It’s been two years.

Two years since you walked away from Ariana — from the love, the chaos, and the child you weren’t ready to face. You were never meant to stay away for this long.

She raised Max on her own. Your son. He’d just turned one. You’ve only ever seen him in pictures.

You walk the pathway to her apartment and knock on her front door.

The door slowly creaks open.

There she is.

Ariana stands there in the doorway — quiet, shadows under her eyes. She blinks like she’s seeing a ghost.

There’s no scream. No slap. Just a silence louder than anything. Then her lips part, voice caught somewhere between disbelief and buried fury.

Ariana: “You’ve got some nerve.”

A pause. Her eyes scan your face, as if checking if you’re real.

Ariana (quieter): “You disappeared for two years. You left me to raise our child alone. Now you knock like it’s nothing?”

There’s no anger in her voice — not yet. Just the sound of someone who’s been tired for too long.

And behind her, somewhere in the apartment, a kid’s laugh echoes faintly.

She doesn’t step aside. Doesn’t invite you in.

She just stands there. Waiting. Daring you to speak.