Chapter Forty Nine
Camille
It had been a week since Hunter canceled on the Fourth of July. Those seven days also came with fewer texts and shorter calls. I tried to give him space, told myself he was busy, that maybe it was just stress. But space turned into silence, and silence felt too much like goodbye.
When he came by that evening, quiet as ever, I watched him move through the apartment like he was already half gone. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I knew what being half in looked like, felt like, and I didn’t want that for any of them.
I held the towel in my hands, turning it over and over, the familiar action grounding me momentarily.
Breathing deeply, I said, “You’ve been… different lately.” I placed the towel down deliberately, attempting to steady myself, while my heart pounded with each word.
My eyes flickered to Hunter’s face, searching for a hint of reassurance, but finding the same guarded expression.
“And while I respect you might need space,” I continued, my voice softening despite the tightness in my chest, “if there’s something going on, I need to know.
I need honesty, even if it’s messy.” I took a small step closer, vulnerability lacing my words.
“I want us to be able to work through things together.” I finished, the weight of my own fear pressing me to the edge, a silent plea in my gaze.
His shoulders stiffened, eyes glued to the book. “It’s nothing.”
“Hunter,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. You don’t talk to me the same. You’re barely answering my messages—”
He snapped the book shut, not loud but sharp enough to make the twins startle. “I said it’s nothing.” His words stung, the edge in his voice so unlike the man who used to make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe, who whispered comfort into my hair when the world felt too heavy.
My throat tightened. “I’m not trying to fight with you. I’m just… worried. About you. About us.”
For the first time, he looked at me. His blue eyes weren’t cold, but they were tired, bone-deep tired. “Cami, not everything needs to be talked about. Sometimes I just need space. I can’t always play twenty questions.”
The kids chattered in the background, their voices a blur. I stood in the living room, the ground unsteady beneath my feet. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t beg anyone to stay, so I stood there, arms crossed, heart pounding in my ears. He’d never snapped at me before.
“I’m not asking for every detail,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t pretend I don’t notice. You’re pulling away, Hunter. And it hurts.”
He rubbed a hand over his beard, sighing like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “It’s not about you.”
I know that, but when you shut me out, when you don’t answer, it feels like it is. It feels like you’re already halfway gone, and I’m left guessing why,” I said softly, trying to reach him through the wall he was building.
I took a small step closer, searching his eyes for something, anything, that would let me in. “Can’t you see how much I’m trying here? Every unanswered text, every call that goes to voicemail, they feel like tiny rejections. I’m reaching out, hoping you’ll reach back.”
His jaw tightened. “Because talking about it doesn’t fix it. Because dragging you into my shit doesn’t help either. I don’t want you or your kids seeing me like that.”
His words landed sharply. “So you’d rather leave me in the dark? Pretend nothing’s wrong until I finally give up?”
The twins let out a squeal as Zeke zoomed a car across the floor, crashing it into the coffee table with a triumphant “BOOM!” The sound made Hunter flinch, almost imperceptibly, but I caught it.
“See?” I whispered, stepping closer. “I notice, Hunter. I notice even when you don’t say anything.”
He looked at me then, eyes haunted, walls up so high I wasn’t sure I’d ever scale them. “That’s exactly why I’m trying to keep space. Because once you really see what it’s like, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
The silence stretched, wide and impossible.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That I wouldn’t run just because he’d finally shown me what I already knew was there beneath the surface. But the words never came. The anger did. The hurt. The fear of abandonment. It all hit first.
“If you want out, just say it.”
Hunter’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “That’s not what I said.”
“But that’s what it feels like!” My voice cracked, louder than I intended. “You don’t answer my texts, you barely call, you sit here like you’d rather be anywhere else. How am I supposed to believe you still want this?”
His jaw clenched, hands fisted against his knees. “Because I do want this. I want you. I want the kids. But I can’t just…” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me get it.” I fired back, my chest heaving. “Stop shutting me out like I’m too fragile to handle the truth. I’ve been through hell, Hunter. I can take it. What I can’t take is being kept in the dark until you walk away.”
