Three years passed in a blink, and yet, every day with Leon felt like a pause between heartbeats. Sweet mornings. Sleepy smiles. Coffee always poured into my cup first.
Sometimes, I'd wake up to the scent of burnt toast and butter, only to find Leon humming terribly in the kitchen, still in his shirt from the night before, apron barely tied.
"Chef disaster," I'd call him with a smirk.
"Still your disaster," he'd reply, sliding a plate toward me with toast so charred it could be considered a weapon.
---
Our nights were quieter.
Most evenings we'd lie together on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket over us, the TV playing something forgotten in the background. We'd talk about nothing and everything.
Sometimes, he'd run his fingers down the old scar I had on my forehead and ask again, "Did it ever stop hurting?"
And I'd say, "No. But it doesn't control me anymore."
He'd smile and press his lips to it. "Then you're stronger than it."
He said that often.
---
We tried. For three years we tried.
The first time I saw a negative result, Leon had wrapped his arms around me, whispering, "We'll keep trying, okay?"
The second time, he bought baby shoes anyway. Said he'd keep them until we needed them.
By the third year, I had learned to hide my disappointment beneath soft smiles. He never pressured me. Never let it become a burden. But I saw the flicker in his eyes every time he thought I wasn't looking.
---
Then came my 27th birthday.
A day I never celebrated.
I always spent it quietly, lighting a candle for each of them, my mother, my father, my sister Xanayah, and my brother Xavier. Gone in a moment. Their absence carved a hollow space into the day. A void.
Until now.
I had been feeling off for a week, a kind of dizzy exhaustion I couldn't explain. Leon teased me about needing more sleep, even made jokes about being "the tired one" in the marriage.
But this time, something was different.
And so, while he was still asleep that morning, I took the test.
I stared at the result for a long time, my breath caught in my throat.
Positive.
I didn't cry.
I smiled.
It was small, uncertain… but real.
---
Leon was in the kitchen when I returned, shirt half-buttoned, flipping pancakes that were dangerously close to burning again.
"Happy birthday, love," he said, eyes lighting up the second he saw me. "Made your favorite, kind of. The effort counts, right?"
I walked up to him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and buried my face into his chest.
He stilled. "Nyx?"
I looked up.
"I'm pregnant."
He blinked. "W–What?"
I nodded slowly, my hands resting over my stomach. "It's real this time, Leon. We're going to have a baby."
The pan sizzled. He forgot about the pancakes.
His hands came up to cradle my face. "You're serious?"
"Happy birthday to me, right?" I whispered with a laugh. A tear rolled down my cheek.
He kissed me.
Not like the first time. Not with hunger or urgency.
But with awe.
As if he couldn't believe his lips were allowed to touch mine again.
"We're going to be parents," he whispered against my skin. "Nyx… we're going to have a family."
---
And just like that,
The day I used to mourn…
Became the day life bloomed again.
But fate, cruel and quiet, always watches too.
And she doesn't stay merciful forever.
By the time my belly began to show, Leon had made it clear, I wasn't to lift a finger.
"No more working," he'd said one morning while helping me tie the back of my loose dress. "You've done more than enough. Just rest. This baby's already a miracle, and I won't let anything jeopardize that."
I didn't argue.
His hands were warm. His kisses soft.
And the thought of being home, creating space for our child, was more than enough to anchor me.
At first.
---
The days passed sweetly.
He brought me flowers. Hot meals. New books. He'd kiss my growing belly every morning before leaving for work.
But weeks turned into routine.
And routine turned into absence.
---
Leon stopped bringing flowers.
Then he stopped coming home on time.
At first, it was an hour late. Then two. Then whole nights when his messages came at midnight or not at all.
Busy.
Meetings.
Overtime.
I'm doing this for us.
That line became his lullaby. And I, foolish and tired, kept humming it to myself even when it started sounding hollow.
---
I told myself he was preparing for our future, building stability, climbing ladders, doing everything he promised he would do. And maybe he was.
But love, no matter how sturdy, falters in silence.
I began to fill the empty hours by folding baby clothes we'd bought months ago, one by one. I'd hum the lullabies I grew up with, sometimes even talk to my belly, as if the little heartbeat inside me could soothe the ache his absence left.
But nothing hurt more than smiling alone.
---
Then, one morning, I decided to surprise him.
It was simple. I packed him a meal. Fixed my hair. Wore a loose dress I knew he liked. I told myself I just wanted to see his face, to feel close again. To remind him, maybe, of what all his hard work was for.
I arrived at his office with the lunch in my hand, the receptionist giving me a kind nod before letting me in.
I didn't expect to see her.
Samantha.
Seated across from Leon, a calm smile on her lips, her eyes focused on the house brochures spread neatly between them. The way she leaned forward, the way Leon mirrored her body language, it wasn't romantic. But it was comfortable. Familiar. No tension. No formality.
