6 [Tristan's POV]

The house was too quiet.

Dinner had come and gone, the dining room table set for four, then cleared for three.

 Eloise hadn’t come down, and though Marilyn had gone up to check once, the girl had insisted she wasn’t hungry. That was that.

Alex didn’t hide the disappointment in his eyes and Marilyn, who would have tried to lift the mood of the atmosphere didn't bother this time.

Sometimes, it was best to leave some things as they were.

Now, as the night deepened and the clock struck past ten, we moved around each other in our bedroom—he folding back the covers, me tugging at my tie like it was strangling me. 

The silence between us wasn’t the comfortable kind we sometimes shared; this one scraped, heavy with words neither of us knew how to begin.

Alex broke the silence first.

“She couldn’t even come down for dinner,” he muttered, not looking at me. “What does that say?”

“That she’s adjusting,” I said quietly, trying to steady my tone. “It’s a lot to take in.”

He let out a dry laugh, sharp at the edges.

 “Adjusting? Tristan, she’s in your house now. Our house. If she can’t even sit across the table with us, what happens when—” He cut himself off, jaw tight, like he’d said too much already.

I ran a hand over my face. “Alex—”

''She hates it here. Probably hates me as well''

''Eloise, doesn't hate anyone''

''Is that right?"

''Yes. You just have to be....''

“No.” He sat up, finally looked at me, his eyes burning. “Don’t tell me to be patient. I’ve been patient. With all of this. With you.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I love you, Tristan. But suddenly, I feel like I’m the outsider here.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t right either. But the hurt in his voice made something inside me twist.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I admitted, voice low. “But she’s my daughter, Alex. I can’t push her away.”

His face softened at that, though the pain didn’t leave. He reached for my hand, held it loosely, like he wasn’t sure if he had the right anymore. 

“I’m not asking you to push her away. I just… Baabe, you had a whole ass child. This was supposed to be our love story. Just you and I''

I sat up and held his hand.

''This is our love story, Alex. It will always be you and I''

''No, Tristan. It really won't''

I gripped his hand tighter, because I couldn’t promise him that nothing would change. It already had. 

Silence lingered. He kissed my cheek, almost absent-minded, then laid back down, turned away, pulling back the covers. 

He turned his back to me, shoulders stiff beneath the sheets.

I sat there longer than I should have, the ache in my chest a constant thrum. Then I slipped out of the room.

The house was darker now, shadows stretched long across polished floors. I padded down to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and poured myself a drink—something strong enough to burn, not strong enough to erase.

The ice clinked in the glass, loud in the stillness.

“You’ll wear yourself out if you keep at it like this.”

I turned. Marilyn was leaning against the doorway, her robe tied neatly around her waist, her hair loose in silver waves. 

Even at this hour, she carried herself with quiet dignity, the kind that demanded respect without asking for it.

I sighed, setting the glass down.

 “I don’t know what I'm even doing. Alex is hurt, I have a  child that I never even knew that I had and I feel like my entire world is crashing and I barely know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”

She walked in, her steps unhurried. She placed her hand on my shoulders and answered.

 “You’re supposed to be a father. And a man who loves. That’s all.”

I laughed bitterly.

 “That’s all? Feels like I’m already failing both.”

Marilyn shook her head,and smooth a hand over my hair. The gesture startled me—it had been years since anyone had touched me that gently, like I was still worth gentleness only a mother could give.

“You’ll learn,” she said softly. “But you need to take it easy. On yourself, and on them. One step at a time.”

Her lips brushed my forehead, a mother’s blessing, simple and grounding. Then she turned, retreating toward the hall.

“Goodnight, Son''

I stood alone in the kitchen, the glass untouched at my side. My eyes lingered on the shadows, on the silence, on the weight that never seemed to leave my chest.

Kaylie’s name rose in my mind unbidden.

Kaylie.

The ghost at the center of it all.

She had  been a girl that I had loved a long time ago. Hearing her name after so long felt like a ghost had been summoned from a life that I had long buried.

A life that I had only briefly visited when I needed to get back at the man that had hurt Darling.

What had really happened to her? How had I never heard of her death? If Eloise had never showed up did that mean I never would hve found out?

I wondered what her last moments were like?

How did I not know that she had a child for me? Why had she kept this secret from me?

I stared into the dark until my drink grew warm. 

These questions would not be answered and I had focus on being a father. I let out a long exhale. How was I supposed to be a dad when I didn't have anyone to teach me?

I was not angry that Eloise was here but something was off.

I didn't know what it was but I had bad feeling.

Something was going to happen.  I just didn't know what.