Sabine sat curled into the corner of the couch, one hand around a glass of red wine that she hadn’t touched in the last fifteen minutes. The TV played some show she wasn’t really watching—background noise, like the hum of grief she’d gotten used to living with. A candle flickered on the coffee table. Pine and amber. The smell used to calm her. Now it just lingered like a memory she didn’t want but couldn’t get rid of.
Ade was finally asleep. That night’s story had been soft and short—one of the few she could read without cracking. She’d tucked him in gently, kissed his cheek like she always did, and paused at the door just long enough to hear his breathing even out. And now she was here. In the stillness. With only herself.
And that’s when it hit her.
All she really knew about that night—the night she gave birth to their daughter and buried every piece of herself along with her—was that Adair’s phone had died.
That he’d said he went out with "the guys."
That was it.
No names. No times.
Just a convenient excuse wrapped in vague reassurance.
And for a while...she accepted it. Or tried to. Because what the hell else could she do? She was in mourning. Bleeding. Empty. And he was her husband. The man she’d built her life with. The man who’d held her while she cried for everything she thought they’d have.
But now, sitting here in the low light with the weight of the wineglass and the silence pressing against her ears, it felt different. Louder. Wrong.
Something in her, that night, had needed more.
More honesty. More effort. More proof that she hadn’t lost her baby and her partner on the same damn day. She deserved more.
And the cruelest part? She never pushed for it. Never interrogated it because asking for the truth meant hearing it and back then, she didn’t think she could survive hearing that kind of truth. Not with stitches still fresh. Not with milk still coming in for a baby that never got to nurse.
But now?
Now she needed to know.
She needed clear concise clarity because every time she looked at him, something in her body tensed. Every time he kissed her goodbye, something in her flinched and if they were ever going to be anything close to whole again…she had to feel safe inside the truth.
Not the lie he made to protect her.
Not the version of the story he trimmed for her comfort.
The truth.
And suddenly, she knew—whatever came of it, they couldn’t go forward until she asked. Until he answered. Until the silence between them finally broke for good.
Because love wasn’t enough.
Not anymore.
The front door clicked open.
Sabine stiffened.
Adair came in with a slow exhale, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door, loosening his tie, same way he always did. His coat came off next. Then his shoes. He looked tired. Beat down. Like life was trying to smother him.
She didn’t care.
“Hey,” he said. She didn’t answer right away. His steps faltered when he noticed the wineglass in her hand. The tension in her shoulders. The look on her face. “You okay?”
Still no answer.
Adair moved closer. “Is Ade down?”
“He’s been asleep since nine,” she said, finally. Adair hovered near the edge of the couch, unsure if he should sit. He didn’t. Just stood there, looking at her like she might shatter if he moved too fast and maybe she would.