28
Dominic’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “And it wasn’t lonely for me?” he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls. His eyes blazed with an emotion I couldn’t place, a mixture of anger and anguish. “You think it wasn’t *tough* for me? You think I didn’t suffer every single day, knowing you were out there, hating me, thinking I abandoned you?”
I flinched, but he wasn’t done.
“You lived your life, Eleanor. You had *everything*. I made sure of it. I transferred every damn thing I had to you—my money, my assets. I left you taken care of, so you wouldn’t have to struggle. You were okay!”
His words hit me like a slap, and I stumbled back, shaking my head vehemently as fresh tears streamed down my cheeks. “I wasn’t okay!” I screamed, my voice breaking under the weight of my pain. “I wasn’t okay, Dominic! I wanted to die! Don’t you understand that? The money, the house, all of it—it was *nothing* compared to having you!”
He recoiled as if my words had physically struck him, but the fire in his eyes didn’t waver. “Do you think it was easy for me?” His voice was quieter now, but it was no less fierce. “Do you think I enjoyed waking up every day in some godforsaken hole, knowing I couldn’t come back to you? I suffered, Eleanor. I *suffered* to keep you safe. And this—this is the thanks I get?”
His words twisted the knife already lodged in my chest. My hands shook as I clutched at the counter for support, my breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “You don’t get it,” I said, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You don’t get to leave me and think that throwing money at me will fix it. I didn’t need your money, Dominic. I needed *you*!”
He opened his mouth to retort, but I cut him off, my voice rising with every word. “You think you suffered? You think you had it worse? I spent ten years thinking you were dead, grieving for you every damn day! Do you know what that does to someone? Do you even care?”
The room seemed to vibrate with the force of our argument, the air thick with unspoken pain and rage.
“You don’t think I cared?” Dominic snarled, stepping closer, his chest heaving. “I cared so much it nearly killed me, Eleanor! But I had no choice. I couldn’t come back, not when Vaughn’s men were hunting me like a damn animal. I stayed away to protect you!”
“*Protect me?*” I spat, my voice dripping with bitterness. “You didn’t protect me, Dominic. You broke me.”
He froze, his lips parting slightly, but before he could respond, a soft, trembling voice shattered the tension.
“Ellie... Dom?”
We both turned to see Dane standing in the doorway, his scrawny frame illuminated by the dim light of the kitchen. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his body trembling as his wide eyes darted between us.
“Why... why yelling?” he stammered, his voice cracking with fear.
My heart clenched at the sight of him, his face pale and tear-streaked, his lips quivering. The words I’d been ready to hurl at Dominic died on my tongue, replaced by a wave of guilt so overwhelming it stole the air from my lungs.
“Dane...” I whispered, taking a hesitant step toward him.
He flinched, and my chest constricted even tighter. “No yell,” he mumbled, shaking his head as tears welled in his eyes. “No yell. Scared.”
Dominic moved then, his own anger and frustration melting away as he stood in front of Dane, his voice soft but strained. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. We’re okay. Don’t cry.”
But Dane’s sobs were already spilling out, his hands clutching at Dominic’s body as he buried his face in his chest. In that moment he was like a child, like when we were younger and I and Dominic would argue and try to keep it down not to hurt his feelings.
I stood frozen, my tears falling silently now as I watched Dominic hold him, whispering soothing words I couldn’t make out. The weight of what we’d done—what I’d done—crashed over me like a tidal wave.
“Dane...” I tried again, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn't look at me. His body shook in Dominic’s arms, and for the first time in a long time, a deep, gut-wrenching shame washed over me. I knew what I had to do if I wanted Dane to be okay. I had to bury all the anger, all the years of resentment toward Dominic. I had to act like everything was fine, like I wasn't carrying this weight of everything he’d taken from me.
Dominic’s gaze cut through me like a knife, and I could feel him blaming me. Even though he didn’t say it, I could read it in his eyes. *Look what you’ve done.* He sighed, exasperated, and motioned for me to go back to the room. “He’s fine. I’ll put him to bed.”
I opened my mouth to argue, my throat tight, but the words caught. "He should be in the room," I said, desperate. "I’ll take the couch—"
Before I could finish, he cut me off. His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the finality in it. “To bed, Eleanor.”
I froze. His tone wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order. And for a second, all the fight in me died. I could feel everything I wanted to say, everything I needed to scream, just... slipping away. I turned and walked off without another word. My heart pounded, heavy in my chest, and with every step, the silence between us stretched further.
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