[Leon's Perspective]
Leon stirred before dawn, the room still bathed in the gray silence of early morning. His hand moved instinctively across the bed, seeking the familiar curve of Nyx's form beside him. But the sheets were cold, flat where they should've been warm and risen.
He blinked into the dimness.
His hand swept again, frantic now, deeper into the mattress as if she'd somehow sunk into it.
Still nothing.
No warmth.
No soft breath.
No Nyx.
"Nyx?" he whispered into the silence, but the quiet swallowed her name.
He threw the blanket aside and stood, heartbeat kicking up against his ribs as he rushed toward the door. His bare feet padded quickly across the hardwood floor, his mind caught between worry and regret.
And then, he saw her.
There she was, curled up tightly on the small couch, her body folded as much as it could manage around the round swell of her seven-month belly. One hand cradled her stomach protectively, and the other held something small to her chest.
The cube.
She clutched it like a lifeline, and its faint glow barely lit the shadows under her tired eyes. Her breathing was even, though her cheeks bore the dried trails of tears she hadn't wiped away.
Leon stopped in his tracks. The sight of her, curled up on that couch she barely fit on, instead of in the bed they shared, hit him harder than the punch that had bruised his lip.
He had failed her.
There was no other way to put it. It wasn't the physical betrayal that twisted inside his chest now, it was this. This quiet exile she'd chosen, this space she'd withdrawn into, this distance she hadn't named but he now felt in every inch of the room.
His legs gave in, and he knelt beside the couch, the weight of everything folding his spine. His fingers hovered near her shoulder, aching to touch her, to pull her close, to speak every apology he couldn't say out loud.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
She looked peaceful in sleep, or perhaps simply numb. And even in unconsciousness, her arms clung to the memory of a man he would never live up to. The cube pulsed faintly in her grip, like a heartbeat. Like a whisper of someone gone. Someone she once loved in a way Leon feared she would never love him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice nearly breaking. "I don't know how to fix this… but I want to."
He rested his head against the couch, beside her curled form, letting the silence wrap around him like a punishment. She didn't stir. Didn't move.
Didn't reach for him.
And as the sun rose slowly, stretching golden light across her body and the life growing inside her, Leon stayed exactly where he was, on the floor, beside the woman who no longer chose to sleep next to him.
A soft sound stirred me.
A breath.
A whisper I couldn't make out.
My eyes blinked open slowly, eyelashes still damp from sleep, or maybe from the night before. The morning light filtered through the windows, warm and golden, like it always was when I used to feel safe.
And there he was.
Leon.
Sitting on the floor beside the couch, head leaning against the cushion near my belly. His brows were drawn close, like even in sleep, if it was sleep, he was carrying something heavy. Regret maybe. Or shame.
His fingers twitched like he had reached for me and stopped halfway.
I stared at him, heart still too tired to ache properly.
He looked… haunted.
Like the warmth of our home was burning him instead of holding him.
My arms instinctively pulled the cube closer, clutching it gently against my belly. It hadn't flickered this time. Or maybe it did, and I just didn't care to look.
The part that hurt the most wasn't the distance.
It was the silence.
The silence that he let grow between us.
The silence I allowed to stay.
I didn't ask.
I didn't want to know.
Because if I asked, the truth might leave a scar I couldn't bear, at least not now, not while I was still carrying this child. Our child.
I shifted slightly, my spine aching from the awkward position, and Leon stirred at the motion. He blinked awake, eyes immediately snapping up to meet mine.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
So I did what I could.
What I'd mastered.
I smiled.
Small, tired, but warm enough to say, "I'm okay."
Even if I wasn't.
Leon's face changed in that instant, like my smile crushed him more than a thousand accusations ever could. He looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe confess. Maybe lie. Maybe cry.
But I didn't let him.
"Good morning," I whispered softly.
He swallowed hard, guilt flickering behind his eyes. "Nyx…"
"I'm okay," I said again, gently. "You should lie down for a bit. You didn't sleep much."
I lifted myself slowly, hand on the armrest, the cube still tucked under my arm. My body felt heavy, heavier than it had in days, not just from the baby growing inside me but from all the things I refused to carry in my heart.
Leon stood quickly to help me, but I waved him off.
