Then at him.
He looked exactly like the man I’d loved for nine years.
Same brown hair.
Same familiar smile.
Same navy tie I’d bought him for Christmas.
I’d expected betrayal to change the way a person looked.
But apparently, it didn’t.
“Thank you,” I said.
He kissed my forehead.
“Missed you.”
The lie was delivered so effortlessly that I felt something inside me go very quiet.
“Long day?” I asked.
“Terrible. Meetings all afternoon.”
“Did you get dinner?”
“Barely had time to eat.”
I
thought about Sierra.
About the warm voice he’d used with her.
About the promises he’d made.
But I said nothing.
He walked toward Sophie, who was resting in her bassinet.
The moment he saw her, his expression softened.
“There’s my girl.”
He touched her little hand.
Sophie wrapped her fingers around his.
And he smiled.
A real smile.
That hurt in a different way.
Because I suddenly understood that someone could betray his wife and still feel genuine affection for his daughter.
I wanted everything to be simple.
I wanted to think of him as entirely cruel.
But the man standing before me was also the father who made our baby laugh by tapping her little socks and making silly noises.
Both things were true.
And somehow, I had to figure out what to do with that.
“I’m going upstairs,” I said.
He looked surprised.
“Already?”
“I’m exhausted. Sophie needs
another bottle at eleven. Can you handle it?”
He hesitated.
“Me?”
“There’s milk in the refrigerator.”
He frowned.
“I know how to feed my daughter.”
“Good.”
Then I went upstairs.
At eleven, I heard him moving around the kitchen.
A cabinet opened.
Sophie cried briefly.
Then she became quiet.
I lay awake, staring into the darkness.
Wondering how many nights I’d handled everything alone while he was spending time with Sierra.
When Elon finally came to bed, he turned toward the wall.
He didn’t reach for me.
And I remembered what he’d said.
I can barely stand being around her anymore.
At least that part hadn’t been a lie.
The following evening, he brought up something unexpected.
I was folding Sophie’s tiny clothes when he sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“About what?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go back to work yet.”
I looked up.
