Bonus Chapter 2. LEO
UNFAITHFUL HEART
by Gunj40
———
Five months.
She hadn't expected it to feel like this — the specific, overwhelming, quietly beautiful weight of a life growing inside her.
Dominic had become almost impossibly attentive — fussing over the smallest things, quietly taking over anything that might tire her.
It should have driven her mad, and sometimes it did. But more often it left her feeling wrapped in a kind of care so constant, so gentle, that she found herself leaning into it without even realising.
There were moments she caught herself watching him — how naturally he reached for her, how easily he rearranged his world around hers — and something in her would soften in a way she couldn't quite explain.
It wasn't loud or overwhelming. It was quieter than that.
Steadier.
The kind of love that didn't need to be announced because it was there in every small, deliberate thing he did.
And this time — she trusted it.
One morning she reached for her glass of water and his hand was there first.
"Don't," he said. Handing it to her.
She looked at him.
"I can get my own water," she said.
"I know," he said. Entirely unbothered. "I just want to get it for you."
She shook her head.
Tried not to smile.
Failed.
It should have irritated her — and sometimes it did, in the small ways that even the best things could occasionally be too much.
But mostly she caught herself watching him when he didn't know she was watching.
The way he moved through their home with quiet purpose. The way his eyes found her first in every room.
The way he had rearranged the entire shape of his days around her without making it feel like sacrifice — making it feel, instead, like the most natural thing.
Like this was simply who he was now.
———-
Every morning began the same way.
She would wake slowly, her hand resting over her stomach, feeling the quiet presence of the life growing inside her.
Before she could even move —
"Don't move."
His voice. Always alert.
"I can sit up, Dominic," she would murmur, already smiling.
"I didn't say you couldn't," he replied, pushing himself up. "I said don't move."
She rolled her eyes.
And then he would help her anyway. Every time. Carefully, like she was something precious.
Something he had almost lost and intended, every single morning, never to take for granted.
She rolled her eyes many times throughout the day .
———-
The cravings arrived without warning and without any consideration for the time of day.
Strawberry ice cream — a specific brand, a specific flavour, the kind that only one shop stocked.
She mentioned it at eleven at night, not even really asking, just saying it out loud the way you said things when you were tired and pregnant and your body had decided it wanted something immediately.
He was already reaching for his coat.
"It's eleven," she said.
"I know," he said.
He came back twenty minutes later with two tubs — because he had stood in the shop looking at one and decided one wasn't enough.
He set them on the nightstand. Got back into bed.
Didn't say a word about the hour or the cold or the drive.
She ate both.
He lay beside her entirely unbothered, one hand warm at her back.
She looked at him at some point — this man, in the dark, entirely at peace with driving across the city at eleven at night for ice cream — and felt something move through her that was too warm and too large for words.
So she didn't use any.
She just leaned into him.
He held her closer.
Another evening she mentioned fries — a specific place, said out loud without really meaning it as a request.
He was already on his phone ordering before she finished the sentence.
Forty minutes later he set the bag in her lap.
Hot.
Exactly right.
She looked at him softly.
Then she kissed him — sudden, warm, entirely without warning.
He responded immediately.
Both hands finding her face. Kissing her back with equal intensity — certain and unhurried and completely present, the way he was present in everything now.
When they pulled back she looked at him.
He looked at her.
She smiled & ate every single one.
He sat beside her entirely unbothered, entirely content, the television forgotten, the evening entirely theirs.
She looked at him when she finished.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything ".
He looked back at her.
"Always," he said.
She leaned into him.
He put his arm around her.
She thought — this.
This is exactly what I came back for.
———-
One thing which hadn't change was Isla's bedtime routine.
She refused to sleep without a story. Complete story without any shortcuts.
So every night without exception he read to her. All of it.
Seraphina would sit downstairs listening to the faint sound of his voice through the quiet house — low and steady, entirely unhurried — with one hand on her stomach feeling small movements and thinking about how full everything was.
Life. Growing. Safe.
