로그인It started with a headline. Then another. Then a flood.I saw it first on my phone before I even understood what I was looking at. “Fashion Designer Antonio Anderson Alive? Industry Shock After Year of Silence.”I blinked once. Then again. My thumb froze above the screen. Because it didn’t feel real at first. It felt like something old resurfacing—something buried that should have stayed buried.But then I opened it. And there it was. Photos. Speculation. Fragments of truth twisted into something loud enough to trend.“Antonio Anderson not dead?” “Out of hiding after a year of disappearance?” “Alive and well—where has he been?” “What does this mean for Aria Durham?”My stomach tightened at the last one. My name attached to his like a question mark that didn’t belong to me. I sat down slowly at the edge of the couch, the phone still glowing in my hand.Arias made a small sound over the monitor. But I haven't moved yet. Because my mind had already left the room.Antonio
The studio smelled like dust, old coffee, and memories I hadn’t visited in six months. I stood in the doorway for a moment without stepping inside. It felt familiar. And unfamiliar at the same time. Like walking back into a version of myself I wasn’t sure I still fit into. Behind me, Antonio didn’t rush me.He just stood there—quiet support, steady presence, no pressure in his silence. “You don’t have to do anything today,” he said softly.I glanced back at him. “I know,” I said. Then I stepped inside.The studio lights flickered on one by one as I moved through the space. The piano sat in the corner, unchanged. The microphone stood waiting, as if time hadn’t passed at all. But I had. I stood there scanning the room. Six months. Six months of silence where music used to live in my bones. I walked toward the piano first, fingers hovering just above the keys without pressing them yet. “I used to come in here and just… lose myself,” I said quietly.Antonio leaned against
The house felt lighter that evening. Not because everything was resolved—but because something had finally been released.I stood by the window in the living room, the fading light of sunset stretching across the floor in soft gold and amber tones. The world outside looked calm, almost untouched by the storms that had moved through our lives.Inside, I felt… still. Not empty. Not lost. Just still.Arias slept upstairs in his nursery, the soft hum of the monitor a quiet reassurance in the background. Chad and Joe had stepped out for the evening, giving the house space—intentionally, respectfully.For the first time in what felt like forever—it was just us. I didn’t hear Antonio approach. I felt him. That quiet awareness that had always existed between us, even when everything else had fallen apart.“You’ve been quiet,” he said softly behind me. I didn’t turn right away. “I think I’m just… catching up to everything,” I replied.Antonio stepped closer, stopping just behind me—n
The afternoon felt deceptively normal. Sunlight washed over the property in soft gold, birds moving between branches like nothing in the world had shifted. From the outside, the house looked untouched by everything that had happened.But that illusion didn’t last long. Chad noticed the car first. It slowed at the edge of the property line, hesitating like it wasn’t sure whether it was allowed to exist there anymore. Then it stopped. Too close. Not parked. Waiting.Chad straightened immediately from where he’d been standing near the walkway, his posture shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant.“Joe,” he called out, voice tight.Joe appeared at the doorway within seconds. One look. And his expression hardened.“Tell me that’s not him,” Joe said.Chad didn’t answer right away. Because it was. The driver’s door opened. Josh stepped out. He looked different than he had in the house—less contained, less restrained by the consequences of earlier events. Whatever processing
Morning came quietly. Not with suddenness or urgency—but with a slow, pale light that crept through the curtains and softened the edges of everything it touched.The house felt different in the morning, too. Less haunted. More human. I sat in the nursery, still wrapped in the softness of sleep that hadn’t fully left me yet. The world beyond the room could wait—I wasn’t ready for it yet, not completely.In my arms, Arias was warm and awake now, small sounds breaking the silence in gentle, instinctive rhythm. I held him close, adjusting him carefully against me as I settled deeper into the chair near the window.The morning light touched his face softly. I watched him for a long time. Not thinking. Just being there. There was something grounding about it—something that quieted the noise in my mind that had been constant for so long I’d almost mistaken it for normal.Behind me, the door to the nursery opened without a sound. Antonio. He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t nee
The house felt different at night. Not because anything had changed in its structure—but because silence no longer carried tension. It carried memory. Antonio stood in the doorway of the nursery for a long time, watching the soft rise and fall of the crib’s occupant. Arias slept peacefully. Small. Unaware. Untouched by the storms that had shaken the rest of the house.For a moment, Antonio didn’t move. Just watched. Like he was afraid even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile and sacred.Behind him, I entered quietly. I didn’t speak at first. I didn’t need to. I came to stand beside him, our shoulders nearly brushing. “He looks peaceful,” I whispered finally.Antonio nodded once. “He always did,” he said softly. “Even when everything around him wasn’t.”I swallowed gently. A long pause stretched between us—filled with everything we had been, everything we had lost, and everything we were still trying to understand. “I used to think I’d never feel calm agai







