CHAPTER 2- THE THINGS WE DON'T SAY

I put the shirt back exactly where I found it.

My hands still felt dirty.

I went straight to the kitchen sink and washed them under water so hot it made my skin burn pink, standing there long after the soap was gone, watching the steam blur everything around me.

I dried my hands on my shirt like a kid and texted Nina with shaky thumbs.

“Are you free today?”

“Already on my way. Put the kettle on.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. It came out shaky, like even my body wasn’t sure it was allowed to relax.

She showed up at 11:30 carrying a tote bag, a big container of fried rice that smelled like comfort and home, and a stuffed elephant she waved at me the second I opened the door.

"For my baby," she declared, marching right past me into the apartment like she owned the place.

"He's four months old, Nina."

"He can look at it and feel loved anyway." She kicked off her shoes, headed for the kitchen, and started opening cupboards like she lived here. "Where are your mugs? This kitchen is ridiculous—it’s always hiding things."

"Same place as always," I mumbled.

She turned around, and gave me that long look—the one that saw straight through me. "You look exhausted, Amara."

"I have a newborn."

"You looked like this before the newborn."

"Nina—"

"I’m just saying. Sit down before you fall."

That was Nina for you. She filled up a room without even trying. Loud, warm, zero patience for fancy marble and heavy silences.

In ten minutes the penthouse felt alive. The smell of her fried rice mixed with her bright citrus perfume, and for the first time that morning I could actually breathe without my chest hurting.

She crouched down by Luca’s bouncer and held up the elephant. "This is Gerald. Gerald’s your new best friend, okay?"

"He’s got Dominic’s forehead," Nina said softly.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Because it’s obvious." She sat across from me at the table, wrapping both hands around her mug, and looked at me straight on. "How’s Dominic doing?"

"Fine, and busy" I said quickly.

"Busy how?"

"Work stuff."

She nodded slowly, the kind of nod that meant she was storing it away, not really believing me. "Was he home this morning?"

"He left early."

"Amara."

"Don’t start."

"I’m not starting anything."

"You’re using that voice. The one that’s really a question pretending to be concern."

She tilted her head. "Is there a difference?"

I stared down at my coffee, watching the surface tremble with my heartbeat.

I needed to change the subject.

"Can we talk about something else? Tell me about work.”

She sighed, “ Work is doing just fine.”

We slid into easier territory after that. We talked about everything except the thing sitting heavy in my chest. I almost told her. Three different times.

The first time, she squeezed my hand while we were laughing about something silly, and the words rushed up hot in my throat.

I swallowed hard and laughed louder instead. It sounded fake even to me.

The second time, when she asked when Dominic and I last had a night just for ourselves, the truth pressed against my teeth.

Instead I said, "It’s tough with a newborn," and she just nodded. The quiet that followed felt thicker than before.

Luca started fussing, so I picked him up. When I turned around, Nina was staring at Dominic’s mug on the counter—the one with cold coffee still in it that I couldn’t bring myself to wash.

Her face changed for a second, something soft and worried crossing it before she hid it. She thought I didn’t notice.

We both knew what we were dancing around. Neither of us wanted to step on that landmine in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.

She went to the bathroom and I wandered over to the window with Luca on my shoulder, rocking him gently. My mind slipped back without warning.

Two years ago. Same kitchen, Saturday morning light pouring in golden and slow. I’d been stretching for something on the top shelf when Dominic came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me right off the floor like I was weightless.

He set me on the counter and just looked at me, smiling that half-smile that always made my stomach flip.

"You’re ridiculous," I laughed, holding onto his shoulders.

"You like it," he said. Then, simple and sure: "This apartment didn’t feel like anything before you were in it."

It wasn’t some big romantic speech. Just him being honest, the way he used to be.

Now I stood in the exact same spot with our son warm against my chest. Everything that used to feel like us quietly disappeared.

Nina came back and paused in the doorway. She must have seen it all over my face because she walked straight over and stood beside me, her shoulder touching mine.

She didn’t say anything at first. That was one of her gifts—knowing when silence said more than words.

"I’m fine," I whispered anyway, my voice cracking.

She turned to face me fully. Her eyes were soft but steady. "I’m not going to force you to talk. I just want you to know I see how heavy it is."

My throat closed up. I couldn’t say anything back. We just stood there together until the moment passed.

She kissed Luca’s soft cheek, gave my arm a squeeze, and pulled on her coat. Then she stopped in the hallway and turned back.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m always here." She said.

She held my eyes for a long second, then headed for the lift without waiting for an answer.

I shut the door and leaned against it, the wood cool against my back. The apartment went back to its usual expensive quiet—the kind that used to feel peaceful but now just felt lonely, like it was waiting for something bad to happen.

My phone buzzed.

Dominic: “Late meeting tonight. Don’t wait for me.”

Seven flat words. It didn't sound like he was talking to his wife.

I thought about the four nights I spent by myself in this big, echoing place. While my husband kept making excuses to stay out late.

The cold ache in my chest sharpened.

I carried Luca and laid him down carefully, and stood in the doorway listening to his gentle breathing. Nina’s words kept echoing in my head.

I thought about the single hair on that collar. The untouched cold coffee mug. The man who once told me this apartment only made sense with me in it—now that same man barely looks at me.

I could see my marriage breaking. It wasn’t just new-mom paranoia or a bad week.

The pretending was cracking apart, and the truth was rising up whether I wanted it to or not.

I stood there in the soft glow of the nightlight, heart pounding, Luca sleeping peacefully like the world wasn’t shifting under our feet.

I had no idea what would happen next.