31

Dominic didn’t come back.  

Not in the morning. Not in the afternoon. Not even as the sun dipped low, casting long, eerie shadows over the forest. 

The cabin felt emptier with every hour that passed. I spent most of the day searching through it—curiosity gnawing at me, frustration tightening in my chest. But there was nothing. No pictures. No personal belongings. No trace of the man who lived here. Just bare furniture, an empty freezer, and cabinets holding nothing but dust. It was as if no one had ever really lived here—just a place to pass through, like a ghost town. 

And yet, the emptiness made my chest ache. I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that it mirrored my own life back in the city—lonely, barren, and going nowhere. The thought of Dominic living this way for ten years? It hit me harder than I expected. A life of silence. A life without roots. My heart twisted in ways I wasn’t ready to face.

When the rumble of his truck reached my ears, I had been sitting on the porch, lost in the thick quiet of the woods. The dim orange glow of the porch light flickered against the dark—everything else swallowed by the blackness of the trees. The occasional rustle of leaves, the distant howl of something I told myself wasn’t a wolf… that was all. My knees were drawn to my chest, the night pressing in. I could almost taste the tension, thick and suffocating. 

The sound of the truck grew louder, the headlights blinding as they cut through the dark. I raised a hand to block the light, squinting, and watched as the truck rolled to a stop. The engine cut off, but Dominic didn’t get out.  

Five minutes passed. Then ten. The stillness of the night pressed down on me. The crickets hummed their steady rhythm, distant howls echoed in the distance, but still, he didn’t move.  

Finally, the door creaked open, and there he was. Dominic. But something was off. His steps were slow—dragging, as if the weight of the world hung on his shoulders. When he finally entered the light, I saw it clearly: flushed face, unfocused eyes, his whole body slouched like he was carrying something heavier than he could bear. 

He stopped when he saw me. For a split second, I thought he might say something. But instead, he looked away and brushed past me on the stairs without a word.

The scent of alcohol hit me, sharp and bitter, stinging in my nostrils. It made my stomach churn. 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Wolves in the woods.”

That was all. No explanation. No apology. Just those clipped words before he trudged up the stairs.

My chest tightened, a storm of frustration rising in me, but I bit my tongue. There was nothing left to say, was there? The space between us felt as vast as the empty cabin, as the endless woods outside. 

I stayed where I was, my eyes tracing the dark line of trees, the sound of the distant howls growing louder, and for a moment, I almost let myself believe them. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay silent. Not with the weight of everything unsaid between us. The silence was too much. It was suffocating. 

Bolting off the porch, I pushed through the door, the sudden slam vibrating through the entire cabin. It rattled in my bones, as if the very walls were quaking with my fury. 

Inside, Dominic was already half-leaning against the couch, a can of beer in one hand, the remote in the other. He was just sitting there. Like nothing was wrong. 

The low hum of the TV filled the room, the laugh track from some sitcom echoing loudly, jarring against the silence that had settled over us. He didn’t flinch as I stormed in. Didn’t even look at me right away. His eyes drooped with exhaustion, lazily flicking to me for only a moment before going back to the screen. 

“Jesus, Dominic,” I muttered, my voice shaking with the frustration that had been building all day. “You couldn’t wait five seconds before acting like nothing happened?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just slouched further into the couch, his gaze flicking briefly toward me as the laughter from the TV blared through the cabin. His lips twitched, like he was about to say something dismissive. 

“You shouldn’t leave these lights on,” he muttered. “You’ll drain the solar battery. I don’t think you’ll enjoy the dark in these woods as much as I did...” His voice was lazy, almost playful, and he finally spared me a glance, a half-smile curling on his lips. “You’re a city girl now. And I’m the poo—”

“Cut the crap,” I snapped, cutting him off. My anger flared. “This morning you asked me if I kept the baby.”

That stopped him. His eyes snapped to me, and for the first time in what felt like ages, his expression changed. The smirk faltered. The arrogance drained from his face, replaced by something colder, something guarded. 

