Chapter 4: The Storm Before
Four days left.
The house feels like it's holding its breath, same as me. Everything's too loud and too quiet at the same time—the fridge humming, the clock ticking in the hallway, Claudia's TV blaring some daytime talk show upstairs. Every sound grates because my head's full of timelines, routes, account numbers, and the one face I can't stop picturing.
Bella.
Since that moment in the kitchen, we've been circling each other like magnets that aren't sure if they're supposed to pull or push away. A brush of hands when we both reach for the same coffee mug. Her standing a little closer than necessary when we're loading the dishwasher. Me catching her watching me from across the room when she thinks I'm not looking.
We haven't said anything more. Not out loud. But the words are there anyway, hanging in the air every time our eyes meet.
Tonight the house is fuller than usual. Sophia's boyfriend—some tech bro named Ethan with a watch that costs more than most people's rent—is over for dinner. Claudia insisted on "proper family time," which really just means she wants an audience for her complaints. I offered to eat in my room, but Bella shot me a look that said stay, so I stayed.
We're crammed around the dining table that's too small for six people. Claudia at the head, Sophia and Ethan side by side giggling over their phones, Bella across from me, and me at the end like the unwanted guest I technically am.
The food is takeout Italian—lasagna, garlic bread, salad nobody touches. Claudia's already on her second glass of wine and warming up.
"So, Damian," she says, drawing my name out like it tastes bad. "Any luck on the job front this week?"
Sophia snickers. Ethan glances up, curious.
I keep my voice flat. "Still looking."
Claudia rolls her eyes. "You've been 'still looking' for years. At some point a man has to admit he's just lazy."
Bella's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. "Mom."
"What? It's true." Claudia gestures with her wine glass. "We've been more than generous. Five years of free room and board. Most people would be grateful enough to at least try."
Ethan shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. Sophia just smirks and scrolls on her phone.
I feel the old heat rise in my chest, but I swallow it down. Four days. I only have to eat this for four more days.
"I am grateful," I say quietly.
Claudia scoffs. "Could've fooled me."
Bella sets her fork down harder than necessary. "Can we not do this tonight? Please?"
Claudia turns on her. "Don't you start. You're the reason he's still here, Isabella. Always defending him, always making excuses. When are you going to admit you made a mistake marrying him?"
The table goes dead silent.
Bella's face flushes deep red. Her hands clench in her lap. I've seen her take a thousand hits without flinching, but this one lands.
I push my chair back slowly. Everyone looks at me.
"I think I'm done," I say. "Thanks for dinner."
I walk out without waiting for permission. Head straight through the kitchen, out the back door, into the cool night air. The yard's small, overgrown in places, lit only by the weak glow from the porch light. I pace the length of it twice, hands shoved in my pockets, trying to breathe through the anger.
I'm not mad at Claudia. Not really. She's been saying the same shit for years. I'm mad because she's aiming it at Bella now, and Bella doesn't deserve a single drop of it.
The door creaks behind me. Soft footsteps on the wooden steps.
She doesn't say anything at first. Just comes up beside me and leans against the railing, arms crossed tight like she's holding herself together.
We stand there in the quiet for a long minute.
"I'm sorry," she says finally, voice small.
I turn to her. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
She shakes her head. "I should've said something sooner. Stood up to her. I just… I hate fighting. Always have."
"I know."
Another silence. Crickets chirp somewhere in the bushes. A car passes on the street out front.
"I meant what I said the other day," I tell her. "About why I stayed."
She looks up at me. The porch light catches the shine in her eyes—she's close to crying, but fighting it.
"I know you did."
I take a step closer. "Bella, I—"
"Wait." She holds up a hand. "Just… let me say this first, okay?"
I nod.
She takes a shaky breath. "I married you that day in the courthouse because I wanted to help you. After everything went down with your family, with the business, with… her. I saw what it did to you. And I thought if I could just give you a place to land, somewhere safe, you'd get back on your feet. But somewhere along the way it stopped being about helping you and started being about… not wanting you to leave."
Her voice cracks on the last part.
I feel like the ground shifts under me.
"I told myself it was fine," she goes on. "That we could just keep living like this—roommates, friends, whatever—because at least you were here. At least I could see you every day. But it's not fine. It hasn't been fine for a long time."
She wipes at her eyes quickly, like she's mad at herself for crying.
"I don't know what happens next," she says. "I don't know if you even feel the same, or if I'm just making a fool of myself. But I'm tired of pretending I don't care. I'm tired of acting like I don't lie awake at night wondering what it would be like if we'd ever actually… tried."
The words hang between us.
I reach out slow, give her time to pull away. She doesn't. I cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing the damp trail on her cheek.
"I've been in love with you for years," I say. The confession feels huge and simple at the same time. "Every single day in this house, watching you hold everything together, watching you be kind even when no one deserved it—especially me. I stayed because I couldn't stand the idea of a world where I didn't get to see you every morning."
Her breath hitches.
I lean in, slow enough that she can stop me. She doesn't. Our lips meet—soft, careful, like we're both afraid it'll break. But then she makes this small sound and steps into me, hands fisting in my shirt, and the kiss deepens. Five years of wanting pouring out all at once.
When we pull apart, foreheads still touching, she's breathing hard.
"Tell me this is real," she whispers.
"It's real," I say. "I swear."
She laughs a little—wet, relieved. "We're idiots."
"Yeah," I agree. "We are."
We kiss again, slower this time. Her arms slide around my neck. Mine settle at her waist like they belong there. The night feels warmer suddenly.
Eventually she pulls back just enough to look at me.
"What do we do now?"
I want to tell her everything. The phone. The plan. The money that's coming. How in four days I'll be able to give her a life where no one ever talks to her like that again. Where she never has to work double shifts or apologize for existing.
But I can't. Not yet. Too much risk.
"We take it one day at a time," I say instead. "Starting tonight."
She smiles—small, real, beautiful. "Okay."
We go back inside eventually. The dining room's empty—everyone retreated upstairs. Dishes are still on the table. Bella starts clearing them without thinking. I help. We move around the kitchen in easy quiet, bumping hips on purpose now, stealing glances.
Later, when the house is dark and quiet, I'm in my room—door cracked open like always. I hear her footsteps in the hall. She pauses outside.
I get up, open the door wider.
She's in an old T-shirt and soft shorts, hair loose around her shoulders. Nervous.
"Can I…?" she asks, nodding toward the room.
I step aside.
She comes in, closes the door soft behind her. We stand there a second, awkward in the best way.
Then she laughs quietly. "This feels weird."
"Good weird?"
"Yeah. Good weird."
I pull her close again. We kiss standing up, then move to the bed—slow, careful, like we're learning each other for the first time. Clothes come off piece by piece. Hands explore. Whispers and quiet laughs when we bump elbows or get tangled in sheets.
It's not rushed. It's not some big dramatic thing. It's just us—finally, after all this time—being honest with skin and breath and touch.
Afterward, she curls against my side, head on my chest. My fingers trace lazy patterns on her back.
"I used to imagine this," she murmurs, half-asleep. "Back when we first got married. Wondered what it would be like."
"Me too," I admit.
She tilts her head up. "Was it better?"
I smile in the dark. "Way better."
She settles again, breathing evening out.
I lie awake long after she's asleep, listening to her, feeling the weight of her arm across me.
Four days.
I'm going to give her everything I promised.
And nobody—not Claudia, not Sophia, not the ghosts from my past—is going to take it away from us.
Not this time.