CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE SPACE THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
Aria hadn't meant to avoid Damien.
But somehow, avoidance had become her survival instinct.
For two days she kept herself busy—too busy. She took extra shifts at the studio, rearranged her entire living room, deep-cleaned the kitchen, and spent hours at the park with Eli even when she was tired.
Anything to avoid thinking.
Anything to avoid feeling.
Because every time she thought about Damien, her chest tightened in a way that scared her.
She felt herself slipping into an old version of herself—young, hopeful, easily broken.
She couldn't afford that anymore.
Not now.
Not with Eli depending on her.
Not with her heart still carrying scars from the last time.
But Damien had noticed.
Of course he had.
And today, when she tried to rush past him after preschool pickup, he blocked her path.
"Aria," he said quietly.
"You're avoiding me."
Her pulse jumped. She tightened her grip on Eli's hand.
"I'm busy, Damien."
"That's not what this is."
She stared at anything but him—the sidewalk, a passing car, the sky that suddenly felt too bright.
Eli tugged her hand.
"Mommy, look! A butterfly!"
Aria followed his finger gratefully, using the distraction as an escape.
"That's nice, sweetheart. Why don't you follow it for a bit?"
Eli sprinted toward the flowers nearby.
Now they were alone. Or alone enough.
Damien stepped closer.
"Talk to me," he murmured.
She exhaled sharply.
"I don't want to."
"Why?"
"Because talking to you makes everything worse."
The silence between them shifted—tense, heavy, almost electric.
Damien's jaw tightened.
"You said I could earn your trust. How am I supposed to do that if you keep running?"
"I'm not running," she said, though her voice shook.
"Yes, you are."
His tone wasn't angry—just honest, frustratingly honest.
"You get close for a second and then retreat the moment it feels real."
She bit her lip.
"That's not fair."
"It's the truth."
He stepped closer. Too close.
Close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell the faint cologne on his jacket, feel the pull she hated admitting existed.
"Aria," he said softly, "I'm trying."
"I know," she whispered.
"That's the problem."
His eyes softened with confusion.
"The problem?"
"Yes!" The emotion broke out before she could stop it.
"Because you're trying, Damien. You're showing up. You're being… consistent. And that's exactly how I got hurt last time."
Damien froze.
As if the words were a blow he didn't see coming.
"Aria," he said slowly, "I'm not the man I was."
"And how do you expect me to believe that?"
Pain flickered in his eyes—brief, sharp, real.
He dropped his voice.
"I guess… I can't expect you to believe anything yet."
She looked away quickly, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
Damien exhaled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"I just wanted us to move forward," he said.
"We can't force that," she murmured.
Silence stretched again—longer, colder this time.
Finally, Damien nodded.
A slow, reluctant acceptance.
"Okay," he said.
"No more pushing."
Aria felt some of her tension loosen—but only slightly.
"But," he added, his voice steady, "I'm not going backwards either."
Her breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'll give you space," he said.
"But I'm still here, Aria. I'm not disappearing. I'm not giving up."
He held her gaze.
"Not on my son. Not on you."
Her chest tightened painfully.
Before she could respond, Eli ran back to them.
"Mommy! Daddy! The butterfly went up! Look!"
Damien crouched and smiled at him—soft, genuine, absolutely undone by this little boy.
"That's amazing, champ."
Eli grabbed both their hands—one small hand in Aria's, one in Damien's—and swung their arms playfully.
"Let's go home!"
Aria felt her breath stop.
Because Damien looked up at her then.
And for just one second—one dangerous second—they were a family.
A family that wasn't ready.
A family that wasn't whole.
A family still caught between past pain and future possibility.
Aria gently slipped her hand free.
Eli didn't notice.
Damien did.
He stood slowly, shoulders tight.
"I'll see him tomorrow," he said quietly.
Not you.
Not we.
Just him.
Aria nodded.
Damien walked away, hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, and Aria felt the space between them stretch wider, heavier, harder to bridge.
She told herself it was better this way.
But watching him walk away felt nothing like relief.
It felt like losing something she wasn't ready to admit she wanted.