By the time he came downstairs the house would be still.
And it would just be them.
One evening she sat with her feet in his lap — her phone between them, a list open, the names they had been arguing about for weeks.
"You're not naming my child something that sounds like a tragic novel character," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "And you're not naming mine something that sounds like a board meeting."
He almost smiled.
She scrolled.
Paused.
"Leo."
His hands stilled.
She looked at him.
He was already looking at her.
"Leo Hayes," he said quietly.
Something about the way he said it — the weight and the warmth of it, the way it sounded like something true —
It felt right.
She smiled.
"Leo."
He leaned forward, cupped her face in both hands, and kissed her softly. Warm and certain and entirely without hurry.
————
Months passed.
Slowly. Quickly. All at once.
There were nights she couldn't sleep — shifting restlessly, running out of positions, her back aching in that particular way that no amount of pillows entirely solved.
He always noticed.
His hand finding her back in the dark. Pressing gently where it hurt. Entirely awake, entirely there, without complaint and without being asked.
"You hold your breath," he murmured once. "When something hurts."
She went still , & looked at him in the dark — this man, this honest, changed, entirely hers man — and reached over. Put her hand against his face & kissed him.
He closed his eyes.
Leaned into it.
"Go back to sleep," she said softly.
They lay in the dark together — not sleeping, not talking, just being — and she thought that this was perhaps the most intimate thing.
Not the dramatic moments. Not the grand gestures. Just this. His hand where it hurt.
Her hand on his face. The quiet, complete understanding of two people who had finally learned to simply be present for each other.
————
Eight months in he stopped going to the office entirely.
He rearranged everything — calls, meetings, his whole routine — and appeared at the kitchen table every morning with his laptop and his coffee and the specific, reliable warmth of a man who had decided that being close was the most important thing he could do.
She didn't ask him to.
He did it anyway.
They worked across from each other at the kitchen table. Her studio schedules and client bookings. His calls and emails. The house quiet around them.
Sometimes she looked up and found him already looking at her.
Sometimes he looked up and found her.
Nothing said.
Everything understood.
————
The day Leo was born didn't begin dramatically.
It was quiet. Almost ordinary.
She had woken with a strange stillness in her body — something different, something she couldn't name. No pain yet. Just a knowing.
Then came the first contraction.
She sat up slowly. One hand on her stomach.
"Dominic," she said softly.
He was awake instantly.
Everything after that moved both too fast and not fast enough.
He was — not calm. Not at first.
She watched him open three drawers looking for his car keys which were in his hand —
"Dominic," she said.
He stopped.
Looked at her.
"Keys," she said. "Your hand."
He looked at his hand.
Took one breath.
And then the real him arrived — underneath the panic, the person he had become — and he moved. Got the bag from the door. Called both their mothers. Got her shoes.
Crouched in front of her.
Put them on her feet.
Looked up at her.
She looked down at this man — on his knees in front of her, entirely steady now, his hands warm around her feet — and then the next contraction arrived.
It took her breath completely.
He was on his feet instantly — his hands at her arms, steadying her, his voice low and entirely calm even though she could feel in his grip how much it cost him to be calm right now.
"I've got you," he said. "I've got you."
She nodded. Breathed through it.
He held on until it passed.
Then looked at her face.
"Ready?" he said quietly.
She exhaled.
"Yes," she said.
Her mother arrived quietly — let herself in, and went straight upstair, to Isla's room.
Isla was already awake.
Standing in her doorway in her pyjamas, rabbit under her arm, entirely alert. Taking in the adults below with the focused attention of a six year old who understood something enormous was happening.
Her grandmother crouched to her level.
Said something quiet.
Isla listened.
Then she came downstairs — one step at a time — and walked to her mother .
She didn't say anything.
She just put her arms around her — carefully, her cheek against her side — and held on.
Seraphina pressed her lips to the top of her daughter's head.
Held on just as tightly.
Then Isla stepped back.
Looked at her father .
