After the Storm

The following weeks were quiet — almost eerily so.
Mark filed the restraining order. The court required counseling and probation for Diane. The house felt lighter, but emptier too — as though it had been exorcised.

At night, I’d find Mark sitting in the nursery, staring at the tiny blue onesies hanging neatly in a row. He wasn’t grieving his mother’s punishment; he was grieving the illusion of who he thought she was.

A New Beginning

Three months later, under the soft hum of hospital lights, I held our son.
Leo — not Arthur.

Mark sat beside me, tears in his eyes, hand resting gently on our baby’s back. His phone buzzed with a message: Diane accepted the plea deal. It’s over.
He deleted it. The past was behind us.