“Lena… I need space,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “Mom thinks this isn’t the life I’m meant to have. She thinks… she thinks we rushed into this.”
My breath hitched. “What life?” I whispered, clutching Emma tighter. “Your children are right here. They are a day old, Caleb.”
He didn’t even look at them. He couldn’t. If he looked at them, the facade might crack.
“I can’t do this, Lena,” he muttered, backing away into the corridor. “I’m moving back to the estate for a while. Just to think.”
“You’re leaving?” The words tasted like ash. “You’re leaving us? Now?”
He didn’t answer. Two days later, he sent a mover to collect his things. He moved back into his mother’s sprawling mansion, behind iron gates and high walls. He cut off contact. He didn’t come home once. Not for feedings. Not for the
