Chapter 5

ELISHA’S POV

The room—Carrie’s room—hadn’t been touched since the day I lost her. 

I kept the door shut for a reason. I came here when I needed to breathe, to feel close to the child I’d never get to meet. This was sacred. This was grief made physical.

And Natalie wanted to repaint it. Hang her baby’s clothes here. Make it hers.

Was she insane? And—what was she even saying? Did she plan to move in? Into our home?

“Absolutely not,” I said, my voice sharp. Cold. Firm.

Natalie blinked, genuinely surprised. “Why not? It’s just sitting here.”

“It’s not for you,” I said.

Just then, I heard footsteps behind me.

Anthony.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice calm and casual. “She can use it if she wants to.”

Natalie smiled sweetly, her hands resting on the windowsill of Carrie’s nursery. “Thank you, Anthony.”

She sounded like someone being handed a gift at her baby shower. Like none of this meant anything. Like she hadn’t just asked to raise her child in the room meant for mine.

I turned to Anthony, searching his face for something—anything—that resembled sense.

But he looked calm. Practical. Like he’d made a generous decision.

That room had taken months to prepare. I’d painted the walls by hand. Folded the onesies. Hung the starlight mobile above the crib. I’d picked the curtains with my mother. The little bookshelf with Dominic. Everything in that room was stitched with hope.

And he just gave it away.

“Are you serious?” I whispered.

Anthony looked at me, his voice low. “Our baby is already gone. Why not let your sister use the room if she needs it?”

I blinked, his words hitting harder than he could’ve known.

“As long as I’m still living in this house,” I said coldly, “no one touches that room.”

***

That night, I sat at the vanity, trying to cleanse my face, trying to exfoliate away the humiliation that clung to my skin like dirt. 

The warm cloth didn’t help. The scent of rose and green tea didn’t help. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my night cream.

Behind me, the door opened. I saw Anthony’s reflection before I heard him.

He walked in slowly and wrapped his arms around me from behind. His lips brushed against the back of my shoulder. “You’re upset,” he said softly.

I stared at our reflection. We didn’t look like husband and wife anymore. We looked like two people pretending.

When I didn’t answer, he turned me around and kissed me.

I pushed him back—hard.

He pulled away, surprised. “Are you crying?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You know we’re just trying to make up for her suffering,” he said after a beat. “We don’t know what the hell happened to her in those twenty years she was lost. And she can’t even talk about it. She deserves to have love and enjoy her life.”

I exhaled, slow and measured. “I never disagreed with that. But there’s no reason I should suffer for her peace.”

“How exactly are you suffering?” he asked. “I told you… nothing happened between us.” 

“Oh, we’re way past that,” I said, fighting back a fresh batch of tears warming my eyes. “Why the hell did you bring her here? To our home?” 

Anthony shook his head. “You sound jealous. That’s not the woman I married.”

I laughed. A short, bitter sound.

Jealous. 

He actually thought this was about envy. That I wanted attention. That I was fighting over space like we were kids.

“You think I’m jealous of her?” I asked, eyes narrowing. “She’s the one who pushed me down the stairs. The one who took everything. And now you’re letting her live in the room that was meant for our child.”

“She didn’t push you, Elisha.”

My jaw clenched. “How can you still believe that? Don’t you care what happened to our baby?”

“I didn’t want to lose the baby either,” he snapped. “But everyone agrees—it was an accident. Why can’t you let it go?”

His words sliced me open.

Let it go?

He noticed my despair and tried to soften, taking a step closer. “When your parents get back, I’ll ask them to take Natalie home. She will stay with them. Okay?”

I blinked.

That felt… relieving. 

Like a sudden gasp of fresh air after being underwater too long. 

Maybe he did get it. Maybe he wasn’t siding with her—maybe he was just trying to do the right thing for someone who was hurting. Even if that person didn’t deserve it.

My thoughts melted away as he leaned down to kiss me again. 

This time, slower. Deeper. His hands skimmed over my waist, up my back, tangling in the silk of my robe.

“Stop thinking,” he murmured. “Just be here. With me.”

His voice was low, coaxing, threading through the tension in my chest like silk drawn through a knot.

I didn’t stop him.

My fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. The muscles beneath were warm and solid. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, his grip strong and sure. I caught a flash of his bicep tightening beneath the sleeve as he cradled me against his chest. 

His scent hit me first—clean skin, faint cologne, something slightly metallic from the pool earlier. 

My breath caught.

He lowered me onto the bed. The silk robe slipped from my shoulder, falling open like it had been waiting to be undone. His eyes dropped to the bare skin now exposed, and for a moment, he just looked.

Then he exhaled—shaky, rough—and bent down.

His lips grazed my throat, slow and unhurried, like he was relearning me. I felt the scrape of his stubble, the press of his chest against mine, the warm weight of him settling between my thighs.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, mouth moving against my skin. “You always were.”

My heart pounded.

He kissed lower, tracing the hollow of my collarbone, the soft dip between my breasts. My back arched instinctively as his hand slid up my thigh, his thumb grazing the inside, lighting nerves that had been dormant too long.

For a moment—just a moment—I let go.

I let myself believe I was wanted.

His palm flattened against my hip, holding me still as he settled into me, his breath ragged now. The tension between us was coiled so tightly it was unbearable. His mouth found mine again—deeper this time, needier—and I felt myself slipping further.

Falling.

Just as he sank into me—

Knock knock.

“Anthony? Are you there?”

We both froze.

I shoved him off me instinctively.

“Don’t answer,” he whispered, leaning down again. “She’ll go away.”

My heart pounded. “Get off.”

“Elisha, relax,” he whispered as he moved to kiss me again. 

Out of panic, I bit down on his lip. Hard. 

He gasped, pulling back. “What the hell—”

Outside, everything went silent.

I pulled the blanket over myself, face burning.

Anthony glared at me, blood at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for that,” he muttered and stormed off to the bathroom.

I didn’t say a word. I turned my back to the door, heart racing, and prayed the ground would open up and take me.

***

I woke up at midnight, gasping.

Same nightmare.

Same stairs.

Same eyes staring back at me as my body went crashing down.

I sat up and looked around the room.

Anthony wasn’t there.

I checked the bathroom—empty.

The hallway was dim, the silence thick. As I padded down the corridor, I noticed the faintest crack of light under one of the guest room doors.

Natalie’s.

It was open. I moved closer.

Through the crack, I saw Natalie in her red silk nightie that barely covered her thighs, seated on the bed. Anthony was kneeling on the floor, facing her, his hand on her thigh. She smiled and giggled, her cheeks turning pink, as he looked up at her. 

I’d seen enough.