FAZER LOGINThe café door chimed behind him, a soft, polite sound that didn’t match the way Matthew stepped inside—like he had already been walking too long and hadn’t quite decided to stop.He paused just past the entrance, eyes scanning without really landing on anything. Conversations overlapped in low hums, cups clinked against saucers, a machine hissed somewhere behind the counter.He moved anyway, like momentum was doing most of the work now.A table near the window sat empty. He dropped into the chair, his body folding into it with a quiet heaviness, elbows resting on the table as his phone came out of his pocket almost automatically.The screen lit his face.Names, numbers and messages he hadn’t answered.He scrolled, stopped and scrolled again.His thumb hesitated over a contact, then moved past it.“I need to find her,” he murmured, the words barely audible even to himself.A chair scraped somewhere behind him.Matthew leaned forward slightly, his other hand coming up to press against h
“No—” The word broke out of Ava before she could catch it. “No, no… no.” It came again, softer at first, then rising, slipping past control. Her head shook with it, small, sharp movements that didn’t quite match the rhythm of her voice. Miss Grace was already moving, the space between them closing quickly. “Ava—” “No,” Ava said again, louder this time, her hands lifting as though she could push something away that wasn’t there. “They can’t—no, they can’t do that.” Her breath hitched. And then it refused to come back the way it should. Her chest rose, but the air didn’t settle. It caught somewhere, high and tight, like there wasn’t enough room for it to move through. She tried again. Her fingers curled against her dress, clutching at the fabric just below her ribs as though that might force her lungs to open. “Ava,” Miss Grace said, closer now, her voice firmer. “Look at me.” Ava’s gaze didn’t quite land. It flickered, unfocused, sliding past her before catching somewhere n
The catalog lay open across Ava’s lap, its glossy pages catching the afternoon light that slipped in through the tall windows. Soft colors. Tiny socks not bigger than her palm. Bottles lined in neat rows like something orderly could be built out of all this.Miss Grace leaned over the arm of the couch, adjusting her glasses as she scanned the page.“This one,” she said, tapping lightly. “It says it supports the baby’s neck better. You don’t want to compromise on that.”Ava nodded, though her eyes had been lingering on something else entirely—a pale yellow onesie with small stitched stars across the front. Her thumb brushed absentmindedly over the page, tracing one of the stars without really seeing it.“We’ll take both,” she said.“Both?” Miss Grace looked at her. “You don’t need duplicates of everything, Ava. Babies grow fast.”“I know.” Ava’s voice came out softer than she intended, her gaze still fixed on the page. “I just… don’t want to run out of anything.”Miss Grace studied her
“Sophie.”Matthew’s voice cracked through the room, sharper than he intended, his hand lifting as if he could stop the words before they formed.But she didn’t stop. She didn’t even look at him.“What’s going on, Matthew?” Mrs. Taylor asked, her gaze moving between them, something unsettled, already taking shape in the lines around her mouth.“Nothing, Mom,” he said quickly. “It’s nothing.”Sophie let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She shifted her weight, one hand brushing lightly over the fabric of her dress before settling at her side.“Ma’am,” she said, her voice calm in a way that made it heavier, “I am pregnant with your son.”The room tilted.Mrs. Taylor blinked once, then again.“Pregnant?” she repeated, the word catching at the edges. “What do you mean… pregnant?”Sophie’s gaze held hers, steady.“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “I am.”Silence spread out after that.Mrs. Taylor turned slowly toward Matthew, her expression tightening, se
Matthew’s voice had already broken through the silence once, sharp with disbelief, but it did not settle. It lingered in the air, echoing against everything that had just been said.He pushed himself up from the chair quickly, the legs scraping faintly against the floor as he stood. The movement seemed to come from somewhere deeper than thought, his body reacting before his mind could catch up.He began to pace the length of the living room and back again. Each step measured, but restless, as though the floor beneath him could not hold him still.“I have been trying to find her,” he said, more to the space than to his mother. “I have been tracking everything I can. Her accounts, old contacts, anything that might lead somewhere.”He ran a hand through his hair, fingers dragging back and then pausing there, pressing lightly against his scalp.“But I have not seen her,” he added, his voice tightening. “Not a trace.”Mrs. Taylor did not respond immediately.She remained seated, her postur
Mrs. Taylor’s gaze moved from Sophie to Matthew, slow and deliberate, as though she were weighing something she could not yet name. “What truth is she talking about?” The question settled into the room, but carrying an edge that pressed for clarity. Matthew’s jaw tightened. “Sophie,” he said, “can you stay out of this?” Sophie turned her head toward him, her brows lifting slightly, the faintest trace of disbelief crossing her face. “Stay out of it?” she repeated. She let out a quiet breath, her arms folding loosely across her chest before dropping again. “I am trying to help you,” she said. “Just tell her what is going on.” Matthew’s gaze hardened, something in it flashing briefly before settling into restraint. “This does not concern you.” Sophie held his gaze for a second longer, something unreadable shifting behind her eyes. Then she gave a small nod, almost to herself. “Fine,” she said quietly. She turned and walked back toward the kitchen, her steps steady, though th
The car engine went quiet the moment Isabella turned the key.For a second, neither of them moved.The hotel parking lot stretched around them in the warm glow of evening lights. A few other cars sat scattered across the asphalt, their windshields catching the last streaks of sunset.Matthew leaned
Morning light spilled through the thin curtains of the service apartment, pale and quiet, stretching across the wooden floor in long rectangles. The place still carried the faint warmth of the night before—rumpled couch cushions, the soft scent of coffee beginning to rise from the kitchen.Matthew
The bedroom smells faintly of his cologne.It lingers in the fabric of the curtains, in the collar of the shirts she hasn’t moved yet. Ava stands in the middle of the room with a pile of folded laundry in her arms, not sure how long she’s been standing there.The house is quiet. Sophie went to bed
The television is too loud, or maybe the house is just too quiet around it.Sophie sits cross-legged on the rug, half-watching some cooking show, half-scrolling through her own thoughts. The laugh track rises and falls in the background, artificial and bright.Ava is curled into the corner of the c







