Chapter 3 ( Unspoken lines )

The house felt different that morning.

Not lighter.

Not easier.

Just… charged.

It was the kind of tension that lingered in the air, invisible but undeniable, pressing gently against the skin. Lily felt it the moment she woke. She avoided Ethan’s eyes as he helped Noah with breakfast, focusing instead on the small routines—plates, cups, the sound of silverware against porcelain.

Every time their hands brushed—passing a plate, steadying a cup—her breath caught, just for a second. A sharp, unexpected pull in her chest. She hated that she noticed it.

Ethan noticed too.

He always did.

He didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. Didn’t retreat. He simply adjusted, slowing his movements, giving her space without creating distance. That quiet awareness unsettled her more than anything else.

When Noah finished eating, he slid off his chair and ran toward the window, pressing his hands to the glass. “Can we go outside again?”

“Later,” Ethan said gently.

Lily watched him as he spoke—watched the way his voice softened when he addressed the child, how his expression shifted without effort. Something tightened in her chest. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t fear. It was something she didn’t yet have a name for, and that made it worse.

“I’m going to change,” she said quietly.

“I’ll be right outside,” Ethan replied, immediate and certain.

She nodded and wheeled herself into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

The silence pressed in. Lily struggled with the sleeve of her shirt, frustration building with every failed attempt. Her hands shook, not from weakness alone, but from the weight of needing help again.

Outside, Ethan leaned against the wall, listening—not intrusively, just enough to know she was still moving, still breathing. When the sounds stopped altogether, concern tightened in his chest.

“Lily?” he asked softly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she answered too quickly.

The lie hung between them.

Silence returned.

Ethan hesitated. He chose his words carefully, aware of how easily the wrong tone could send her retreating. “If you need help,” he said gently, “just say so.”

The door opened.

Lily sat there, exhausted. One sleeve was only half on, twisted awkwardly. Her hands trembled with frustration she no longer tried to hide. She stared at the floor at first, jaw tight. When she finally looked up, her eyes were sharp—not angry, but overwhelmed.

“I hate this,” she whispered. “Needing help. Needing you.”

The honesty startled him.

Ethan stepped closer but stayed low, keeping his posture non-threatening, his voice calm. “You don’t need me,” he said quietly. “You choose me. There’s a difference.”

Her heartbeat was fast—he could see it flutter in her throat. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. Something dangerous. Something that might cross a line neither of them was ready to name.

But she didn’t.

“Help me,” she said instead.

He did.

Carefully. Slowly. He explained every movement before making it, giving her control wherever he could. His hands were steady, practiced—but his chest wasn’t. He was too aware of her warmth, her closeness, the fragile trust she was offering him piece by piece.

When he lifted her afterward, she stiffened immediately.

“Put me down,” she said quietly.

“I will,” he promised. “Just until the table.”

As they entered the dining room, Noah looked up with a wide grin. Lily’s courage faltered all at once. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Without thinking, she wrapped her arm around Ethan’s neck, her forehead pressing against his chest, hiding her face from view.

Ethan froze.

For a brief moment, everything narrowed—the sound of her breathing, the weight of her arm, the vulnerability of her trust.

Then he adjusted his grip, loosening it just enough to let her feel safe without holding her closer than necessary. He stayed still until her body relaxed again.

After breakfast, Victoria and Robert returned for Noah. At the door, Noah spoke excitedly, words tumbling over each other—how he slept there, how Lily laughed, how Ethan carried her.

Victoria’s gaze flicked from Ethan to Lily.

She understood more than she said.

Lily looked away, shy, warmth spreading across her cheeks like a confession she wasn’t ready to voice.

When the door finally closed behind them, silence settled again.

This time, it wasn’t empty.

That night, Lily didn’t ask Ethan to stay.

He stayed anyway.

Not on the bed. Not on the couch.

On the floor—close enough that she could hear his breathing, steady and real.

In the dark, her voice broke the silence. “Ethan?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t disappear,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. “I’m right here.”

She turned slightly, just enough that her fingers brushed his hand.

Neither of them pulled away.