The heavy mahogany door creaked shut behind her.
Amelia stood in the master bedroom, arms crossed tightly over her chest.He was already there—shirtless, sitting at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor.The silence wrapped around them like a second skin, sticky and inescapable.
"You take the left," she said, voice brittle."I'm not here to fall in love again."
He didn't argue.He just nodded, moved his pillow, and climbed in—like this wasn't the cruelest bedtime story ever told.
She slid under the covers stiffly, body turned away, eyes wide open.But she could feel him—every shift, every breath, every pause.Sleeping beside someone who once called you foreverwasn't romantic.
It was terrifying.
Because even though her mind said stranger—her body remembered home.
The weight of his arm once draped across her waist.The rhythm of his breath against her neck.It haunted her.
But what scared her more?
She missed it.
The air between them was thick—like walking through fog soaked in gasoline.One wrong word, one memory too sharp,and everything would ignite.
This wasn't just a shared bed.It was a battlefield of ghosts,with her heart caught in the crossfire.
She closed her eyes.Tried to sleep.But then—
He whispered, barely audible.
"You used to hum in your sleep."
Her breath caught.
"What?"She turned halfway, not sure if she was angry or unraveling.
"The night before our wedding. You hummed the tune your mother used to sing. I thought it was beautiful."
She didn't answer.Because that memory—
wasn't his.
It was hers.And it had just come back.
She lay frozen.
Tears pooled at the edge of her lashes.
"If you remember my mother's lullaby…""What else are you keeping locked away in that heart of yours?"
But he said nothing more.
Because some answers—are more dangerous than silence.