Chapter 7
Lucas
When I got back from London, the city felt smaller.
I brought home a suitcase packed with gifts: a cashmere blanket for Bella, hand-painted blocks for Grace, a tin of English toffee that looked vintage but probably cost less than a cup of coffee at Heathrow.
I lined them up on the kitchen counter like an apology.
Bella met me at the door, her body heavier, eyes rimmed with dark crescents. She hugged me longer than usual, as if needing to be sure I was solid.
“You smell like jet fuel and hotel soap,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“It’s the new Ashford Global scent,” I replied, forcing a smile.
We sat on the couch, the suitcase between us. She opened her gifts one by one, making appreciative sounds, but she kept glancing at my face, like she was looking for evidence.
“How was it?” she finally asked.
I’d practiced the answer: “Uneventful. They needed me to play bad cop. Victoria did most of the heavy lifting.”
She nodded, but I saw the flicker of doubt. “You seem tired.”
“I am. It was a lot.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You’re home now. That’s what matters.”
Later, she dozed on the sofa while I watched her belly rise and fall, the shape of our daughter already shifting the geometry of Bella’s body. I wondered how a person could feel both love and dread in the same breath.
Guilt is an efficient engine. The more I tried to forget London, the more I needed to make up for it.
I cooked elaborate breakfasts, drove Bella to every appointment, spent hours in the nursery assembling Grace’s crib and lining the drawers with tiny onesies.
The more I did, the more Bella glowed, convinced that this was the future we’d worked for—her, me, and the miracle of a baby who hadn’t left us yet.
At work, Victoria kept her distance. The first morning back, she knocked on my door and handed me a folder without sitting down.
“I owe you an apology,” she said, voice perfectly flat.
“You don’t.”
She looked at me, her face unreadable. “It was inappropriate. It won’t happen again.”
I nodded, and for a moment, the silence was unbearable.
“We’re good,” I said. “Let’s just focus on the rollout.”
Victoria smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s what I do best.”
For the next week, we kept everything transactional.
Meetings ended on time, emails had no flourishes, and if we ran into each other in the hallway, we exchanged nothing more than a nod.
I told myself this was good, that I was being the man I’d promised Bella I’d be.
But every time I passed Victoria’s office, I felt the absence like a bruise.
The restraint made everything more charged. During a late call with the Asia team, we ended up alone in a glass-walled conference room, the city lights reflecting in the polished table.
Victoria tapped her pen, restless. “You can say what’s on your mind, you know.”
I stared at the skyline, buying time. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”
She didn’t push. She just sat there, waiting, like she had all the time in the world.
That night, after Bella fell asleep, I lay in bed scrolling through old texts, hovering over the last message Victoria had sent before we called it off. I wanted to delete it, but instead I reread it until the words blurred.
At midnight, my phone vibrated.
Miss talking to you.
I stared at it, thumb hovering.
I miss it too.
I hit send before I could stop myself.
I turned off the phone, lay back, and listened to the sound of Bella’s breathing.
I told myself it was just a conversation. Nothing more.
But I’d already started to measure my life in secrets.