Bella’s POV
I watched as Vance moved through the house with practiced efficiency, his calm deanor never wavering despite the chaos that had erupted earlier. The children had all been crying, terrified from their nightmares, and while I sat frozen in the living room clutching a glass of wine, he had stepped in without hesitation.
I observed him from my spot on the couch, noting how he didn’t seem fazed by the responsibility. Each child had demanded to be carried on his shoulders, walked around until they felt safe enough to fall back asleep. He had obliged every single request without complaint.
When he finally erged from the bedrooms, his appearance told the story of his evening. His coat hung abandoned sowhere, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark hair tousled from small hands running through it. Exhaustion marked his features, but there was satisfaction there too.
"They’re all sleeping now," he announced, walking into the living room where I remained curled up on the edge of the couch.
I looked up at him, wine glass halfway to my lips, and felt a pang of sothing I couldn’t quite na. Guilt, maybe. Or admiration.
"That’s enough for tonight," Vance said firmly, reaching over to take the glass from my hands before I could protest.
He settled onto the couch beside , one ankle resting on his opposite knee, creating a relaxed V with his legs. The wine glass looked small in his large hands as he took a asured sip, his eyes never leaving my face.
I remained perched on the edge of the cushion, my gaze fixed on the darkness outside the window. The street looked empty, peaceful in a way that mocked the turmoil inside my chest.
"Everything’s fine now," Vance’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I heard the soft clink as he set the glass down on the coffee table.
Turning toward him, I found him studying with that intense focus I rembered so well. Two fingers rested against his temple, thumb positioned along his jawline, the gesture achingly familiar.
"What’s going through that head of yours?" he asked, and I could hear in his tone that he still knew how to read too easily.
"I need to move faster on this case, but I feel completely stuck," I admitted, my voice thick with frustration. I wiped at the tears that had started falling again without my permission. "Every interview with these children gives nothing but riddles and half-truths. I don’t know how to piece any of it together."
From the hallway ca Chloe’s voice, quiet but audible. "I’ll be in my room for the night."
Vance had made it clear earlier that Chloe wasn’t needed for the children’s care. He had insisted on handling everything himself, leaving Chloe with nothing to do but watch from the sidelines.
"Good night," he responded with a dismissive wave, his attention remaining fixed on .
"You’re being too hard on yourself," Vance continued once Chloe’s footsteps retreated down the hall, followed by the sharp sound of her bedroom door closing. "But maybe you’re approaching this wrong. Instead of struggling with children you barely know, why not start with the ones you do know?"
I shifted on the couch to face him fully, confusion clouding my features. "What do you an?"
"These other kids are strangers to you. You don’t understand their personalities, their fears, how they communicate," Vance explained, his voice taking on that patient tone I rembered from our early days together. "But your children are different. They’re experiencing the sa phenonon, but from what I’ve observed, their symptoms are more severe. More specific."
I felt my breath catch as his words sank in. "How so?"
"The other children report general nightmares, physical discomfort, vague fears. But our kids," he paused, and I felt my heart skip at his choice of words, "they’re describing detailed scenarios. Like when Leah talked about the man in her dreams. Zack’s episodes seem more intense, and whatever Tara is experiencing is clearly traumatizing her on a deeper level."
The logic of his observation hit like a physical blow. Of course my children would be different. Of course I should start there.
"I’ll begin interviewing them tomorrow," I said, the first spark of hope I’d felt in weeks igniting in my chest. "Thank you."
Without thinking, I launched myself toward him, wrapping my arms around his solid fra in a brief hug. I felt his heartbeat stutter against my chest, the familiar warmth of his body making pull back quickly.
"I’m exhausted," I said, needing distance before I did sothing I’d regret. "Would it be okay if I just went to bed?"
Sothing flickered across Vance’s expression, disappointnt mixed with resignation. I could read him well enough to know he had hoped our evening might end differently. It had been months since we had been truly intimate, and the tension between us was becoming harder to ignore.
"Of course," he said quietly, his voice carefully neutral. "Get so rest."
I stood and walked toward my bedroom, but stopped in the doorway, turning back to look at him one more ti.
"Thank you for calling them our kids," I said softly before disappearing behind my closed door.
The next morning arrived earlier than usual. Today marked Vance’s departure, and I had been dreading it more than I cared to admit. His visit hadn’t been the disaster I had anticipated, mainly because his short stay hadn’t given him enough ti to dig deep into the complications of my current life.
Dressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck, I erged from my bedroom to find Vance sprawled across the couch in the exact position I had left him the night before. His long legs hung over the armrest, one arm draped across his eyes, the other dangling toward the floor.
After waking him gently, I sent him off to shower while I prepared breakfast for everyone. Chloe joined in the kitchen, moving around silently but shooting furtive glances in my direction every few minutes.
"What is it, Chloe?" I finally asked when the tension beca unbearable.
"Why was Vance sleeping on the couch last night?" Chloe’s question ca out more boldly than I had expected.
I paused in my breakfast preparation, turning to study Chloe’s face. "I’m sorry, are you seriously asking why my husband slept on the couch?"
"Let’s not pretend he’s only your husband," Chloe shot back, her confidence apparently growing by the minute.
The direct challenge hit like a slap. My jaw tightened as I processed Chloe’s audacity.
"So you want to acknowledge that you’re sleeping with my husband?" I asked, finally addressing the elephant that had been living in our house for months.
"Yes, I’m asking about the man I share a bed with. We should focus on his comfort. He spent the night taking care of your children."
Before Chloe could continue her speech, I held up a finger to stop her.
"You do realize those are his children too, right?" My voice carried a dangerous edge now.
Chloe didn’t know the truth about the children’s parentage. In her mind, these were Vance’s biological children, which made her suggestion that I should be more grateful for his care absolutely infuriating.
How dare she use the children as ammunition in whatever ga she thought she was playing?
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