Chapter Five

Ashley sat frozen on the bed long after her mother left, the weight of her words still pressing against her chest like an iron grip.

"This is a marriage, Ashley. A real marriage. You have to be strong."

Strong.

Her lips trembled as she stared at the empty space in front of her. How was she supposed to be strong when she felt like she was drowning?

Her gaze flickered to the small nursery down the hall. The door was still open. It had been ever since she ran out that night, cradling Bright’s fevered body in her arms, desperate to save him.

A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. Her hands clenched the fabric of her dress as a sob clawed its way up her throat.

She tried to swallow it down. She tried to be strong.

But then, it hit her all at once.

The deafening silence of the house. The crib that would never be used again. The cold spot beside her where Alex had slept soundly while their child fought for his life.

Ashley let out a choked gasp as her body trembled. Then, she collapsed forward, her forehead pressing against her knees as the sobs tore through her.

She cried for her baby.

For the nights she had spent dreaming of holding him as he took his first steps.

For the soft laughter she would never get to hear.

For the warmth that had been snatched from her arms too soon.

Her body shook violently as grief consumed her, raw and unrelenting.

The door creaked open.

"Ashley?"

Mia’s voice was soft, hesitant. Footsteps approached, and then a hand touched Ashley’s back, warm and grounding.

Ashley flinched away. "I want to be alone," she croaked, her voice barely audible.

Mia hesitated. "Ashley, please—"

"You don’t understand!" Ashley snapped, lifting her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were wild, filled with anguish. "No one does!"

Mia's lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but the look in Ashley’s eyes stopped her.

Ashley turned away, curling in on herself, her body wracked with silent sobs.

Mia exhaled shakily. She crouched beside Ashley, not speaking, just staying there.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Ashley wasn’t sure when exhaustion finally pulled her under. But even in sleep, the pain didn’t fade. It was there, heavy and suffocating.

A grief that would never leave her.

The next morning, Ashley woke up to the smell of something warm drifting through the house. For a moment, her mind was blank, still caught in the haze of grief and exhaustion. Then, the weight of reality settled back onto her chest, and she sat up slowly.

Her body felt heavy, her throat raw from crying. She barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until the bedroom door creaked open.

Alex stood there, holding a tray.

"I made you breakfast," he said, his voice softer than usual.

Ashley blinked at the sight... scrambled eggs, toast, and a cup of chamomile tea, her favorite. Her stomach twisted, not with hunger, but with unease.

Alex had never been the type to bring her breakfast in bed.

Still, she said nothing as he placed the tray in front of her.

"You need to eat," he urged gently, sitting beside her. "You barely had anything yesterday."

Ashley stared at the food, her appetite long gone. But when she hesitated, Alex picked up a piece of toast and held it out to her.

"Just one bite," he coaxed. "For me?"

His voice was so tender, so different from the cold accusations he had thrown at her just the night before. She searched his face, looking for any sign of guilt, of regret—of remorse.

She found none.

Still, she took the toast and forced herself to nibble on it, because it was easier than arguing.

Alex smiled, as if satisfied.

"I ran a bath for you," he said after a moment, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You should take a long soak. It’ll help you relax."

Ashley swallowed, her fingers tightening around the piece of toast.

This felt wrong.

Not the gestures themselves, but why he was doing them.

If he had come home that night and held her, if he had mourned with her or asked about their son, maybe then she could believe this was real.

But he didn't.

Instead, he had accused her of cheating, and now, as if trying to erase everything, he was playing the role of the perfect husband.

A bitter taste filled her mouth.

But when Alex reached out and cupped her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen, she felt herself leaning into the warmth without thinking.

Maybe she was just tired.

Maybe she was overreacting.

Alex pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Ash," he murmured.

The words used to make her heart flutter.

Now, they felt like a trap.

***

The room was dark, cloaked in silence except for the faint ticking of the clock on the nightstand. Ashley lay curled on her side, her body stiff and unmoving. She hadn't changed into proper sleepwear, still wearing the same loose dress she'd been in all day. The fabric felt heavy against her skin, as if it carried the weight of her grief.

Then, the front door slammed.

Her body jolted, her mind snapping out of the haze. She listened as unsteady footsteps echoed down the hall, slow and dragging, like a man barely holding himself together.

A moment later, the bedroom door creaked open.

Ashley didn’t move. She didn’t have to. The strong scent of alcohol filled the room before she even saw him.

Alex stumbled inside, his tie hanging loose around his neck, his shirt half unbuttoned and wrinkled like he'd been out all night. His eyes were bloodshot, and his lips curled into a lazy smile as he swayed slightly on his feet.

"Missed you, baby," he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol.

Ashley inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay still as he sat heavily on the bed beside her. His movements were slow, clumsy, like he was fighting against the drunkenness clouding his mind.

His fingers brushed against her arm, then slid up to her shoulder.

She tensed.

"Alex…" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against her neck. His breath was warm, but it reeked of whiskey and something else she didn’t want to place.

His hands roamed, fumbling with the fabric of her dress. His touch was rough, impatient.

Ashley stiffened. "Alex, stop."

He groaned, his grip tightening. "Come on, Ash… it's been too long…"

She swallowed hard, her stomach twisting. "Not now," she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

But Alex wasn’t listening.

His lips trailed sloppily down her jaw, his hands moving to her waist, pulling at her dress.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

She pushed at his chest, her hands trembling. "Please," she tried again, her voice breaking.

Alex let out a frustrated grunt. "You’re my wife," he muttered, his tone darkening. "Why are you acting like this?"

Because I’m grieving. Because our son just—

Her throat closed up, cutting off the thought before it could fully form.

Alex didn’t wait for an answer. His hands were on her thighs now, pushing, pulling, taking.

Her breath hitched as panic crawled up her spine, cold and suffocating.

Her mind screamed at her to fight, to push harder, to yell. But her body was frozen.

She turned her face away, her vision blurring with tears.

And then, she just… let go.

Her body went limp beneath him, her arms falling uselessly to her sides. She closed her eyes, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, willing herself to disappear.

She didn’t want to be here.

Didn’t want to feel this.

Didn’t want to be his wife.

But she had no choice.

So, she stayed still. Silent. Broken.