Chapter 8 - Daryl

Ian snuggled deeper into his blankets, his small body shifting as he curled up, but his eyes never left me. I could feel his gaze on me, even as I pretended to tidy up, my hands fumbling with the blankets.

"She cries at night," Ian whispered, his voice barely above a breath, but it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze, my hands curling tightly around the edge of the blanket.

"What?" I asked, my throat tightening with the weight of his words.

"Nights you don't come home," Ian murmured, his voice small, almost ashamed. "Mom goes to the living room and cries."

My chest felt like it was being crushed, the air thick in my lungs. My son, too smart for his own good, had noticed. He was forcing us to face the truth, forcing us to confront the distance between us.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "Don't leave again, Dad." Ian's voice was so soft, so filled with the kind of vulnerability I wasn't sure he even knew he had. "Please."

The words hit me like a freight train. I shook my head, swallowing down the lump that had risen in my throat. "I ain't leavin', little man," I promised him, my voice firm, but tinged with the quiet sorrow that had settled in my chest.

Ian nodded slowly, his eyelids drooping as the exhaustion of the day caught up with him. He yawned widely, his small face scrunching up with the effort. Without another word, he nuzzled his face into the pillow, his breathing already starting to slow.

"I love you, Dad," he whispered just before sleep took him.

"I love you too," I whispered back, my voice thick with unspoken feelings.

I stood up quietly, making my way to the door as gently as I could, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that hung in the air. I left his door cracked, just slightly, as I turned toward Ruby's room. Her door was also cracked open, just enough to beckon me in.

I couldn't resist the pull of seeing my daughter, not after seeing Ian. I hadn't seen her nearly as much as I should've, not in the past week. A week without holding her felt like a lifetime, a reminder of the distance I had put between myself and everything I cared about. Ella... Ruby... everything.

I pushed the door open, the soft creak of the hinges almost too loud in the silence of the house. Immediately, I spotted her, laying there in her crib, her little body shifting slightly as she stirred awake. She looked bigger—longer. Six months old now. Growing so quickly, just as Ella had warned me. I hadn't even been around to see it.

I leaned over the crib, my heart swelling as I watched her bright, curious eyes lock onto mine. No surprise she was awake—she was always an early bird. I reached down, scooping her up gently, settling her against my chest, her small head resting against my shoulder. I hadn't been the father I should have been, but holding her now, the weight of her in my arms felt like an apology in itself.

I carried her over to the changing table, my movements slow and careful as I set her down. The soft giggles and gurgles she gave in response were enough to break me. She had no idea what had happened between me and her mother. She was just... herself. And that simplicity, that innocence, was what I needed more than anything.

Once I had her fresh and clean, I sighed deeply, my hand stroking her soft cheek gently.

"Daddy missed you so much," I whispered, my voice low, almost raw. "Yeah. Did you miss me, baby girl?"

Ruby only gurgled in response, her tiny hands reaching up to grab at the air, her mouth drooling as she gave a small coo. The drool slid down her chin, but I couldn't bring myself to mind.

"I'll take that as a yes," I chuckled softly, wiping the drool away with my thumb. "You're lucky you're so cute, otherwise I'd let ya sit there with all that drool on your face."

I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, my heart aching with how much I wanted to be better for her, for Ian, for all of us. The weight of everything—the guilt, the fear, the hope for something better—was crushing, but at least for now, with my daughter in my arms, I could feel something like peace.

But I knew it wasn't enough.

Not yet.

Ruby babbled softly as I carried her downstairs, her tiny hands reaching up toward me as if everything was still okay. I thought maybe we could spend some time together—just me and her. Maybe I could put everything that was wrong in the world, everything that was broken between me and Ella, out of my mind for a while. But then I froze.

I spotted Ella sitting on the couch, her back turned to me as she stared out the window. Her posture was rigid, like she was bracing herself for something, or someone. A knot twisted in my stomach.

She turned slowly, her eyes meeting mine, and I felt it—that feeling—the one that used to come with her gaze. That connection, the spark of her just looking at me. But now, it was different. The distance was still there, thick and heavy.

My heart pounded hard against my chest.

Why was she still down here? Did she want to talk? Was this it? My mind was racing, and I shut the thought down. No. She wanted space. She wanted distance. I was the reason she was jumpy, the reason her trauma was only getting worse. I was the one making her feel like she couldn't breathe.

"Daryl," she whispered, her voice breaking through my thoughts, soft, almost hesitant.

Fuck. I missed hearing her say my name. I missed it so damn much that it felt like a physical ache in my chest. I had forgotten what it was like for her to say it like that—like she wanted me to hear her, like it meant something.

I felt a cold sweat trickle down my spine.

"Can we talk?"

My stomach dropped. This was it. This was the moment. I braced myself for the words I knew were coming. She was going to break up with me for good. She was going to kick me out of the house and tell me it was for the kids' sake, that it was easier if I wasn't here anymore.

I forced myself to nod, walking toward the couch with a sense of dread that felt almost suffocating. I sat down beside her, unwilling to let Ruby go from my lap, my fingers brushing her soft, baby skin as if she were the only thing still holding me together.