She put her small hand against his face — the way she had seen her mother do it, the gesture she had been watching for years — and looked at him steadily.
He covered her hand with his.
She nodded once.
Took her grandmother's hand.
Her grandmother looked at Seraphina over Isla's head — her eyes bright, her expression everything — and nodded.
They drove together. All of them.
Her mother and Isla in the back, Isla holding rabbit and looking out at the city going past with the focused attention of someone witnessing something important.
———-
The hours that followed were long.
He stayed beside her through all of it.
Her hand in his — she held it tightly when the waves came and he let her hold as tightly as she needed, never once pulling away.
His voice low and steady. His forehead briefly against hers between the difficult moments.
What she didn't see —
Every time she closed her eyes, every time she turned away — his face. The concealed, controlled panic of a man watching the person he loved most in the world in pain and being entirely unable to take any of it from her. His free hand pressed flat against his thigh. His jaw tight.
He did not let her see it.
She saw it anyway.
She knew him too well.
"I'm alright," she said, once, when a difficult wave passed.
"I know," he said.
"You're not," she said.
He tried to smile. Didn't quite manage it.
"We're both going to be completely fine," he said. Like a promise. Like if he said it clearly enough it would simply be true.
She squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
They did it together.
And then —
A cry.
Soft at first.
Then stronger.
Real.
Everything stopped.
"It's a boy."
She didn't realise she was crying until she felt it.
When they placed Leo in her arms the world didn't stop — it simply softened. The noise fading into something distant, unimportant.
All she could feel was him. Warm. Real. Perfect in a way that made her chest ache.
"Hi," she whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed his cheek.
He shifted — tiny and certain, as if he already belonged exactly where he was meant to be.
Dominic leaned closer.
His thumb brushed Leo's impossibly small hand.
Those tiny fingers curled around it.
Something in Dominic gave way entirely.
She saw it — the shift, the quiet undoing of a man who had held himself together for too long — and watched him bend forward and press his forehead gently to hers.
"He's ours," he said. His voice not entirely steady.
She looked at him through the exhaustion and the tears and something deeper that had no name.
"I know," she said softly.
Not just the baby.
All of it.
This life. This second chance. This love that had broken and rebuilt itself into something stronger and more honest and more real than anything they had been before.
He kissed her forehead.
Stayed there.
She closed her eyes.
———-
The family arrived later, like joy itself — all at once, without apology.
Both sets of grandparents. Claire and Adrian. Lucas, all had apparently been in the waiting area for two hours.
Her mother went straight to her — held her face in both hands, kissed her cheek, her forehead, her cheek again, said several things at once.
Eleanor came to the bed. Took her hand. Said nothing. Her eyes said everything.
Richard stood near the window with her father — quiet in the way of men who felt things deeply. Her father put his hand briefly on Richard's shoulder. Richard covered it with his own.
The room full. Warm. Loud with the specific, beautiful noise of people who loved each other completely all arriving in the same place at once.
Then Dominic reached into the crib.
Lifted Leo carefully.
Turned to the room.
Looked at all of them — these people, this family, everything they had built and kept and fought for — and said simply —
"This is Leo."
A breath.
"Leo Hayes."
The room went quiet.
Her mother's hand went to her mouth.
Eleanor said it softly — Leo — the way you said a name when it landed exactly right.
Richard nodded once. Slow. Certain. The nod of a man who needed nothing more than that.
Then from the corner — small, entirely certain —
Isla's voice.
"I said that name weeks ago."
The room laughed.
The warm, helpless, completely full laugh of people who were entirely, completely happy.
————
Leo, was six weeks old, by the time the full gathering happened at home.
He was completely aware of the effect he had on everyone around him and entirely unbothered by it.
He sat propped between cushions, small hands reaching for anything within reach, his sounds coming easily and freely, like happiness was simply his natural state.
Eleanor sat closest — completely captivated, her fingers brushing his cheek every few seconds as if she couldn't stop herself.