"I'll make breakfast," I added with a faint smile. "You've had a long night too, right?"
He nodded stiffly, throat tight, guilt radiating from every inch of his body. He looked at me like he didn't know whether to say thank you or I'm sorry, and said neither.
I walked away before he could decide.
Because today, I didn't want apologies.
I wanted peace.
Even if it meant pretending.
Leon had been trying. I could see it, or maybe I just wanted to.
He came home earlier for a while, asked if I needed anything, kissed me on the forehead like old times.
But like all habits stitched only with guilt, they unravel eventually.
Two weeks. That's all the effort lasted.
Then the pattern returned.
Later nights.
Quieter meals.
Touchless kisses.
Excuses I didn't ask for.
And tonight?
He didn't come home at all.
My belly was nearing eight months. My feet were swollen. My chest felt tight and heavy, like grief hadn't fully left, and now it was back, waiting in silence beside me.
The clock struck 1:07 a.m.
I was about to send him a message when my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number. I hesitated. Then I answered.
And that voice, so unfamiliar, yet threaded with something faintly recognizable, spoke calmly:
"If you want to know where your husband is, come to this address."
No explanation.
No tone.
Just that.
I didn't think.
I didn't cry.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed the light coat I could barely zip over my stomach and took the electric scooter Leon bought me months ago, back when he still tried to make me laugh on rainy days.
The wind stung against my cheeks as I rode through the sleeping city. The cold didn't reach my bones. I was too numb. Only one thought repeated in my head:
Let it not be true.
The address led me to a house.
Big.
New.
Too new.
One of those modern homes that looked like they'd never known an argument, let alone heartbreak. But somehow… the pain already echoed from the walls before I even stepped in.
The door wasn't locked.
It opened for me like it had been waiting.
Like someone knew I was coming.
I stepped inside without a word.
The lights were dimmed in the hallway. But a flicker of movement, shadows, the thump of something alive, heavy breathing, led me forward.
And there they were.
In the center of the open living room.
Samantha.
Straddling him.
Hands clutching at his shoulders like he was oxygen.
Moaning his name like it belonged to her.
Riding him like they were racing to forget something.
Time didn't stop.
It sped up.
She saw me first. Her face froze mid-movement, horror twisting her features.
Leon turned, his body still bare, vulnerable, exposed in every way possible. His eyes widened as they locked with mine.
His voice cracked.
"Nyx—"
Samantha scrambled off, pulling a sheet to cover herself, her arms shaking.
I didn't move.
I didn't scream.
I didn't cry.
I just… stood there. Belly heavy. Bones heavier.
The weight of eight months of love, of faith, of silence, of everything I gave… all crumbling inside me with a quiet kind of violence.
There was no thunder.
Only the echo of my own heartbeat.
"So this is where you've been…" I finally whispered. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Distant. Detached.
Leon stood, reaching for his pants, for his words, for anything.
"Nyx, I - It's not - It just happened---"
I lifted a hand.
Not to hit him.
Not to stop him.
But to stop myself.
From breaking.
From collapsing right there in that house built from lies.
I turned around.
And I walked.
Not because I was strong.
Not because I forgave him.
But because I had to.
Because the life inside me deserved more than a woman begging for pieces of a man who shattered her.
I turned my back.
That was all I could do, to hold on to the last shred of dignity I had left. My breath was steady, but my insides screamed. I just needed to leave. To get out of that house before I shattered.
But before I could step out, another voice cut through the air.
Deep. Mocking. Familiar in the way a nightmare is.
"Now, isn't this poetic?"
I stopped.
The air in the room shifted, like venom had seeped in.
I turned slightly, and there he was.
Nathan.
Leaning against the hallway wall with a crooked smirk, arms crossed like he'd been watching a stage play unfold just for him.
"What a lovely sight," he said with a low chuckle. "Your dear husband, buried so deep in my wife, and now you get to watch how it feels."
My chest tightened.
Nathan pushed off the wall and walked toward me, casual, like a predator with time to kill. His gaze flicked to Leon and Samantha, both scrambling to get dressed, red-faced and panicked.
But they froze as Nathan reached me.
He didn't speak.
He didn't shout.
He grabbed my arm.
