“Hunter…” My voice caught, broken.
He didn’t meet my eyes, but I could still see the regret. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry Cami.”
I caught myself aching to go after Hunter, to grab his hand and make him stay, but the door slammed behind him, leaving the sound ricocheting through the apartment. I stood there frozen, arms wrapped around myself, listening to the echo of his absence. I forced myself to kneel, to gather my kids close, to steady my voice even though my chest felt like it wassplintering.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to them. “It’s okay.” Quickly trying to redirect them.
But deep down, nothing felt okay. It felt like losing him, and the slam of the door rang in my ears long after he was gone. The kids clung to me, their little faces tight with worry they didn’t have words for. Zeke asked in a small voice, “Is Hunter mad at you?”
My heart clenched. I smoothed his curls, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “No, baby. Grown-ups just… need breaks sometimes.”
He seemed to accept that, though his eyes lingered on the door like he expected Hunter to walk back through it any second. The twins fussed, climbing into my lap, their weight anchoring me when I felt like I might float right out of my skin.
I held them, kissed their cheeks, and rocked them until their breathing slowed. On the outside, calm. Inside, breaking.
Later, after they were asleep, I stood alone in the living room, staring at the couch where he’d been just a few hours ago. The pillow still held the faintest indentation from his arm.
Part of me was furious, furious that he’d left, that he couldn’t just stay and talk to me, furious that his silence always left me feeling like I wasn’t enough. Furious that he did that in front of the kids. But beneath the anger was fear. Fear that this was it. That my kids would ask for him tomorrow, and I’d have no answer. That the little piece of hope I’d finally let myself hold onto was slipping through my fingers like all the times before.
I curled onto the couch, hugging a throw pillow tight, mytears hot against the fabric. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t beg anyone to stay. Not after my dad. And not after my kids’ father. But Hunter wasn’t them. He was different. He had been different. And that’s what hurt the most. Because for the first time in years, I’d let myself believe.
Chapter Fifty
Hunter
The door slammed harder than I meant it to, the echo rattling through me like an aftershock.
I didn’t stop walking. Down the steps, across the grass, and into the truck. My hands shook as I shoved the key into the ignition, but I couldn’t sit still. I had to move. Had to get out before I said something worse, before I broke something I couldn’t fix.
The engine roared to life, but I just sat there, gripping the wheel until my knuckles went white.
Her face wouldn’t leave me. The hurt in her eyes when I snapped, when I told her the part I’ve buried from everyone, that my head’s a minefield, that I’m terrified she’ll see too much and decide I’m not worth it.
Because the truth is, I already believe it.
I told myself I stormed out to protect her. Protect the kids from seeing me lose it. But sitting there with the engine running, sweat slick on my palms, I knew the truth. I ran just like my old man said I would. I could still hear him, roughas gravel: “Stop crying, boy. Weakness gets you killed. No woman wants a man who can’t control himself.”
I’d spent my whole life proving him wrong, pushing harder, holding it together, locking it down. And yet here I was, thirty years old, a Marine, sitting in my truck shaking like the scared kid he always accused me of being.
And worse, I’d left her standing there with the kids, her eyes shining with tears I caused.
I hated myself for it.
I knew I should go back up, drop my pride, and tell her that I was scared, that the noise was getting louder, that I pulled away because I cared too damn much.
But instead, I shifted into drive. Because I didn’t know if I could stand in front of her again without breaking. I didn’t even have a destination. Just drove. Past the same streets, same gas station, world blurring into headlights and traffic lights, I barely noticed.
The truck felt too small, too loud, every beat of the engine echoing the pounding in my chest.
As I drove, I replayed the fight on a loop. Her voice breaking as she said,“If you want out, just say it.”The way Zeke had looked up from the floor, confused, holding his toy tighter than he should be. The twins fussed, sensing tension but not understanding why.
And me, walking out.
My hands had been gripping the wheel so tight they ached. I hated myself for leaving, but the shame was heavier than the urge to turn back.
I ended up in an empty parking lot, the kind where no one asked questions. Killed the engine and sat in the dark until my phone buzzed once, her name lighting the screen.
I couldn’t pick it up.
