
Even then, it feels wrong.
Callahan checks in sometimes, but there's nothing left to deal with. No loose ends. No uncertainty. Just distance now. Normal life trying to restart itself around something that doesn't feel normal anymore.
But Chloe doesn't relax.
Not really.
And I don't like that.
Not even a little.
I'm standing in my kitchen one morning while she's still asleep in my room, and Ava is in her cot, making small sounds that mean she's about to wake up.
I should be thinking about work.
I am thinking about work.
But not just work.
Space.
Walls.
Doors.
Locks.
Too many people can get through doors too easily.
I stare at the coffee I've forgotten to drink.
Then I decide.
Simple.
Clean.
No debate.
I pull my phone out and start searching.
Houses.
Not apartments.
Not shared walls.
Not anything where she has to feel someone on the other side of it.
Somewhere, she can breathe without listening for footsteps that don't exist.
Ava makes a small noise from the cot.
I glance over immediately.
She's fine.
Of course she is.
Still, I move closer without thinking, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the cot until she settles again.
My jaw tightens as I look back at the screen.
This isn't a maybe decision.
It's not even a question.
It's just logistics.
Chloe needs space.
Ava needs space.
I need somewhere where I'm not constantly aware of how thin every wall feels.
Somewhere safe.
Properly safe.
I scroll through listings without really seeing them at first. Then one catches my attention.
Single-level. Quiet street. Decent distance from neighbors. Big enough yard for Ava when she's older.
I don't overthink it.
I save it.
Then another.
And another.
By the time I hear movement from the bedroom, I've already booked a viewing.
Chloe comes out slowly.
Hair messy, hoodie too big, eyes still heavy with sleep, like she hasn't fully decided to be awake yet.
She stops when she sees me in the kitchen.
"Morning," she says quietly.
"Morning," I reply.
Ava stirs at the sound of her voice.
Chloe goes straight to her.
That's how it always goes now.
No hesitation. Just Ava first.
I watch her pick her up, settle her against her chest, and press a soft kiss into her hair.
Something in my chest tightens the same way it always does.
I don't think that will ever stop.
"You didn't sleep?" she asks after a moment, noticing me properly.
"I did," I say.
Not entirely true.
But enough.
She nods, like she accepts that answer because she doesn't have the energy to challenge it.
I should tell her about the house.
I don't.
Not yet.
Not when she still looks like she might break if anything else shifts too fast.
Instead, I move closer, taking Ava from her gently when she allows it without protest.
She doesn't pull away.
That's progress.
Small.
But progress.
"I've got her," I say.
Chloe watches me for a moment.
Longer than usual.
Like she's checking something she can't name.
Then she nods once.
"Okay."
Just that.
I hold Ava against my chest while she settles again, her small hand curling into my shirt like she always does.
And I make a decision I don't second-guess.
We're getting a house.
Not because things are fixed.
Not because they're normal.
But because Chloe needs somewhere that doesn't feel like she's trapped between walls that remember what happened.
Somewhere, she can learn how to breathe again.
And I'm not asking permission for that.
Not this time.