I said nothing. I just stared at Ruby, hoping, praying, that I could delay this conversation just a little longer. I didn't want to hear what Ella was about to say, didn't want to know if she was done with me.

"I'm just going to come out and say it," Ella said, sitting up straighter. Her voice was firmer now, but there was an edge of something else in it—something raw, something desperate. "I want you back home. Permanently."

Shock. It slammed into me like a wave, and I couldn't breathe. I didn't know if I had heard her right. I blinked, trying to clear the fog in my mind.

"What?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I still wasn't sure I had heard her properly. My pulse was thumping so loudly in my ears that I couldn't focus on anything else.

"I want you to come back home," she repeated, this time her words firm, her eyes steady. "No more staying out beyond the walls at night. No more coming home after the kids go to bed, no more leaving before sunrise. I want you fully present. I want you back."

I blinked again, completely taken aback. She couldn't be serious. There's no way.

"Is this... Are you fuckin' with me?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, and the moment they left my mouth, I regretted it. The disbelief in my voice was obvious, but what else was I supposed to think?

Ella didn't speak. She didn't move, but I could see the hurt flash in her eyes. She looked shocked, like she hadn't expected me to react this way.

"Why would I be joking?" she asked, her voice steady, but the vulnerability was still there, hiding beneath the surface.

I scoffed, adjusting Ruby on my lap as I shifted to face Ella. I needed to look at her, to make sense of what she was saying.

"You told me you wanted space," I muttered, still reeling. "You said you needed time. You all but threw me out, and now you want me back? Is this just for the kids? I know they need me and I've been a shit dad for the past few weeks, but—"

"Stop." Ella's voice was sharper now, and she raked her hands over her face, frustration building. "You think I'm saying this just to manipulate you? Is that really what you think of me, Daryl?"

Fuck.

I hadn't meant it like that. I hadn't. But now that the words were out, I could hear them. I could hear the way they made me sound—like I didn't believe her, like I was just waiting for her to use me. And it broke me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

"No, that's not..." I sighed, the weight of everything crashing down. "I don't think you're manipulatin' me. I just find it hard to believe you want me back. Not just for the kids."

"Well, I do," she scoffed, but her voice was tight, almost like she was holding herself together by a thread. "Although, you're starting to make me think you don't want to be here."

"Me?" I blinked at her, a harsh laugh escaping. "You think—" I stopped myself, realizing that none of this was coming out the way I wanted it to. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to make sense of everything. "Fuck, this ain't... Just back up for a second. None of this is comin' out right. You want me to come home, to fix us? Not just for the kids?"

"Yes," Ella whispered, her voice barely audible. She paused, and when she spoke again, there was a vulnerability in her that made my heart ache. "Even if you don't want to be with me anymore, I want you to come home. The kids deserve to have you here. But I want you home... For me too."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with everything we hadn't said, everything we were too afraid to admit. My heart pounded in my chest, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to reach out, to say that I would come back, that we could fix this. But the fear, the guilt, the years of silence between us—it all came rushing in at once.

But then, in that moment, I realized something: She was asking for me. She wasn't just asking for me to fix everything for the kids. She wanted me. And that truth—that was the thing I hadn't expected to hear.

Tears shimmered in her eyes, those big, beautiful brown eyes that had once been my world. I couldn't breathe for a moment. I had seen that look in her eyes a thousand times before—vulnerable, pleading, yet full of a quiet strength that made everything inside me feel like it was about to crack. Those eyes... they were always my weakness, always the thing that made me feel like I could do anything for her. And now, in this moment, they were undoing me completely.

How could I say no when she was offering me a chance to fix everything? A chance to put the pieces of our family back together? She was willing to try, and that was everything. She was willing to let me try.

"So... you want to get back together?" I asked, my voice rough, uncertain. The words felt like a confession more than a question, like I was testing the waters of a future that still felt too fragile to touch.

Her face froze, and for a split second, it was like I had punched her. Her eyes widened, confusion mixing with something else—hurt, maybe.

"Back together?" She whispered, her voice thin, almost incredulous. "I wasn't aware we got divorced."

The words hit me like ice. I recoiled slightly, my mind racing, my chest tightening. Hadn't that been what she meant? When she asked for space? When she pushed me away like I was a stranger in my own home?

"You said you wanted space," I muttered, unable to hide the uncertainty in my voice. My stomach twisted as the silence between us thickened, my guilt swelling.

"Not from our marriage," she said quietly, but there was an edge to her voice now. She said it like it should've been obvious, like it should've been clear to me all along. Her hand twitched at her side, as if she was about to reach out to me, to touch me, but then she stopped herself—hesitated. Or maybe she just didn't know how to anymore.

"Why didn't you say that?" I asked, the frustration rising in my chest. The weight of the misunderstanding hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, I couldn't catch my breath. Why had she let me think I was the one pushing for space? That I was the one who had driven us apart?

"I assumed you knew how much I loved you," she said, her voice trembling just enough to let me know how much it still hurt. She narrowed her eyes at me, the anger in her expression mixing with something softer, something broken. "I assumed you knew I'd never want to break up."

