I am awak ngain.


    The clock glows 247 AM, and low without looking, without listening that Hunter is awakes too.


    it’s been three days since he started sleeping on the couch, and somehow my body has memorized the sound of his sleeplessness.


    His footsteps. Always so careful. Always trying not to wake us,


    But am already awake.


    Whave been awake since he moved out of our bed. Since he decided that sleeping on the couch was somehow going to fix the mess he’s made


    of our lives.


    The thing about loving someone who destroys everything they touch is that you start to crave the destruction. You start to miss the chaos because at least it feels like something.


    At least it feels like ‘him‘


    “Mama<b>?</b>”


    Caesar’s voice cuts through the darkness like a knife through my chest. He’s standing in the doorway, clutching that stupid elephant that’s falling apart but that I can’t bring myself to throw away.


    “What is it, baby?”


    He climbs into bed, and his little body is so warm against mine that I almost start crying. Almost. Because if I start crying about how much! love this little boy, I will never stop.


    “I had a bad dream.”


    ‘Join the club, sweetheart.‘


    “Tell me about it.”


    “Papa was crying.”


    My breath catches. Because of course, he was. Of course, my three–year–old son is dreaming about his father’s tears while I’m lying here pretending I don’t hear Hunter pacing the hallway at two in the morning.


    “It was just a dream, Caesar.”


    “But why was he crying in my dream?”


    ‘Because he’s destroying us. Because he loves us so much that he’s suffocating us with it. Because your father is broken in ways that I don’t


    know how to fix.


    “Sometimes grown–ups cry when they’re scared.”


    “Papa’s scared?”


    ‘Terrified.‘


    “Everyone gets scared sometimes.


    Caesar traces patterns on my arm with his tiny fingers, and I wonder if he knows. If he can feel the tension that lives in this cabin like a fourth Derson we’re all trying to ignore.


    “Even you, Mama?”


    ‘Especially me.”


    “Even me.” <fn3e31> For more chapters visit findnovel</fn3e31>


    “I wish Papa wasn’t sad. He makes good pancakes when he’s happy.”


    And there it is. The thing that breaks me every single time. The way Caesar still sees the good in Hunter, even when i can barely remember it myself.


    “Go back to sleep, baby.”


    But he’s already drifting off, his breathing evening out as he curls into my side. I hold him close and try to memorize this moment.


    The weight of his little body. The trust in the way he sleeps against me.


    This is what Hunter doesn’t understand. Love isn’t about keeping someone. It’s about giving them a reason to stay.


    The floorboards creak in the hallway.


    1 freeze.


    The footsteps stop outside my door, and I hold my breath. Waiting. Always waiting with Hunter.


    Waiting for him to make the next move, the next decision, the next choice that will determine the direction of our lives.


    After what feels like forever, the footsteps continue toward the living room.


    He’s checking on us. Making sure we’re still here, still safe in his carefully constructed prison.


    Still his.


    Morninges, and I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Caesar’sughter.


    I find them at the kitchen table. Hunter’s massive frame folded into a chair that’s too small for him, helping Caesar with a puzzle.


    The sight is so normal, so ‘domestic‘, that for a second I forget we are not a real family.


    For a second, I forget that this is all pretend.


    “Good morning.”


    Hunter doesn’t look up, but his shoulders tense. Like my voice is a physical thing that hits him.


    “Morning.”


    I move to the coffee maker, hyperaware of every breath he takes. Every shift of his body. Every way he’s trying so hard to be casual when


    nothing about this is casual.


    “How did you sleep?”


    “Fine.”


    Liar.


    Tcan see the exhaustion in every line of his body. The way his hair is messed up like he’s been running his hands through it.


    The stubble on his jaw that makes him look younger and more broken than usual.


    “Mama, look!” Caesar holds up a puzzle piece, and his face is so bright with excitement that my chest physically hurts. “Papa helped me find the corner pieces first!”


    “That’s smart, baby.”


    I pour coffee and steal nces at Hunter. He’s wearing jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look more blue than steel.


    He looks good.


    He always looks good, and I hate that I still notice.


    I hate that I still care.


    “I thought we could go for a walk today.”


    His voice is carefully uninvolved, but I know him well enough to hear the hope underneath.


    “A walk?” I set my mug down too hard, and coffee sloshed over the rim. “We’re allowed to leave?”


    His jaw tightens. “It’s not prison, Celine.”


    “Isn’t it?”


    The words hang between us like a challenge. It is a truth we both avoid facing.


    Caesar looks between us, and I see the moment he realizes that Mama and Papa are fighting again. His little face falls, and I want to take the words back.


    But I can’t. Because they’re true.


    “We’ll stay close to the cabin,” Hunter says quietly, and his voice is softer now. Gentler. “Caesar could use the fresh air.”


    And of course, he uses Caesar. Of course, he knows exactly which button to push to make me give in.


    “Please, Mama? I want to see theke!”


    Damn him.


    “Okay. But we don’t go far.”


    Hunter’s smile is small but genuine, and for a second–just a second–I remember why I fell in love with him.


    “Thank you.”