And that made it worse.
I froze, hand still clutching the small meal I made for him.
She hadn't seen me. Not yet.
And my gaze drifted, involuntarily, to the baby carrier placed beside her seat.
He wasn't with her today, but I remembered the soft roundness of his cheeks, the way his eyes tilted. A memory from months ago at the baby boutique. I had done the math then, eighteen months, give or take.
And I remembered something else, too.
Nathan.
My childhood crush.
The man Samantha met through me.
The one she eventually fell for, without ever knowing how I once felt about him.
And I never told her.
Because back then, I believed in fate more than I believed in jealousy.
I told myself that if she was happy, then it was enough.
I convinced myself I had let him go.
But now, seeing Samantha seated comfortably with my husband, her child Nathan's spitting image,
A quiet ache bloomed beneath my ribs.
Not jealousy. Not quite fear.
Something worse.
Doubt.
Still, I knocked.
---
Leon looked up, momentarily startled.
"Nyx?" he said, voice rising with something like relief. "What are you doing here? You should've told me."
He was already crossing the room, taking the mealbox gently from my hand as if I were made of glass.
"I wanted to surprise you," I smiled faintly.
Samantha stood quickly, brushing invisible wrinkles off her skirt. "I was just leaving," she said, offering me a small nod. "Nice seeing you again, Nyx."
"You too." The words tasted distant.
After she left, I looked at the table, the brochures still laid out in neat rows.
"Looking for a house?" I asked, careful to sound light.
Leon gave a soft, sheepish chuckle.
"I was going to surprise you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wanted to find the perfect place for us. For when the baby comes. Somewhere quieter… safer. With space for a nursery."
My heart caught, not because I believed him instantly, but because I wanted to.
Because it sounded like something the old Leon would say.
The one who kissed my forehead every morning.
The one who listened to the baby's heartbeat with trembling hands.
"I didn't want to get your hopes up too soon," he added. "Samantha just knew a few good realtors."
He kissed my temple, soft and sweet.
But I didn't melt into it this time.
I smiled, yes.
But part of me had gone quiet.
And in that silence,
I started watching again.
I glanced at the house brochures still scattered on the table, but my mind was caught on something else.
"You called her Samantha so casually," I said, keeping my tone light. "Didn't you just meet her recently?"
Leon blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
I looked up, this time letting my eyes settle on his.
"You said her name so naturally, like you've known her for a while."
Leon shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I mean… yeah," he said slowly. "I met her a few weeks ago. She was carrying a crying baby, looked completely worn out. And I remembered her greeting you that time, thought she eas familiar, so I offered her a ride home."
I didn't say anything.
"She lives on the third floor of a walk-up. No elevator. The baby wouldn't stop crying… but when I carried him, he just, conked out."
He laughed at the memory, then softened. "She was alone. I couldn't just leave her struggling."
I nodded, slowly. "So that's how you two met."
Leon hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
I looked away, pretending to busy myself with the bento box again.
"No reason," I said, almost to myself.
But inside, something twisted.
Not because I didn't trust him.
But because I knew her.
Samantha had always been magnetic, the kind of girl who drew people in without even trying. Back then, when Nathan started falling for her. She didn't even know I had loved him first.
Now, she was a single mother, freshly alone. Vulnerable. And maybe… searching.
"She's not a bad person," I murmured, almost convincing myself. "But…"
But people change when they lose what they thought would last forever.
And even the kindest hearts, when desperate, might reach toward what feels safe.
Leon gave me a look, one I couldn't quite read.
"I helped her," he said again, softer this time. "That's all, Nyx."
I looked up and smiled gently, kissing his cheek.
"I know. Just…" I paused. "Be careful with old ghosts you don't know belong to someone."
He blinked, confused by my words. I didn't explain. I didn't need to.
Because even if Samantha didn't know she was stepping onto fragile ground…
I did.
And for the first time in years, I wasn't sure who I needed to protect more,
Leon, or myself.
[Leon's Arc]
Leon had been visiting Samantha more often these days.
The house, their house, the one he imagined raising their child in, was nearly ready for the final steps. The paperwork, the final inspection, the last round of negotiations. Samantha had been helping him navigate through it, using a friend's connection in real estate. She said she wanted to return the kindness he once showed her on that rainy night, when the baby wouldn't stop crying, and he offered her a quiet ride home.
He didn't see it coming.
Not the way her presence started to fill the spaces Nyx had once held so effortlessly. Not the way her laughter, soft and low, slipped into his mind when he lay beside his pregnant wife, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
Nyx had changed.
Not in ways that made him love her less.
But in ways that left him… distant.
She was quieter now. Fragile in her movements. Always exhausted. And Leon, despite his love, couldn't touch her without feeling like he might break something. Her body was no longer just hers, it belonged to the small life forming inside her. And so, without words, they stopped reaching for each other.
