The seasons were shifting in the quiet coastal town. Mornings came with a crisp edge now, the ocean breeze a little less playful, a little more brisk. The wildflowers that once swayed confidently in open fields were starting to lower their heads, sinking into the ground like a breath. Ava stood without shoes on the porch of her rented cabin, holding a cozy mug of ginger tea. Steam rose into the atmosphere as her other hand softly glided over her flat stomach, an instinctive movement, gentle and careful.Inside, her calendar sat on the counter, one date circled in soft red ink:First Ultrasound – 10:30 AM.She hadn’t told Damien.Not because she didn’t want him there.But because she wasn’t sure she could bear to see hope in his eyes when she still wasn’t sure what she felt herself.As the wind lifted her curls and the tea warmed her hands, a voice echoed in her mind, from a letter written weeks ago:Can you be that man?He hadn’t replied. Not with words, anyway.But something had shif
He hadn’t expected to find her so soon. He’d prepared himself for months of silence—maybe a year of dead ends. But Nathan, loyal as ever, had followed a trail Ava never meant to leave behind: a gallery clerk who remembered her eyes, a crumpled receipt from a local art store, the soft ripple of clues that led Damien here.He remained in his car for almost an hour until he gathered the bravery to unlock the door. He was now looking at an aged building draped in ivy, located across the slender road. The upper window was slightly open, and a white curtain fluttered softly like a gentle heartbeat.He recognized it.It had lived in one of her sketches—the ones she’d left behind like breadcrumbs, hints of the life she had wanted, or maybe the one she’d feared she'd never have.His hand trembled as he knocked.No answer.He knocked again, this time firmer, a plea in the quiet.And then, the door creaked open.Ava stood in the threshold, barefoot, paint smeared on her shirt, curls tied in a lo
The morning mist drifted in from the sea like a heavy sigh, cloaking the cliffs in soft gray as Ava stood by the window, watching everything outside blur. Behind her, a suitcase sat on the bed neat, zipped, final. Her fingers slid across the fogged glass, the silence in the room almost sacred. It was full of the things she hadn’t said. The dreams she couldn’t hold onto anymore.Last night had come close. Closer than they’d ever been to something real.But it still wasn’t enough. She’d looked into Damien’s eyes and seen a storm of regret but no anchor. He was a man caught in the middle of a battle he didn’t have the courage to finish. She could have lived with silence. But not absence. Not when it counted most.And she had waited longer than she should have.She moved slowly, like her body understood the weight of this moment. Folding her sweater. Zipping her coat. Slipping her sketchbook into her bag, the page with the nursery design tucked between its worn covers. Her hand paused on
Ava stood without shoes on the inn's porch, her cardigan snugly wrapped around her. The ocean wind pulled at her hair, yet she remained still. She merely stood there, gazing at the waves as if they could provide the answer she was unable to express.Should I stay? Or should I disappear for good?She rested a hand on her abdomen, sensing the calm presence of the baby developing within her. It anchored her—made her realize that this was more than just sorrow. It was about something bigger. Something fragile.She hadn’t told Damien.He didn’t know.And maybe… maybe he didn’t deserve to.Damien drove like a man chasing ghosts.Three days. Three long, agonizing days of searching, retracing steps, calling every lead, sleeping in a house that felt hollow without her. Guilt ate at him—every missed turn, every unanswered message, every memory of the look on her face before she walked away.He hadn’t spoken up when it mattered. He hadn’t fought for her. And Ava? She hadn’t waited.But he had to
Rain whispered against the windows, soft and steady, like a lullaby meant for someone else. Inside Ava, though, the quiet did nothing to soothe. Her heart was a tempest—boisterous, unyielding, hard to overlook. She remained outside Damien's office, her fingers poised close to the doorknob. Iced. The air seemed lighter in this place, as if the structure itself understood what she was about to learnShe hadn’t meant to overhear. She’d come to tell him. About the pregnancy, finally ready to share the fragile hope growing inside her. But then she his voice.Low. Strained. Almost breaking.“You can't understand, Father,” Damien said, each word scraping against something raw. “I can’t just walk away from Ava. It’s not that simple.”His father’s reply came sharp and fast.“It is that simple. You end it now, or everything we’ve worked for crumbles. Claire is prepared. Controlled. She’s not some artist dragging around a scandal.”Silence.Then the blow that landed hardest.“You married her ou
The nights were growing longer. Ava was curled up on the distant side of their shared bed, facing away from Damien, her figure tucked in like a fortress under attack. Outside, the city buzzed in its typical cadence, but within their apartment, time seemed halted—dense, weighty, relentless. The quietness shared between them, previously a refuge, had become stifling. It echoed with unvoiced sentiments, with feelings neither was brave enough to confront. Each night, Damien slipped into bed a little later, and every morning, he rose before dawn. They shared the same environment yet existed in separate realms—his burdened with duties and darkness, hers occupied by doubt and sorrow. He barely looked at her anymore. When he did, it was as though he was seeing through her. Not past her—but through her. Like she was a memory he was attempting to forget. It had not always been like this. There was a moment when his touch anchored her, when his voice could soothe the tempests within her heart. A
From the terrace of the Sterling penthouse, Ava stood by herself, holding a steaming cup of tea as the breeze softly tousled her hair. She wasn’t truly watching the scenery; it was indeed stunning, but her mind was distant from the urban glow. Within, a more subdued and much more agonizing experience was unfoldingDamien had been slipping away. He was still present physically, but emotionally, it was like trying to hold onto mist. His touches felt mechanical, his kisses distracted. He hardly glanced at her eyes anymore. Despite her efforts to connect with him, it seemed he was distancing himself more with every day that went by. She hadn’t informed him that she was expecting. That truth resided within her like something delicate and valuable—and frightening. She had envisioned that sharing it would create happiness, possibly even tears. However, at that moment, she was uncertain about whom she would be speaking to. The man she wed seemed like a stranger.Within, she could hear Damien'
The soft morning light slipped through the gauzy curtains of the penthouse bedroom, brushing warm streaks across the ivory sheets. Ava stirred under the covers, letting out a quiet groan as a dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. Her limbs were heavy, her stomach uneasy, and a persistent fatigue clung to her like a second skin—one she couldn’t seem to shake.She pushed herself upright slowly, pressing her hand to her forehead. This wasn’t like her. She’d pushed through exhaustion before late nights before gallery openings, the chaos of press conferences, the emotional drain of public scrutiny. But this? This felt… different.Dragging herself out of bed, Ava shuffled toward the bathroom. The cold tiles sent a chill up her spine. The silence felt louder than usual, stretching around her as she braced herself against the sink. In the mirror, her reflection looked back at her eyes shadowed, skin pale, lips pressed into a tight line.Her mind wandered over the last few days. The nausea that
Damien stayed alone in the vast library of the Sterling estate, surrounded by tall shelves and the gentle hush of elegant wealth. Morning light poured through the stained-glass windows, creating soft colors on the floor akin to a forgotten masterpiece. However, the light provided no warmth—only a misleading solace that did nothing to ease the pressure pressing down on his chest.His father’s voice shattered the silence once more, sharp and relentless, slicing through the air like a knife “You need to start acting like a Sterling, Damien. Not like some love-struck boy playing house with a woman who never should’ve carried our name.”Damien’s jaw tightened. “Her name is Ava. And she’s my wife.”“A mistake,” his father snapped, tossing a newspaper onto the table with a bitter sneer. “Have you read this? ‘Whispers of the Past: A Scandalous Union.’ It’s embarrassing.”Damien looked down at the headline, stomach twisting. Julian had stirred the pot again, feeding the media just enough to re