Her words sliced through me like a knife, and I sank back into the couch, my head spinning. This whole time, I had thought she was giving up on me. That she wanted distance—wanted me to leave—but she hadn't wanted that at all. She just wanted me to stop hovering. She just wasn't ready for me to touch her after what Paul had done to her.

"Fuck," I whispered, my hand running through my hair, pulling at the frustration building up inside me. I couldn't make sense of it. "I didn't know. I didn't know..." I trailed off, feeling the weight of everything pressing in on me.

She was still sitting there, her eyes full of confusion, like I was the one who had thrown a wrench into everything, when all along, we had both fucked up. We pushed each other away.

And I had failed her. She failed me.

The silence between us thickened again, suffocating, until I could barely breathe. It was one of those moments that felt like time had stopped—where everything we hadn't said to each other was coming crashing down. I wanted to reach for her, to fix everything in a single touch, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I was too scared. Too damn terrified that if I did, I'd break everything even more.

"How did we get here, Ella?" My voice cracked, thick with emotion, as I asked the question that had been clawing at my insides for so long—the one I was terrified to hear the answer to. "How did we end up like this? I thought we had it figured out. I thought we... were figured out."

Ella didn't answer right away. She just stared at me, her eyes—those beautiful, heartbreaking eyes—locking onto mine. The pain in them was too much, too sharp, like she was carrying a weight so heavy that she didn't know how much longer she could hold it. My throat tightened, and I swore I could feel my own heart crack under the intensity of her gaze. I thought she might walk away again, like she had so many times before, leaving me with nothing but the silence and the guilt. The silence that had become a constant companion between us.

But then, she finally spoke, her voice soft, almost too soft, like she was afraid that if she said it too loudly, it might break her.

"I don't know," she whispered, the words so small, so fragile, they barely made it past her lips. "But we're here now. And we need to decide if there's something left to salvage between us."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and real, a truth neither of us wanted to face but couldn't ignore. The room felt colder, the space between us growing impossibly wide, even as she sat there, just inches away. Something left to salvage. She was right. There was a choice to be made. And that choice felt like a blade at my throat.

I swallowed hard, the pressure of the moment thick and suffocating, like I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. How could we keep living like this? How could we keep drifting further apart when I still wanted her—needed her—more than anything? We couldn't stay in this limbo, this painful in-between place where nothing was said, but everything was felt.

But as I looked at her—really looked at her—I realized that I was scared. I was terrified. Terrified of the past, of all the things we had buried, all the words we hadn't said. Terrified of the pain we had caused each other, and of the damage we'd done without even realizing it.

But despite all that fear, one thing was clearer than anything else. I loved her. I loved her more than I'd ever loved anyone, more than I ever thought I could. I couldn't lose her. Not again.

"I've wanted you back since the day I brought you back," I whispered, the words thick with a kind of raw honesty that almost hurt to speak. "You're my wife, Ella. I can't—" I choked on the words, the vulnerability stinging in my throat as I forced myself to say what had been buried inside me for so long. "I can't fuckin' breathe without you."

The silence that followed felt like it lasted an eternity. Ella gasped softly, her hand instinctively rising to cover her lips, like she couldn't quite believe what I was saying. Those lips—God, those lips. They were the ones I'd kissed a thousand times, the ones that used to be the safest place in the world for me. Now they seemed so distant, so out of reach, and it tore me apart.

"So you'll stay?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but the vulnerability in it was almost too much to bear. She was afraid, and I could see it in the way her eyes flickered between hope and fear, like she wasn't sure if I was just saying the words I knew she needed to hear or if I really meant them.

"I ain't ever leavin' again, baby." The words came out before I even thought about them, and as soon as I said them, something inside me calmed. The truth, finally out in the open. No more games. No more hiding. I reached out before I even realized it, my hand moving on its own, drawn to her like a magnet, like I had to touch her, just for a second. I needed to feel her—know she was real, that I hadn't lost her for good.

My hand landed on her knee, and I swear, it felt like my heart jolted, like I was coming back to life after being frozen in place for so long. She didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. But she didn't touch me back, not yet. And that hurt, deeper than I'd expected.

"How do we fix this?" she whispered, her voice soft, but full of everything I had been too afraid to ask. How could I fix this? How could we both go back to what we were before all this pain?

"We go slow," I answered immediately, my voice steady even as my insides screamed with the fear of not being enough. "Ain't gotta rush nothin'. We just... take our time. I just... I can't lose you again, Ella." The words came out more broken than I meant them to, raw with the truth I had been too afraid to face.

Ella's eyes softened, but there was still something behind them, something that made me believe that even now, even after everything, she wasn't sure if she could trust me again. She wasn't sure if I could really stay.

"I can't lose you either," she said, her voice cracking as she let the words fall from her lips like they had been locked away for far too long.

"Do you still love me?" I asked.

"I never stopped." She whispered. "Do you still love me?"

I swallowed as my grip on her knee tightened. "More than ever, baby."

She gave me a soft smile, and my heart stopped, yet again, as she took my hand in hers, squeezing it softly.