I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at nothing, my thoughts circling like vultures. The house feels empty despite being full. The walls press in, heavy with everything unspoken. I should be checking on the girls, should be helping reinforce the security measures. Should be doing anything but drowning in the realization that I’ve messed everything up.
But I can’t seem to move.
Not until I drift toward the security room, needing something—answers, clarity, distraction, I don’t know. The monitors flicker, the quiet hum of the equipment filling the silence, but my gaze catches on the stack of papers left on the desk.
Curious, I reach for them, flipping the top page over. Asher’s name stares back at me in crisp, signed ink.
I blink. Read it again.
“Contract finalized. Deployment date confirmed.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I knew he was leaving. He told me. But seeing it there, in black and white, is something else entirely. He’s not just leaving. Already gone in every way that matters.
The realization shreds through me, unexpected and brutal.
I sit down hard in the chair, gripping the papers like they might crumble between my fingers.
He was never going to stay. Not for me. Not for the girls. Not for whatever fragile, tangled mess we started.
A sharp, hollow ache settles in my chest. I should have known better. Should have never let myself hope, even for a second, that this—whatever this is—could last.
I swipe at my eyes, furious at the sting there. This is my fault. I let this happen. I let myself get attached. Let myself think that maybe, just maybe, I could have something beyond survival.
Stupid.
I inhale sharply, shoving the contract back onto the desk like it’s burned me.
I sit cross-legged on the twins' bedroom floor, their stuffed animals scattered around me. My fingers move automatically, checking seams, pressing into soft, fabric-covered bellies. I tell myself I’m just being careful, but deep down, I know the truth.
I need an excuse to leave. Because leaving is easier than staying.
I pick up Emma’s bunny, the one she drags everywhere and can’t sleep without. I turn it over in my hands, feeling for anything foreign under the stitching. There’s nothing. Of course, there’s nothing. I don’t stop.
I’ve done this before. I know what it takes to disappear.
It’s the only way to keep them safe.
I swallow hard, glancing at the door like someone might be listening. But I know better. They’re not paying attention to me anymore. Asher has already checked out—one foot out the door, contract signed, plane ticket practically in hand. Zane can’t even look at me after last night, like touching me was some kind of mistake. And Damon… Damon has been distant ever since I told him the truth. Maybe he already knows what I’m planning. Maybe he won’t stop me.
I should be relieved. Instead, it feels like my chest is caving in.
I press my forehead against my knees, gripping the stupid stuffed bunny so tight, my fingers ache. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t care this much. But the past few weeks have felt like something real, like maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to do this alone anymore.
Stupid. I was stupid to think this could ever work.
Men like them? They don’t stay. Not for someone like me.
Asher is proving that right now, running halfway across the world just to get away from whatever this is between us. I only have three days left before his week is up. Damon is drowning himself in work, pretending there isn’t a part of him that belongs to Emma and Ella just as much as it does to me. And Zane… Zane won’t even let himself feel whatever he’s feeling. He’d rather pull away than face it.
And maybe I deserve that.
I should’ve never let myself believe this could be anything more than what it is: temporary.
I force myself to breathe, to think. If I leave with the girls now while they’re distracted, I can be gone by morning. I know how to do this. I know how to disappear. I did it when I left Jason. I did it when I started over. I can do it again.
I have to.
Before the girls get too attached.
