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CHAPTER THREE

****Liana Pov****

Silence can be louder than gunfire.

That’s what I learned in the car.

Ethan drove, hands steady on the wheel, jaw clenched tight. Damien sat in the backseat behind me, his presence a dark gravitational pull I could feel without seeing.

Three hearts, three breaths, one suffocating space.

I looked out the window just to avoid looking at either of them. The city blurred by — glass towers, coffee shops, the rusted skeleton of an old bridge. The world continued like nothing had broken.

Ava had lost her mother.

Damien had lost his wife.

And I had been dragged back into a story I tried so hard to end.

“Traffic’s lighter today,” Ethan said, voice controlled, too careful.

Damien didn’t respond.

I glanced at him through the mirror accidentally. He was watching me — not the road, not Ethan, not his phone. Just… me.

Like he was memorizing the shape of my silence.

I looked away fast.

Ethan noticed. Of course he did.

“Capeview funeral home?” Ethan asked.

“Yes,” Damien replied, his tone polite but edged. “Thank you for driving, Mr. Ward.”

“Ethan,” he corrected, forcing a smile without warmth. “I prefer my first name.”

Damien hummed, unreadable. “Noted.”

So polite. So fake. Politeness is just hostility wrapped in manners.

I finally spoke, because the air was thick enough to choke on.

“How is Ava today?”

“She woke up calling for Elise again,” Damien said quietly. “Then you.”

Guilt stabbed through me.

“Damien…”

“It’s not your responsibility,” he said, voice low. “But she feels safer when you’re near.”

I swallowed hard.

It shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it did.

Ethan cleared his throat, tight. “That’s a lot to put on someone who’s grieving too.”

Damien’s eyes shifted to meet Ethan’s in the mirror.

“I’m not putting anything on her,” Damien said simply. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Sometimes the truth is a burden,” Ethan replied.

“Sometimes,” Damien said, “it’s the only thing we have left.”

The way they looked at each other — calm, cold, measured — it might as well have been violence.

I closed my eyes a moment, exhausted already.

After a few minutes, Damien said, “Pull over here. I’ll get her something before we go in.”

Ethan parked outside a small bakery — the one Elise used to love. I hadn’t seen it in years, but the brick exterior and the tiny chalkboard sign with pastries scribbled in messy handwriting were the same.

Damien got out, leaving Ethan and me in the car.

The air that remained after he shut the door felt different — like someone had opened a window and let oxygen back in.

Ethan let out a slow breath.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“No,” I said honestly.

“But I have to go in anyway.”

Ethan looked at me with something soft and painful in his eyes.

“You’re too compassionate for your own good.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re lying,” he said.

I opened my mouth, but he reached across the console, lightly touching my hand — not romantic, not possessive, just… grounding.

“You don’t have to protect me from this,” he said. “Let me handle him if he gets—”

“He won’t,” I said too quickly.

Ethan’s jaw ticked. “You trust him?”

I hesitated. “I know him.”

“That’s not the same,” Ethan murmured.

The door opened. Damien slid back in, holding a white paper bag. The scent of sugar and melted chocolate filled the car.

“Elise’s favorite,” Damien said, placing the bag between the seats.

The mention of her name hushed all three of us.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Not for you,” he replied. “For Ava.”

But his eyes said something else.

---

When we arrived at the funeral home, sunlight glanced off the white stone building. People were already gathering, dressed in black, moving quietly like shadows that had nowhere else to go.

Damien got out, smoothing his tie again — a habit, an armor he put on. Ethan stepped out too, walking close enough to me that I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

Inside, the scent of incense and roses wrapped around me like a memory I didn’t ask for.

I saw Ava first.

She sat in a corner with a stuffed rabbit clutched in her arms, legs swinging lightly as if she were trying not to think too hard.

“Auntie Liana!” she shouted, the moment her eyes landed on me.

Her voice tore right through me.

I knelt, and she barreled into me, small arms tight around my neck. Her hair smelled like baby shampoo and something sweet — innocence, I guess.

“I missed you,” she said against my shoulder.

“I missed you too.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until Ethan silently offered me a tissue from behind.

Damien watched us, expression unreadable, hands folded behind his back like he was holding himself together just to stand there.

“Daddy bought donuts,” Ava said, lifting the stuffed rabbit. “Do you want one?”

“I’d love one,” I said, smile trembling.

Ava smiled, tugging me toward the table where the white bag waited.

Ethan stayed beside me, a quiet sentinel. Damien stayed a few steps back, eyes following every interaction like he couldn’t help it.

“Can I sit with Ava for a bit?” I asked Damien.

He nodded. “Of course.”

His voice was softer now, something that lived only when Ava was in the room.

As I sat on the couch with Ava, she leaned against me, bunny in her lap.

“Mommy’s gone to heaven,” she said matter-of-factly. “That’s what Daddy told me.”

My throat closed.

“And I think heaven is too far to send letters,” Ava continued, frowning. “So we have to talk out loud and hope she hears.”

I blinked back tears. “I think she does.”

Ava nodded, satisfied.

“Mommy liked chocolate donuts. And Daddy said you like coffee ones. So I saved one for you.”

She reached into the bag and handed me a donut — smudged, imperfect, heartbreakingly thoughtful.

I took it, hands shaking slightly.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Ava smiled and rested her head on my arm.

In that moment, I felt Ethan watching us from across the room.

And then, a shadow fell over us.

Damien.

He stood above us, hands in his pockets.

“She’s been asking about you all morning,” he said quietly.

I opened my mouth, but words didn’t come.

Damien glanced at Ava, then at me.

“I don’t expect anything,” he said. “But… if you could stay after everyone leaves… there’s something we need to talk about.”

Ethan stepped closer, voice low but firm.

“What exactly do you need to talk about?”

Damien’s gaze slid to his, steady.

“Elise.”

Silence. Heavy. Absolute.

Ethan tensed beside me. “That topic is off-limits today.”

“It’s not,” Damien said simply.

Ava looked up at me. “Can I go show Daddy’s friend my bunny?”

“Yes,” I said gently.

She hopped off, running toward a woman in black.

When we were alone again, Damien lowered his voice.

“Liana… Elise kept something from you. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

I froze.

“What do you mean?”

Damien’s eyes looked darker than grief — something layered beneath pain and exhaustion.

“After the viewing tonight,” he said, “don’t leave. Please.”

Ethan bristled. “You don’t get to—”

“I’m not asking you,” Damien cut in.

He looked at me again. Only me.

“Stay.”

A single word.

Soft.

Devastating.

It was like the years folded in on themselves, and I was back in the moment before everything went wrong.

Ethan whispered, “You don’t owe him anything.”

Damien whispered, “You deserve the truth.”

And I… I didn’t know which voice was more dangerous.

Ava ran back, throwing her arms around my waist again, and just like that, the decision became much harder.

The afternoon blurred in the low hum of voices, condolences, and distant memories. But one single thought repeated in my mind like a pulse that wouldn’t stop:

After tonight, nothing will be the same.

Not for Damien.

Not for Ethan.

And definitely not for me.