Chapter 7

Matthew's phone rang and he went out to take the call.

Ava stood in the middle of the living room like someone had just pulled the ground out from under her and she hadn’t fallen yet. Her mouth was still slightly open. Her hand was still half-raised from where she had pointed at the door.

The house felt… wrong.

Matthew lingered by the entrance for a second longer than necessary. His hand remained on the doorknob. Like he was thinking of opening it again.

He didn’t look at Ava.

That hurt more than if he had.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said finally.

His voice was low and controlled.

Ava let out a short breath. It wasn’t a laugh, but it wasn’t far from one.

“Do what?” she asked quietly.

He turned, and their eyes met. And something flickered there—confusion, defensiveness… something almost fragile.

“Embarrass her.”

Ava blinked.

“Embarrass her,” she repeated, as if tasting the words. “Is that what you think I did?”

Matthew ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired. Frustrated and lost.

“She came to check up on me.”

“She came to sit on you.”

“Ava—”

“She touched you.”

“She was being friendly.”

“You smiled at her.”

That one slipped out softer than the others.

Matthew stilled.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was crowded with three years of memories on one side and nothing on the other.

Ava crossed her arms—not defensive, not exactly. Just… holding herself together.

“You haven’t smiled at me,” she said.

Matthew’s jaw tightened. “I don’t remember you.”

“I know.”

The way she said it—no accusation. Just a fact—made something in his chest tighten, though he couldn’t name it.

“But you don’t remember her either,” Ava continued, voice steady now. “And somehow you felt comfortable enough to let her sit that close. Comfortable enough to ask her to promise she’d come back.”

His eyes flickered.

“I don’t know why I said it.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know anything right now, Ava.”

The way he said her name, she hated it.

“You know this is your home,” she said quietly. “You know that bed upstairs is yours. You know those pictures in that album… they’re real.”

He looked away.

“I feel like I’m walking through someone else’s life,” he muttered. “Everyone keeps telling me how I’m supposed to feel. Who I’m supposed to love. What I’m supposed to remember.”

Her chest rose and fell slowly.

“I’m not telling you who to love.”

“I’m telling you who you already loved.”

The words landed between them.

Matthew swallowed.

He stepped further into the room, creating space between himself and the door. Between himself and escape.

“You grabbed her,” he said, quieter now. “You don’t do that.”

“You don’t know what I do.”

His eyes snapped back to hers.

“I wouldn’t have,” she continued, her voice dropping. “Not if she respected boundaries.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ava stared at him.

Then she laughed again—but this time it broke in the middle.

“She didn’t do anything wrong?” she echoed.

“She was just sitting there.”

“She had her hand on your knee.”

Matthew hesitated.

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something to me.”

That silenced him.

Her voice didn’t rise this time. It softened.

“That meant something to me.”

Matthew looked at her differently then.

As a woman standing in front of him, hurt.

“You think I’m choosing her,” he said slowly.

Ava didn’t answer immediately.

She studied his face. The crease between his brows. The unfamiliar distance in his eyes. The man she knew so well—and didn’t know at all.

“I think,” she said carefully, “that when she walked in, you lit up.”

He opened his mouth and closed it.

Because he knew she was right.

“That was the first smile I’ve seen in two weeks,” she continued. “Do you know what that does to a person?”

His shoulders dropped slightly.

“I’m trying,” he said.

“So am I.”

They stood there, breathing the same air, worlds apart.

“Why does it bother you so much?” he asked suddenly.

The question hit her square in the chest.

“Why does it bother me?”

“Yes.” His voice wasn’t harsh. It was searching. “If I don’t remember you… if I don’t remember loving you… Why does it matter so much who I smile at?”

The words were knives.

Ava felt her throat close.

She took a step toward him. Just close enough that he could see the tremor in her hands.

“Because I remember,” she said.

He held her gaze.

“Because I remember how you look at me when I walk into a room. I remember the way you used to reach for me in your sleep. I remember you telling me I was your home.”

Her voice wavered on the last word.

“And now I stand in my own living room and watch another woman touch you as she belongs here.”

Matthew inhaled sharply.

Something in his expression shifted again—less certainty, more conflict.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said.

“You think I did?"

“I’m scared,” he admitted suddenly.

Ava’s eyes softened before she could stop them.

“Of what?”

“Of feeling like I’m being pulled into a story I don’t recognize,” he said. “Everyone expects me to step back into it. To play my part. Husband. Son. CEO.”

His laugh was hollow.

“But what if I’m not that man anymore?”

Her heart stumbled.

“You are.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because even now,” she whispered, “you still argue the same way.”

A flicker of something almost like amusement crossed his face.

“Stubborn,” she added. “You get that crease right there.” She reached out instinctively, stopping herself just before her fingers touched his forehead.

He noticed, he noticed the restraint.

“I’m not trying to replace you,” she said quietly. “I’m trying to remind you.”

He looked at her hand still hovering between them.

“Then don’t fight me like I’m your enemy.”

Her hand fell.

“I’m fighting for you.”

The words were barely audible.

His breath caught.

“Isabella…” he began.

Ava’s jaw tightened again.

“I don’t know what she is to me,” he finished.

“She’s nothing,” Ava said firmly.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m your wife.”

“And I don’t remember marrying you!”

The shout echoed in the room.

They both froze.

The words hung there.

Matthew’s chest was rising fast now. Regret flickered almost immediately across his face.

Ava didn’t cry, she didn’t scream. She just nodded slowly.

“I know,” she said.

“I know you don’t,” she repeated.

The fight drained out of her shoulders.

“But I did,” she continued softly. “I married you. I stood in front of everyone we loved and promised you forever. I wake up every morning and remember that.”

She swallowed.

“So forgive me if I don’t clap when another woman makes you smile.”

Matthew’s hands curled into fists.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You already are.”

He stepped closer.

Close enough that she could feel his warmth. His hesitation.

“I don’t feel anything when I look at you,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” He searched for words. Struggled. “It means there’s something. I just can’t reach it.”

Her eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back stubbornly.

“Then reach,” she whispered.

He lifted his hand slowly. Almost touched her cheek.

Almost, but he stopped.

Fear flashed in his eyes. And he stepped back instead.

The distance returned.

“I need time,” he said.

Ava nodded.

“You have it.”

Her voice was steady now.

“But don’t ask me to welcome her into my home while you figure yourself out.”

Matthew looked toward the door.

Then back at her.

“I won’t,” he said after a long moment.

Ava exhaled slowly.

The breakfast on the table had gone cold.

The house was quiet again.

But this silence, this one felt different.