His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Ten: Running Again
POV: Arya
---
I packed one box.
Just one.
The same way I did four years ago when I left Damon behind — quietly, carefully, like I was sneaking away from a crime scene.
Because that's what it felt like.
Like surviving him had been a crime.
Now he was back.
Knocking gently instead of shouting.
Smiling instead of stonewalling.
Sending chocolates, flowers, picture books — as if fatherhood could be bought for the price of a Hallmark aisle.
And worst of all?
Lucas was starting to look forward to it.
---
I watched him yesterday.
He was coloring at the gallery table when Damon walked past the window — didn't even come in — and Lucas lit up like the sun had dropped right into his chest.
His head popped up. He smiled. He waved.
And Damon waved back.
That tiny moment cracked something in me I didn't know was still whole.
---
I don't want to see it.
I don't want to feel it.
This man — this stranger who used to be my husband — is playing the long game now, pretending like his silence for four years can be erased by persistence.
But I remember everything.
I remember every cold night I slept alone.
I remember rubbing my belly and crying into a pillow because no one was there to tell me it would be okay.
I remember going into labor with no one to drive me to the hospital.
I remember holding our son in my arms, whispering, "I did this without you."
So no — I'm not impressed by flowers.
Not softened by bedtime books.
Not fooled by a man who left me to drown in silence while he danced with someone else.
---
Lucas deserves better.
He deserves a future that isn't confused by a father who remembers him when it's convenient.
I don't want to look out my studio window and see Damon trying to be something he already threw away.
Because the truth is…
If I don't leave now, I'm not sure I'll be able to.
---
Miriam notices my box on the porch later that evening.
She says nothing at first — just sits beside me, sipping tea like she always does when she knows I'm about to break.
"You're leaving," she says gently.
I nod.
"Because of him?"
Another nod.
"You're running."
This time, I flinch.
I never considered it running. Not really. The first time I left, I called it survival. Freedom. Escape.
But this?
This feels like retreat.
Like I built something beautiful with blood and tears, and now I'm about to burn it all down just because a man stood outside my door with a sad look and too many apologies.
Still… it feels safer than letting him back in.
---
"He's still Lucas's father," Miriam says, her voice soft but firm. "Even if he failed you, that doesn't mean he can't be something to the boy."
"I'm not ready," I whisper.
"You may never be."
And that's what terrifies me.
Because I'm not sure if the wound Damon left was ever meant to heal.
---
That night, I find Lucas's shoebox of treasures under his bed.
Old crayon drawings. A rock shaped like a heart. The ribbon from a birthday gift. A button from my old sweater.
And right there — folded perfectly at the bottom — is the picture.
The one with three stick people.
Me.
Lucas.
And Damon.
All holding hands beneath a big blue tree.
I press the paper to my chest and cry.
Because for all the ways I've tried to protect him, I can't protect him from what he wants.
And deep down, he wants the man I hate.
---
I'm not angry at Lucas for that.
I'm angry at myself — for letting it get this far, for not leaving sooner, for not telling Damon the truth before it was too late.
But none of that erases what Damon did.
He was mine, once. And when he left me alone in our marriage, it wasn't just betrayal.
It was abandonment.
He didn't cheat with kisses — he cheated with silence.
He disappeared emotionally long before I ever packed my bag.
He had a chance to ask what was wrong.
To check if I was okay.
To notice I wasn't eating, or smiling, or talking like I used to.
But he didn't.
And now he wants to act like that version of him no longer exists?
No.
That version broke me.
That version is the reason I almost didn't survive.
---
I stare at the packed box and think of everything inside: old sketchbooks, a baby blanket, a picture frame I never hung.
All things that remind me of who I used to be.
And that woman?
She doesn't want to run again.
Not this time.
---
In the morning, I open the studio early.
Lucas is still asleep upstairs, curled under the dinosaur blanket he insists on using even in the summer.
The air smells like paint and fresh paper.
And just as I unlock the front door, I see him.
Damon.
Standing across the street, coffee in hand, hesitant like a man waiting for a yes he doesn't deserve.
He sees me and doesn't smile.
He just nods.
Like he knows this is a test.
And for the first time in weeks, I don't look away.
I don't smile either.
But I don't turn my back.
---
Maybe I won't leave.
Maybe I'll stay and fight — not for him, but for me.
For Lucas.
For the life I built with no one's help but my own.
Because if Damon wants to be a part of that?
He'll have to earn it.
Every inch of it.