Not painfully, but with force. With intention. With cruelty.
"Don't look away now, Nyx," he whispered, leaning down, breath close. "You came here to see the truth, right? So see it."
He twisted me slightly, angling my view just right.
There they were again.
Leon, pulling up his pants in a frenzy, face pale. Samantha clutching the blanket around her, hair a mess, shame in her eyes.
My body locked in place, not because I wanted to see, but because I couldn't breathe.
"Stop it, Nathan!" Samantha cried, now more frantic than guilty.
Leon took a step forward, fire in his voice. "Let her go, Nathan!"
But Nathan only smiled wider.
"Why? This is what she came for." He looked at me again, eyes void of empathy. "I mean… you gave her the perfect life, didn't you, Leon? House. Child. And this, this perfect ending. Just like how Samantha gave me mine."
His grip on my arm tightened for a second, then… he let go. As if he realized I was already beyond breaking.
I didn't flinch.
Didn't run.
Didn't fight.
Because some pain runs so deep, you don't bleed—you drown.
Leon rushed toward me, but I stepped back, arms gently shielding my belly.
"Nyx, please----" he begged.
Nathan scoffed. "You should thank me, sweetheart. At least now, you're free of the illusion."
But I didn't answer him.
Or Leon.
Or Samantha.
I just stared at them all. The three of them, tangled in sins and betrayals and twisted pasts.
And then I left.
Still without a word.
Because the silence I gave them tonight…
Was the last mercy I had left to offer.
The wind burned against my cheeks as I rode.
I didn't know how fast I was going. I didn't care.
The cube was clutched tight in my hand, as if it were the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
I didn't go back to the apartment.
I couldn't. Not with his scent still on the walls. Not with her lipstick stain still printed on my memory.
So I went back, to where I used to belong.
To Nico's home.
To the only place that still remembered me before I became… this.
I unlocked the old door and stepped inside.
It smelled of time and absence.
Dust.
Musk.
Faded photographs of a life that once loved me honestly.
I dragged myself to his room.
Everything untouched.
Everything waiting.
I collapsed onto his bed, the cube still in my grasp, and that's when it started flickering again, bright, sharp pulses like it was screaming with me.
I broke.
I didn't just cry, I howled.
Ugly, uncontrollable sobs.
For what I saw.
For the life inside me.
For Nico.
For everything I lost trying to hold on to something that was never real.
I screamed until my throat tore raw.
Until my hands shook.
Until the weight in my belly started to twist, cramp,
Pain.
Worse than heartbreak.
Worse than betrayal.
I felt wetness.
Too warm.
Too fast.
I looked down and saw blood.
"No…"
My voice was barely there.
"No, no, no—please, not my baby, please, not this too---"
I tried to move, to reach for my phone, but the dizziness took over.
My body gave up before my heart did.
The last thing I saw was the cube blinking, fast, frantic, as if it, too, was mourning what was about to be lost.
And then, darkness.
---
[Leon's Perspective]
He didn't even finish buttoning his shirt.
He shoved past Samantha and Nathan without another word, grabbed his car keys, and bolted.
The guilt clung to him like mud in a downpour.
I'll explain. I'll apologize. She has to be at home.
But when he burst into the apartment, it was dark.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
"Nyx?" he called out, desperation choking him.
No answer.
Then it hit him, the one place she might have gone.
Where her soul still lived.
He sped through the night, panic rising with every second.
When he reached Nico's house, the door was slightly open.
"Nyx?"
He stepped inside.
Silence.
He walked deeper into the shadows of that forgotten home, then he saw it.
"NYX!"
She was slumped on the bed.
Blood soaked the sheets.
Her skin was pale, lips blue.
"Please no, no, no—"
He gathered her into his arms, the cube falling from her hand, still flickering weakly.
He drove like a madman.
He screamed for help at the emergency bay.
---
Later.
The hospital smelled too clean.
Too sterile to carry the weight of what was lost.
The doctor came out, his eyes heavy.
"She's alive. We managed to stabilize her… but…"
A pause.
A breath.
"I'm sorry. The baby didn't make it."
Leon collapsed into the nearest seat, hand over his mouth, eyes wide and hollow.
His sins didn't just break the woman he loved.
They buried his child before it could even breathe.