Y/n sat stiff on the settee, fingers wrapped around a cold cup of tea. Across from her, six-year-old Orion was sprawled on the rug with a picture book, legs kicking absently.

The clock above the mantelpiece ticked. Loud. Too loud.

Then came the sound—heavy footsteps in the marble hallway, deliberate and slow. One. Two. Then stopped right outside the door.

He looked different. Harder. The soft lines of the boy she married were chiseled into something sharp, something cold. His jaw was tight, shoulders squared under his dark coat.