Chapter 2: Child

It was early afternoon when Marcelline decided she couldn’t sit with the heaviness in her chest any longer.

The morning had passed yet her mind kept circling back to that brief moment at the breakfast table. She could still remember the way Rafael’s expression had shifted, the way his voice had sharpened, as if she had spoken of something forbidden.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much.

She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong.

And yet, guilt had a way of settling deep unreasonably and persistently, especially when it came to the person she loved most.

So she baked.

She always baked when she didn’t know what else to do.

By the time the cookies were finished, the warm scent of butter and sugar filled the kitchen. She had convinced herself that it would be better to see him to smooth things over before the smallest crack became wider.

She didn’t want something so trivial to become the reason her husband drifted away.

Even if it wasn’t trivial to her.

Carefully, she placed the cookies into a neat box, tied a ribbon around it without really thinking, and told herself it was the only sweet gesture she knew.

Still, her hands trembled slightly when she picked up her purse.

—

The drive into the city was familiar. Rafael’s law firm sat among towering buildings of glass and steel. It looked polished and imposing and it was the kind of place that always made Marcie feel a little too soft around the edges.

Rafael belonged here.

He looked like he belonged anywhere, really. He was confident, composed, and untouchable in his tailored suits.

Marcie parked the car safely along the curb and sat for a moment, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as she took a slow breath.

It was ridiculous to feel nervous.

She was his wife.

Yet her stomach fluttered as though she were walking into something unknown.

With the box held carefully in her arms, she stepped out of the car and made her way toward the entrance.

Almost immediately, she was greeted warmly.

“Mrs. Gray!”

Marcie turned, surprised by the cheerful voice. A young receptionist behind the front desk looked up at her with a bright smile.

“Oh, hello,” Marcie replied, returning it politely.

“It’s so nice to see you again. Are you here for Mr. Gray?”

Marcie nodded, adjusting her grip on the box. “Yes. I just wanted to bring him something.”

The receptionist’s gaze flicked down, and her eyes widened with delight. “Cookies?”

Marcie let out a small laugh, some of her tension easing. “He mentioned people here liked them.”

“Oh, they loved them,” the woman said quickly, almost reverently. “The entire office talked about them for days."

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gray.” another spoke.

“Mrs. Gray,” someone else greeted, warm and respectful.

Marcie wasn’t sure if it was because Rafael was the owner of the firm, or because they truly liked her, but the kindness still softened the tension in her chest.

She forced herself to smile, holding her head a little higher.

“I’m here to see Rafael,” she said gently.

“Of course,” the receptionist replied, already reaching for the phone. “I’ll let his office know.”

"Oh. No need. It's a surprise." Marcie interrupted.

"I see. Well, at least let me take you there, Mrs. Gray."

She nodded in response as the woman guided her.

Even though she knew the way, still, Marcie’s fingers curled tighter around the box she was holding. The deeper she went into the firm, the quieter it became, the bustling sounds of phones and distant conversations faded into a muffled hush.

She stopped in front of his office door, taking a slow breath as she steadied herself. She didn’t want the morning’s awkwardness to linger between them. She only wanted to see him smile, accept the cookies, maybe tease her the way he always did, and let whatever tension had formed dissolve into something harmless.

Her hand lifted instinctively, but she froze when she realized the door wasn’t fully closed. It sat slightly ajar, leaving a narrow gap. Marcie hesitated, then gently pushed it wider.

“Rafael?” she called softly.

The word barely left her lips before her entire body stilled.

On the couch inside his office sat a woman who clearly was not an assistant standing with files, not a colleague passing through, but someone seated with an ease that felt far too intimate, as though she belonged there. And Rafael… Rafael was not behind his desk. He was lying down, his head resting in her lap in a way that made Marcie’s mind struggle to catch up, as if her eyes were showing her something impossible.

His tie was loosened, his posture unguarded, almost peaceful. But what stole the air from Marcie’s lungs entirely was the small boy cradled against his chest. A child no older than three, fast asleep, his tiny body rising and falling with quiet breaths. Rafael held him securely, protectively, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Marcie’s grip faltered. The box suddenly felt too heavy, too real, as though it might slip from her hands at any second.

The boy’s dark hair, the shape of his face, the softness of his features...it all struck her with sickening clarity.

He looked like Rafael.

Not vaguely, not coincidentally. He looked like him so much that Marcie’s stomach dropped violently, her heartbeat pounding so loudly she swore it filled the room. Her thoughts scrambled desperately for explanations. A client’s child. A relative. A misunderstanding. Anything but the truth her eyes were already forming.

The woman’s fingers moved slowly through Rafael’s hair, familiar and gentle, like a gesture done over years. Rafael himself looked so at ease, so unguarded, so… at home.

Marcie couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe properly. The silence felt suffocating, pressing in around her until her chest ached.

Then the faintest creak betrayed her, the door shifting slightly under her hand.

The woman’s head snapped up first, her gaze locking onto Marcie’s with instant sharpness. Wide-eyed, alert, almost defensive. A heartbeat later, Rafael stirred, blinking as though waking from a brief rest.

Confusion flickered across his face, but the moment his eyes landed on the doorway, on Marcie, on the box in her trembling hands, on the devastation written across her expression...the color drained from him completely.

“Marcie…” he whispered, her name sounding like a plea, like fear.

Marcie stood frozen, numb from head to toe, her lips parting as if she could speak, but no sound came at first. Her gaze dropped again, helplessly, to the little boy sleeping against Rafael’s chest, then lifted back to him.

When her voice finally emerged, it was barely more than a breath of fragility and brokenness.

"I... shouldn’t be here."