Chapter 5

RICHARD

By the time I drove back into Seattle, the city had gone quiet.

The roads were thinner now, the rush of the day replaced by long stretches of empty lanes and tired traffic lights blinking red and yellow into the dark. My hands felt heavy on the steering wheel as I drove all the way back home. The dashboard clock glowed 10:53 p.m., and all I wanted was a shower, silence, and sleep.

Instead, the moment I turned into the compound, I knew peace was not waiting for me.

The house lights were all on.

Every single one.

The living room windows glowed bright against the night like an accusation. I let out a slow breath and parked in my usual spot. For a second, I remained seated in the car, staring at the front door.

Lena was awake.

And if she was awake at this hour with all the lights blazing, she was angry.

I rubbed my face with both hands. I should have called. I knew that. Even a simple text would have done something. But after leaving Karen’s place, after seeing that little girl, after standing there frozen like a stranger outside a fence. I had not known what to say to anyone.

Especially Lena.

I stepped out of the car and shut the door quietly, though there was no point. She probably already knew I was home.

The cold night air hit my face as I walked to the entrance. I unlocked the door and barely stepped inside before her voice struck me.

“Where have you been?”

Lena stood in the middle of the living room wearing silk pajamas and fury. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, her hair tied back, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

I closed the door behind me and dropped my keys onto the side table.

“Lena—”

“No.” She raised a hand. “You do not get to say my name like everything is fine. Where were you?”

I swallowed my irritation and tried to keep my tone calm.

“I’m sorry. I had something to attend to.”

Her laugh was short and humorless.

“Something to attend to?” she repeated. “That is what you have for me after disappearing all day?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“That is not an answer.”

I walked past her toward the kitchen, needing water, needing distance, needing anything that would stop this conversation from happening right now. She followed me in quick steps.

“Tell me the truth, Richard.”

“Lena, I just got home.”

“And I’ve been here all day waiting!”

I turned and looked at her. Her face was flushed now, eyes bright with anger and something else beneath it. Fear, maybe. Hurt.

But I was too drained to comfort anyone.

“I said I’m sorry,” I replied, more firmly this time. “I’m exhausted, Lena. I am not ready for this interrogation. I want to rest.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Interrogation?”

“Yes.” I brushed past her and headed toward the stairs. “We can do this tomorrow.”

I had barely placed one foot on the first step when a sharp crash exploded behind me.

Glass shattered across the floor.

I spun around instantly.

The flower vase from the center table lay in pieces, white roses scattered among broken glass and water. Lena stood beside it, chest rising and falling, her hands trembling.

For a second, I just stared.

I had never seen her like this.

“You dare walk away from me?” she shouted. “You dare?”

“Lena.”

“No!” she snapped, pointing at me. “You do not get to dismiss me like I’m nothing. Not right now.”

I looked at the mess on the floor, then back at her.

“You threw a vase.”

“And I’ll throw ten more if that’s what it takes to make you answer me.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest.

This wasn’t just anger anymore.

Slowly, she straightened her shoulders. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. It was quieter now, colder.

“Did you go to see her?”

I frowned. “What?”

“The woman from the Federal Innovation Initiative.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you go to meet her?”

For a moment, my face betrayed me before I could stop it.

Karen.

Lena saw it instantly.

But I quickly hardened my expression and gritted my teeth.

“Stop making wild assumptions.”

She stared at me for one second, then laughed again. This time it was softer, more dangerous.

“Wild assumptions?”

She reached for her phone on the couch, unlocked it, and strode toward me. Then she shoved the screen inches from my face.

“Is this a wild assumption, Mr Palmer?”

I looked down.

And froze.

It was a photo of me, standing outside Karen’s house by the fence.

My face turned slightly toward the yard where Karen had been with her daughter. My daughter.

The picture had been taken from across the street, probably from a passing car or by some neighbor who recognized me. Someone had probably posted it online. 

My stomach tightened.

Of course.

Nothing stayed private anymore.

I slowly lifted my eyes to Lena.

She was watching me with triumph and pain mixed together.

“So?” she said. “Still an assumption?”

I said nothing.

Because what could I say? That I hadn’t planned to go there? That I only wanted to see them once?

That I had stood outside like a coward because I didn’t know how to knock on the door?

That the child laughing in the yard had my eyes?

My silence only made her angrier.

“You lied to me.”

I turned away from the phone.

“I’m not doing this tonight.”

I started back toward the stairs.

Behind me, her voice rose again.

“I will not tolerate your nonchalance, Richard!”

I kept walking.

“You hear me?” she shouted. “If you walk away from me right now, then consider us done!”

My hand tightened on the railing.

For the first time that night, I stopped.

The house fell silent except for Lena’s uneven breathing. I turned slowly and looked down at her.

She stood in the middle of the shattered glass like a queen on a battlefield, chin raised, daring me to choose.

Maybe months ago, that threat would have shaken me.

Maybe I would have rushed down, apologized again, explained myself, promised dinner dates and vacations and better communication.

But tonight, after seeing that child... after realizing how many years I had lost... something inside me had shifted.

I looked at Lena, really looked at her.

She was a beautiful, proud woman. But now, she suddenly seemed very far away.

She searched my face, waiting for fear, regret, surrender.

I gave her none.

Then I turned back around without another word and began climbing the stairs.

By the time I reached the top landing, all I felt was exhaustion, and the quiet certainty that I had lost something I knew I could never regain.