Seraphina's mother wasn't far behind — making soft sounds just to hear him respond, her attention entirely fixed.
"He knows he's in charge," Claire said from the arm of the sofa.
"He absolutely does," Seraphina said.
The argument about who held him had begun the moment they arrived and had not fully resolved.
Adrian reached for Leo carefully.
"Support his head," Isla's voice came immediately. Firm. Certain. She had not moved from Leo's side since arriving.
Adrian froze.
"I am supporting his head."
"Better," Isla said, stepping closer to adjust his hold herself anyway.
Dominic looked away, his shoulders shaking silently.
Isla looked down at Leo. Her expression — which had been entirely serious and supervisorial for the last twenty minutes — softened completely.
"I told you I'd look after you," she whispered. Like a promise she intended to keep forever.
Leo made a small, happy sound.
His fingers curled toward hers.
She melted.
The whole room melted with her.
———-
The room was still full — both grandmothers competing for Leo, Claire not far behind, Lucas pretending composure, Adrian being gently corrected by Isla on proper infant-holding technique.
————
The evening stretched slowly. Comfortably. Dinner , conversations and laughter . Leo passed carefully between arms.
Seraphina stood near the doorway at one point and let the scene settle into her. This noise. This warmth. This life that had once felt so uncertain now standing whole and steady in front of her.
Dominic stepped beside her without a word.
His hand at her waist. His thumb moving absentmindedly the way it always did when he was grounding himself.
He followed her gaze. To Leo. To Isla. To the room full of people who had been part of this from the beginning.
"I feel so blessed ," he said.
She turned slightly toward him, & nodded her head.
———
A/N: Thanks for reading! Find me only on Wattpad @Gunj40 ?? If you're reading this elsewhere it has been stolen
——————
One goodbye at a time.
One hug after another.
Until the door closed behind the last of them and the house settled back into its quiet.
She checked on the children.
Leo asleep — small and certain, entirely at peace.
Isla beside him, one arm stretched slightly toward him even in sleep, as if she wasn't quite ready to let him exist separately yet.
Seraphina adjusted the blanket. Brushed Isla's hair back. Stood there a moment longer than necessary.
Taking it in.
Then she turned.
He was already watching her from the doorway.
Leaning against the frame.
Quiet. Waiting.
The way he waited for her now — without impatience, without agenda, simply there.
She walked toward him.
He pushed off the doorframe and came to her.
His hands found her face.
He looked at her — really looked, the way he had learned to look, taking in everything — and she looked back at this man she had chosen and left and chosen again and was choosing still, right now, in the quiet of their house with their children asleep.
He picked her up softly and walked towards their room, placed her gently on the bed and kissed her.
Soft at first. The way their kisses always started now — unhurried, certain, neither of them with anywhere else to be.
Then warmer. His hands moving from her face to her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands at his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly — one by one.
The lamp on low. The house quiet around them.
His shirt slipping from his shoulders. Her dress falling away. Both of them entirely unhurried, entirely present, entirely there — the specific, warm, completely real intimacy of two people who had been through everything together and were still, after all of it, choosing each other.
His forehead against hers.
Both of them breathing.
She put her hand against his face.
He turned into it.
Closed his eyes.
"I love you," he said quietly. Into the dark. Into her. "I love you and I keep thinking — how close it came. How different everything could have been."
She looked at him.
"It didn't," she said. "We're here."
He opened his eyes.
"We're here," he agreed.
He kissed her again.
And she kissed him back — completely, entirely, with every part of herself — because this was what she had come back for. Not the grand moments. Not the dramatic gestures.
This.
His hands. His voice. His forehead against hers.
This ordinary, extraordinary, entirely earned life.
-----
Later — much later — she lay in the dark with her head on his bare chest.
His hand moving slowly through arm.
The house entirely still around them.
Leo in the next room.
Isla beside him.
Both of them safe. Both of them exactly where they were meant to be.
She listened to his heartbeat.
Steady. Familiar. Entirely his.
———-
End of Bonus Chapter 2
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