Chapter 5

Morning came too early.

It crept in through the curtains, thin and pale, touching the walls like it didn’t want to be noticed. Ava had barely slept. Her body had rested, maybe, but her mind hadn’t stopped moving—not once. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the space beside her more sharply. The unfamiliar weight of silence. The way the bed no longer felt like theirs.

She turned slightly, reaching out without thinking.

Nothing.

Her hand met cold sheets.

Her heart stuttered.

“Matthew?” she whispered, already sitting up.

The room was empty.

For a moment, panic flared—hot and irrational. Then she heard it. A faint sound from the living room. The soft rustle of paper. Stillness layered over stillness.

She pulled herself out of bed and padded down the hallway, her steps slow, careful, as if she were approaching something fragile.

He stood there.

In the living room.

Barefoot. Still in the clothes he’d slept in. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like he didn’t quite know where to put himself in the space.

In his hands—

Their wedding album.

Opened.

Ava stopped breathing.

He was staring at a picture near the front. The one where he had her forehead pressed to his, eyes closed, smiling like the world had finally made sense. She remembered that moment. The music, the laughter. The way his hands had trembled just slightly at her waist.

Her vision blurred.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing the sound threatening to escape. Tears gathered quickly, traitorously, but she wiped them away with the heel of her palm. Hard and fast.

Not now.

She stepped forward.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked softly.

Matthew turned.

His expression shifted—surprise first, then something cautious, unreadable. He lowered the album slightly, as if he hadn’t expected to be caught holding it.

“No,” he said.

“I woke up and you were gone.” Her heart twisted.

“I was there. I just… woke up early.”

She nodded, not questioning it.

She moved closer, drawn by instinct more than intention. Slowly, gently, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him from behind. Pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Breathed him in.

For a second—just one—she thought he might let her stay.

Then he stiffened and stepped forward.

Out of her arms.

The movement wasn’t harsh. It didn’t need to be.

It hurt anyway.

“Oh,” she murmured, the sound barely there.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, turning to face her. “I didn’t mean— I just— I’m not comfortable yet.”

Yet.

The word echoed in her chest.

“It’s okay,” she said, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I understand.”

He nodded, relief flickering across his face.

She glanced at the album. “You were looking at the pictures.”

“Yes.” He hesitated. “I thought… maybe something would click.”

“And?” she asked, even though she already knew.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… a feeling. Like I’m looking at someone else’s life.”

She swallowed. “That’s our life.”

“I know,” he said gently. Too gently. “I just don’t remember living it.”

Silence settled between them.

She stepped back before the ache in her chest could show on her face. “I’ll make breakfast.”

He didn’t respond, he only nodded.

In the kitchen, Ava kept her hands busy. Eggs, toast, coffee. Familiar motions that grounded her. She focused on the sounds—the crack of the eggshell, the hiss of the pan—anything to keep her thoughts from splintering.

She set the table, two plates, two cups.

She was reaching for the salt when the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the house sharply.

“I’ll get it,” she called automatically, already moving.

But Matthew was faster.

“I’ve got it,” he said, his voice coming from the hallway.

She followed him anyway.

The door opened.

And Isabella Moore stepped inside like she belonged there.

Perfect hair, perfect posture. A soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Ava’s breath caught.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded before she could stop herself.

Isabella’s gaze flicked to her briefly, cool and assessing, then returned to Matthew.

“Hi,” Isabella said sweetly. “Matthew. I heard about the accident. I was so worried.”

Matthew’s face changed.

Not confusion, not distance. A smile.

Small and easy.

The first one Ava had seen in two weeks.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

The word was warm.

Ava felt it like a slap.

“How are you feeling?” Isabella asked, stepping closer. Too close. “You gave everyone such a scare.”

“I’m okay,” Matthew replied. “Still trying to figure things out.”

Isabella nodded sympathetically. “That must be hard.”

She reached out—touched his arm.

Casual and familiar.

Ava’s nails dug into her palm.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Ava said sharply. “Matthew, breakfast is ready.”

He barely glanced at her. “I’ll eat later.”

Later.

He gestured for Isabella to come inside. “Come in.”

Ava stood rooted to the spot as they moved past her, already talking. Laughing softly. Their voices blended easily, like nothing had ever changed.

Isabella sat on the couch. Matthew sat beside her.

Too close.

“So,” Isabella said lightly, crossing her legs. “Do you remember me?”

He shook his head. “Not really. But I feel… comfortable around you.”

Comfortable.

The word lodged in Ava’s throat.

Isabella smiled wider. “I'm Isabella Moore. We’ve known each other a long time.”

She leaned in, her hand resting on his knee now. Slow and deliberate.

That was it.

Ava stood.

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Get your hand off him,” she said, her voice shaking with barely contained fury.

Isabella looked up, feigning innocence. “I’m just being friendly.”

“You’re crossing a line,” Ava snapped. “That’s my husband.”

Matthew stood abruptly. “Ava, stop.”

She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“She’s just being a friend,” he said. “You’re overreacting.”

Overreacting.

The room spun.

“I am your wife,” Ava said, her voice rising. “And she needs to respect that.”

Isabella sighed, standing as well. “Ava, you’re making this uncomfortable. I'm trying to help him.”

Ava laughed—a sharp, broken sound. “Help him? He has a wife. Get out.”

Matthew frowned. “Ava—”

“Get out,” Ava said again, pointing at the door. “Now.”

The room crackled with tension.

Isabella hesitated, then turned to Matthew. “Matthew?”