Dominic
The drive out to her parents' house felt like it took a lifetime.
Even though it was barely forty minutes from my estate, every turn in the road felt like a countdown. My driver didn't ask questions — he knew better. The urgency in my voice when I ordered the car said more than any explanation could.
When we pulled up to the modest white house, my pulse was already thundering in my ears. I stepped out before the engine had even quieted, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes as I crossed the driveway with wide, deliberate strides.
I didn't hesitate to knock. I wasn't even sure I could wait for an answer.
But no one came.
I rang the bell once. Twice. Still silence.
I turned and scanned the yard. A familiar porch swing. Potted flowers lined neatly along the steps. A car in the driveway, but no sound from inside. The curtains were drawn, and the windows still.
I clenched my jaw, frustration rising. My hand found the doorknob—locked, of course.
I circled around to the side, just to be sure. When I reached the back window, I cupped my hands against the glass, peering inside.
What I saw stopped me cold.
Inside the living room, pushed against one corner near the window, was a bassinet.
And next to it, a folded pink baby blanket.
I blinked.
No. That couldn't be right.
But there it was—delicate, soft, unmistakable.
I moved to another window, my throat tightening as my eyes swept across the room.
A box of diapers near the couch. A bottle on the table. A small stuffed bunny on a folded towel. All so neatly arranged, like someone had just stepped out for a minute.
Like a baby lived here.
Like she lived here.
I took a step back, the air thick in my lungs. My mind reeled with the timeline. She'd been gone for months. And now this—
She had to be pregnant when she left.
I hadn't even seen it.
She knew.
And she didn't tell me.
The realization hit like a fist to the chest. I stumbled back from the glass, gripping the side of the porch railing, my pulse thudding like war drums in my ears.
Lila was pregnant. My child.
All this time.
All the months of searching, of tearing the world apart trying to find her — I had been chasing a woman who wasn't just trying to disappear.
She was trying to protect something.
Protect our child.
A million images flashed in my mind — her crying, her going silent during our last fights, her looking at me like she was already saying goodbye.
And I'd been too blinded by control, by anger, by my own goddamn pride to see it.
I leaned against the wall, breath shaking, the weight of what I'd done crashing down over me.
She had carried this alone.
Carried him or her alone.
I looked back through the glass, my eyes stinging.
The crib was still there.
And it broke me.
Because for the first time, this wasn't just about finding her.
It was about trying to deserve her forgiveness.
And the tiny life she was about to bring into the world.
Dominic
The drive out to her parents' house felt like it took a lifetime.
Even though it was barely forty minutes from my estate, every turn in the road felt like a countdown. My driver didn't ask questions — he knew better. The urgency in my voice when I ordered the car said more than any explanation could.
When we pulled up to the modest white house, my pulse was already thundering in my ears. I stepped out before the engine had even quieted, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes as I crossed the driveway with wide, deliberate strides.
I didn't hesitate to knock. I wasn't even sure I could wait for an answer.
But no one came.
I rang the bell once. Twice. Still silence.
I turned and scanned the yard. A familiar porch swing. Potted flowers lined neatly along the steps. A car in the driveway, but no sound from inside. The curtains were drawn, and the windows still.
I clenched my jaw, frustration rising. My hand found the doorknob—locked, of course.
I circled around to the side, just to be sure. When I reached the back window, I cupped my hands against the glass, peering inside.
What I saw stopped me cold.
Inside the living room, pushed against one corner near the window, was a bassinet.
And next to it, a folded pink baby blanket.
I blinked.
No. That couldn't be right.
But there it was—delicate, soft, unmistakable.
I moved to another window, my throat tightening as my eyes swept across the room.
A box of diapers near the couch. A bottle on the table. A small stuffed bunny on a folded towel. All so neatly arranged, like someone had just stepped out for a minute.
Like a baby lived here.
Like she lived here.
I took a step back, the air thick in my lungs. My mind reeled with the timeline. She'd been gone for months. And now this—
She had to be pregnant when she left.
I hadn't even seen it.
She knew.
And she didn't tell me.
The realization hit like a fist to the chest. I stumbled back from the glass, gripping the side of the porch railing, my pulse thudding like war drums in my ears.
Lila was pregnant. My child.
All this time.
All the months of searching, of tearing the world apart trying to find her — I had been chasing a woman who wasn't just trying to disappear.
She was trying to protect something.
Protect our child.
A million images flashed in my mind — her crying, her going silent during our last fights, her looking at me like she was already saying goodbye.
And I'd been too blinded by control, by anger, by my own goddamn pride to see it.
I leaned against the wall, breath shaking, the weight of what I'd done crashing down over me.
She had carried this alone.
Carried him or her alone.
I looked back through the glass, my eyes stinging.
The crib was still there.
And it broke me.
Because for the first time, this wasn't just about finding her.
It was about trying to deserve her forgiveness.
And the tiny life she was about to bring into the world.