Silence stretched, suffocating, and in that moment, everything between us felt too raw. Too exposed. The tension was unbearable. But I couldn’t look away. Neither of us spoke. 

And then, Dominic’s voice, rough and slurred, broke through the silence, the words escaping like a storm breaking free. 

“Did you keep the baby?” His words crashed into me. Harsh, demanding, as if he was daring me to answer. 

I flinched. The question hit me like a punch in the gut, the flood of old memories washing over me—painful, heartbreaking. The months spent in secrecy. The decision to give up the child. Our child. 

I had buried that choice deep within me, but Dominic was forcing it to the surface again, over and over. 

“I gave the baby up,” I whispered, my voice small, trembling. “I gave him up for adoption.”

The words fell like a hammer, and I saw it in Dominic’s eyes. A flicker of disbelief. Then pain—raw, visceral, consuming him. For a second, I thought he might crumble, but instead, the anger flared again. His face hardened, and he stepped closer, his voice rising, shaking with rage.

“No.” He choked out the word, barely able to comprehend what I was saying. “No, you didn’t… You didn’t…”

“You left me,” I spat, my words lashing out before I could stop them. “You walked away from me, from everything we had. *You* left. Without a word, without any explanation. *You* gave up on *us* long before I made that choice.”

He reeled back, his eyes flashing with a fury I hadn’t seen in years. His hand slammed against the couch, shaking the room. 

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he growled, stepping forward until we were inches apart. The air between us crackled with the heat of it, the tension so thick, it felt like it could snap at any moment. “I didn’t leave you, Eleanor. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I did it because I had no fucking choice.”

His voice cracked, and I saw the pain in his eyes. But it was buried beneath the rage, a storm too wild to control. 

“You gave up on us. You gave up on *our child.*" he said, his words a thunderclap. “How could you just walk away like that? How could you just leave him, Eleanor?”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him, to make him see. But the words wouldn’t come. 

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I can’t go back to this. I can’t go back to *you*.”  

The finality of it echoed in the room, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. 

Dominic stood there, face twisted with grief, but then his hand reached out, brushing my tear-streaked cheek.

I stiffened at the touch, my instinct screaming to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words low, barely audible over the sound of my own breath. “I’m sorry for everything, Eleanor. I’m sorry for leaving. For hurting you. I'm sorry..."

I froze, his words twisting my heart in ways I didn’t know how to process. But before I could pull away, he spoke again.

“Please,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “Give me a chance. Let me prove I can be better. A better man. A better father. Just... just give me fourteen days. Fourteen days of no fighting. No resentment. Let me show you that I can fix this. That we can fix this.” 

I didn't say anything. I continued to watch him, and before I could withdraw and step away from him, his arms were around me, as sure and firm. He pressed me against himself, his arms supporting my lower behind, and lifting me till I couldn't feel the floor beneath my feet any longer.

I felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth that left my limps. Under the light, his face was so close to mine that I could smell the harsh scent of the alcohol he had been drinking. He leaned in and kissed me, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made me cling to him as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. My hands clutched against his shoulders, holding tightly.

His insistent mouth was parting my shaking lips, sending wild tremors along my nerves, evoking from me sensations I had never known I was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun me round and round, I was kissing him back.

Wildly.

With just as much intensity. His mouth was so warm, the caress of his lips softer than I remembered and I opened my mouth with a low moan. And then, as if regained my senses, I pressed my two hands against his chest and shoved him off me, he staggered back at the force, a little breathless, a lot stunned.

I closed my eyes, struggling to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to crash over me. This was too much.

“You don’t get it,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “The child doesn’t belong to us anymore. He’s with another family. And there’s no going back.”

Dominic's gaze didn't waver. "I want to make things right. I will make things right. Please..."

And I realized—he wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He was asking for a chance. A chance to make it right. 

But I wasn’t sure if either of us had that option anymore.