Chapter 24

ISABELLA’S POV

 

 

My bilogical clock wakes me up before the twins as usual. And for a moment, the unfamiliar ceiling confuses me. Then the events of the previous day returns to me in a rush. I turn my head and look at Liam that is still asleep on the other side of me. Their steady breathing is the only thing that feels familiar in this place.

 

I carefully extract myself from the bed and stand. My body feels heavy from tension and lack of proper rest. I smooth the covers around the children, before walking quietly to the window. The city is already awake and I am sure that Ethan is awake somewhere, he has always been an early riser.

 

I need coffee. And I need a plan.

 

When I step into the hallway, the scent of food assaults me. I follow the scent to the kitchen and stop in the doorway. There is Ethan standing at the stove, with his sleeves rolled up, cooking eggs and toast. He looks up immediately he senses me.

 

“They’re still asleep,” I say.

 

He nods. “I figured they would be. I made breakfast. There’s coffee.”

 

I pour myself a cup without answering him. The domesticity of this moment feels surreal after the fight we had last night. I lean against the counter, keeping distance between us. Neither of us speaks for a while.

 

Eventually, small footsteps approach us. Liam appears first, his hair is messy, his eyes barely open. He comes toa halt when he sees Ethan, and begins to study him with open curiosity.

 

“You’re still here,” Liam says.

 

“I live here,” Ethan answers simply.

 

Liam looks at him in wonder, before climbing onto one of the stools at the island. “Mommy you said we will go home today.”

 

I set my cup down. “We’ll talk about that after breakfast.”

 

Lila pads in a moment later, her bear dragging behind her. When she sees me, she reaches up immediately. I lift her onto my hip and she rests her head on my shoulder and peers at Ethan with sleepy interest but says nothing.

 

Breakfast is quiet and careful. I cut Lila’s toast into small pieces. Liam insists on explaining to anyone who will listen why his truck needs “stronger wheels.” Ethan listens more than he speaks, his attention divided between the children and me. Every time his eyes meet mine, the tension from last night flickers between us again.

 

After the twins finish eating, I take them back to the guest room and set them up with a short cartoon and their toys. Before returning to the living room.

 

 

ETHAN’S POV

 

 

She sits across from me on the opposite sofa, with her back in a straight position, and her expression guarded. The children are occupied for the moment and this is the first real chance we have had to speak without raised voices since yesterday.

 

“We need a plan,” I say. “Something that doesn’t involve another scene like last night.”

 

“Agreed.” Her tone is cool. “First condition: you do not make unilateral decisions about them again. No picking them up from school. No changing their routine without telling me. No more surveillance.”

 

I incline my head. “Understood. In return, I want consistent time with them. Starting immediately.”

 

She studies me. “They’re two years old. They just met you. You can’t expect them to suddenly treat this place like home.”

 

“I’m not asking for that. I’m asking for the chance to become someone they know.”

 

Our conversation is precise and strained. We go back and forth over practical details, from how many days a week we should each have them, who handles drop-offs, how we communicate, to what happens if one of us has work obligations. Every point requires negotiation because trust is absent.

 

After nearly an hour, we reach a temporary agreement. The children will spend the next three nights here so they can adjust gradually. I will have structured time with them each day. Isabella will stay as well during those nights. After that, we will reassess the agreement.

 

It is just like a fragile ceasefire, during the war.

 

 

ISABELLA’S POV

 

 

My phone buzzes while we are still talking. Sofia’s name lighting up the screen. I excuse myself from him to answer the call.

 

“Where have you been?” Sofia’s voice is tight with worry. “I’ve been calling you since last night.”

 

“I’m fine,” I say quietly. “Something happened with Ethan. He knows about the twins. We’re at his place. I’ll explain later.”

 

There is a short silence. “Do you need me?”

 

“Not right now. I’ll call you when I can.”

 

I end the call and turn back to see Ethan watching me.

 

“Sofia,” I explain.

 

He nods. A few minutes later, my phone lights up again, this time with my father’s number. I let it go to voicemail because I cannot handle that conversation yet.

 

When I sit back down, the weight of everything happening settles more heavily on me. My carefully built life has been cracked open in less than twenty-four hours. The house I made for the twins, the routine that kept them secure, the distance I maintained from Ethan, all of it is now in question.

 

“I need to go by the house later,” I say. “To get some of their things. Clothes, the rest of their toys, the special cups they like.”

 

“I’ll have someone drive you,” Ethan offers.

 

“I’ll drive myself.”

 

Thankfully he doesn’t argue.

 

 

ETHAN’S POV

 

 

After Isabella leaves to collect the children’s belongings, I remain in the living room with Liam and Lila and the silence between us feels different without her. Liam eventually approaches with his truck and holds it out me.

 

“It needs better wheels,” he informs me. “These ones are too small.”

 

I sit on the floor so we are closer to the same height. “What kind of wheels would work better?”

 

He launches into a serious explanation involving speed and “not falling over.” Lila stays near the couch at first, before slowly coming closer until she is sitting a short distance away, watching us while she makes her bear “talk.”

 

It is a small moment. Ordinary, even. But I flet it with unexpected force. These children have entire personalities, preferences, and ways of speaking that I knew nothing about until yesterday. Two years of mornings, bedtime stories, scraped knees, and small victories that happened without me.

 

When Isabella returns with a bag of their things, she pauses in the doorway at the sight of the three of us on the floor. Something complicated crosses her face before she smooths it away.

 

She unpacks the bag sorting out their pajamas, extra clothes, their special cups, and a few more toys. The guest room gradually begins to look less temporary.

 

 

ISABELLA’S POV

 

 

By late afternoon, the temporary arrangement is in motion. The twins already have their things and we have a basic schedule for the next few days. Communication will happen by message unless something urgent arises.

 

It should feel like progress. Instead, it feels like standing on ground that could shift at any moment.

 

When evening comes, I bathe the children and get them ready for bed in the guest room. Liam asks if we are sleeping at “the tall house” again. I tell him yes for a few more nights. He accepts this with a small nod before going to sleep. Lila simply wants to be held longer than usual before I settle her down.

 

After they fall asleep, I step out into the hallway. Ethan is in the living room, standing near the windows with a glass of water in his hand. He looks over when he hears me.

 

“They’re asleep,” I say.

 

He nods. “Thank you for staying.”

 

I don’t answer that. Accepting his gratitude feels too complicated right now.

 

“I’m going to bed,” I tell him. “We can talk more tomorrow if needed.”

 

I turn back towards the guest room. Just before I close the door, I glance at him once more. He is still standing there, watching the city, the weight of the last two days visible in the set of his shoulders.

 

Nothing about this is settled. We have only managed to stop the immediate bleeding. The real work ... learning how to raise these children together without destroying each other in the process ... has not even begun.

 

I close the door softly and lie down beside my children in the dark, already bracing for whatever the next day will demand of us.