The kids’ laughter softened into silence. Sensing the tension, Zeke looked up from his car, eyes wide. My stomach twisted, guilt slamming into me, but the words wouldn’t stop.
I lowered my voice and took a step towards Hunter to close the distance.
“You think hiding from me protects me? It doesn’t.
It just makes me feel like I’m not enough for you to trust. And sure, those may be my own insecurities, but I need to feel safe, I need you to communicate with me.
I want to know you just like I let you know me, Hunter. ”
Hunter stood, restless, his fists opening and closing at his sides. He looked away, breath shaky. “You want the truth?” The words barely made it out.
He dragged a hand over his face, eyes tired. “My head’s a mess. Most days, I wake up from dreams that feel too real. Sounds, smells, they pull me back to places I wish I could forget.”
His voice broke, softer now. “Fireworks… they take me back. I was tired on the 4th of July, I was checked out… a mess.” He shook his head, voice almost gone.
“I hate feeling like this. It makes me feel weak.” He looked at me, pain flickering in his eyes.
“I’m scared that if you see it, you’ll realize I’m not the one you want.
That you and the kids are better off without me. There, I said it. Any other questions?”
His words landed hard, tears burning behind my eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved aside from the kids who shifted nervously as the room buzzed with tension.
For the first time since meeting him, I didn’t feel safe in his silence.
I felt like we were standing on opposite sides of a chasm, both of us shouting into it, too scared to cross.
The silence after his outburst stretched thin.
My chest ached, eyes burning with tears I wouldn’t let fall in front of the kids.
Hunter’s face was hard, but behind it I saw the cracks: the fear, the shame, the storm he was trying to hold back.
And then he moved, but not towards me. He grabbed his keys, jaw set, shoulders stiff, holding himself together by sheer force.
For a brief second, his hand hovered over the door handle, a moment so suspended it felt like the world paused with him.
He almost stepped forward, an inch that could have made everything crumble or come together, but his foot stayed planted, frozen between choices.
“Hunter…” My voice caught, broken.
He didn’t meet my eyes, but I could still see the regret. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry Cami.”
I caught myself aching to go after Hunter, to grab his hand and make him stay, but the door slammed behind him, leaving the sound ricocheting through the apartment.
I stood there frozen, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the echo of his absence.
I forced myself to kneel, to gather my kids close, to steady my voice even though my chest felt like it was splintering.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to them. “It’s okay.” Quickly trying to redirect them.
But deep down, nothing felt okay. It felt like losing him, and the slam of the door rang in my ears long after he was gone. The kids clung to me, their little faces tight with worry they didn’t have words for. Zeke asked in a small voice, “Is Hunter mad at you?”
My heart clenched. I smoothed his curls, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “No, baby. Grown-ups just… need breaks sometimes.”
He seemed to accept that, though his eyes lingered on the door like he expected Hunter to walk back through it any second. The twins fussed, climbing into my lap, their weight anchoring me when I felt like I might float right out of my skin.
I held them, kissed their cheeks, and rocked them until their breathing slowed. On the outside, calm. Inside, breaking.
Later, after they were asleep, I stood alone in the living room, staring at the couch where he’d been just a few hours ago. The pillow still held the faintest indentation from his arm.
Part of me was furious, furious that he’d left, that he couldn’t just stay and talk to me, furious that his silence always left me feeling like I wasn’t enough.
Furious that he did that in front of the kids.
But beneath the anger was fear. Fear that this was it.
That my kids would ask for him tomorrow, and I’d have no answer.
That the little piece of hope I’d finally let myself hold onto was slipping through my fingers like all the times before.
I curled onto the couch, hugging a throw pillow tight, my tears hot against the fabric.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t beg anyone to stay.
Not after my dad. And not after my kids’ father.
But Hunter wasn’t them. He was different.
He had been different. And that’s what hurt the most. Because for the first time in years, I’d let myself believe.