And in that space… temptation found its way in.
---
That afternoon, Samantha had offered to take him on-site to see the house.
"I can drive," she said, adjusting the baby bag on her shoulder.
"No, let's take mine. It's more comfortable." Leon unlocked the car and walked around to open the door for her.
But before she could step in, a man stormed from the sidewalk.
Mid-30s. Angry. Familiar.
"Samantha!" the man bellowed, grabbing her arm roughly.
She flinched. "Nathan, let go!"
Leon didn't think. He rushed forward, shoving the man back, his arm protectively blocking Samantha. "Hey! Back off---!"
A hard fist struck Leon's cheek. The force sent him stumbling backward, blood filling the corner of his mouth.
Samantha screamed. "Leon!"
"Try anything else, I'm calling the cops," she shouted, phone already in hand.
Nathan cursed under his breath, face twisted in fury. But after a tense moment, he backed away, spitting one last glare at her.
"You'll regret this, Sam."
And then he left.
Leon wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "You okay?"
Samantha nodded, voice shaking. "Yeah. Are you?"
He exhaled sharply, pressing his hand to his bruised jaw. "Been hit worse."
Still, she looked pale. And as they drove in silence, Leon caught her trembling hands on her lap.
---
They arrived at the house, the one with the white porch and the nursery room Leon had already mentally painted pale blue.
Inside, Samantha pushed him gently into the armchair in the living room.
"Let me see." Her fingers brushed under his chin, tilting his face. "You're bleeding."
"It's fine."
"You helped me. Again." She smiled, but there was sadness behind it. Gratitude and something else, longing, maybe.
She dabbed a tissue to his lip. Her fingers lingered.
Too long.
"Samantha---" Leon began, but his voice caught.
Her hand moved from his jaw to his cheek. His heart pounded. Not out of love, but from the confusion of the moment, the warm pulse of her touch, the way her eyes searched his.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, but then her lips pressed against his.
And Leon… didn't move.
Not at first.
Not until he kissed her back.
The kiss deepened, drawn not from love but from aching. He hadn't touched Nyx in weeks. Hadn't been touched. Samantha smelled like soap and chamomile and something nostalgic, something far away from hospital appointments and swollen ankles and whispered guilt at not doing more.
The house, their supposed dream home, became the backdrop of something twisted.
He wasn't thinking about Nyx.
He wasn't thinking at all.
He was just lonely.
Just weak.
And now, he had crossed a line that no future apology could ever erase.
The air inside the house had gone still, thick with the weight of what just happened.
Samantha pulled her blouse back into place with trembling hands, her cheeks stained red, not with passion anymore, but shame. Leon sat on the edge of the armchair, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tightly like he could squeeze the guilt out of his own bones.
Neither of them spoke at first.
The silence wasn't comfortable.
It was damning.
Samantha was the one who broke it.
"…That shouldn't have happened."
Leon didn't look at her. He stared at the floor, jaw clenched. The fading sting of Nathan's punch pulsed beneath his skin, but it didn't compare to the pounding guilt that bloomed in his chest.
"I know," he said quietly. "It was a mistake."
Samantha bit her lip, lowering her gaze.
"We were both… overwhelmed."
Leon ran a hand through his hair, finally leaning back and letting out a shaky breath.
"I love her," he murmured. "I love Nyx. I can't, this can't happen again."
"I know," she said again, voice barely above a whisper. "It was the heat of the moment. I was scared. You were there. It's not an excuse, I know it's not…"
Leon shook his head, eyes finally finding hers. "We crossed a line. One that should've never even existed."
"I'm not asking for anything, Leon," Samantha said quickly, "I know you're not mine. I just… I don't want to ruin your family. Not after everything you've done for me. And definitely not when she's----"
"Pregnant," he finished, voice breaking just slightly.
The word fell like a stone in the middle of the room. A reminder. A guilt neither of them could hide from now.
Samantha's eyes watered. "You don't have to tell her. Please. She's already carrying enough. And it was----"
"Just a one-time thing," Leon said, as if trying to etch it into the walls. "It meant nothing."
It wasn't entirely true.
It meant everything, just not in the way either of them wanted.
It meant that he had failed Nyx in the most unforgivable way. That the loneliness he felt had festered long enough to seek comfort where it shouldn't. That temptation, no matter how brief, had won.
He rubbed his face, his voice softer now. "She's been through hell. And I promised to be her peace."
Samantha nodded. "Then be that. Be what she needs, Leon. Forget this happened. Please."
He stood, grabbing his coat. "This ends here."
As he walked toward the door, he hesitated only once, hand still on the handle.
"If she ever finds out…" he said, his voice low, "…it won't be from you."
And with that, he stepped outside, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality.