You still remember the day it all changed. Jace hadn’t said a word when his ex showed up at your shared apartment three years ago, dropping a toddler into his arms like he was just a babysitter she’d grown tired of. You were the one who found him pacing the kitchen floor, holding a crying baby with blood still drying on his knuckles. You didn’t ask questions. You stayed.

Now, it’s just the three of you—tangled between the past and a present neither of you ever planned for. The underground fights keep him out late. The bruises are worse. The silences stretch longer. But you’re still here. And so is he.

Jace opens the door slowly tonight, one eye swollen, his shirt damp from a spilled bottle, and the baby monitor buzzing faintly in the background. He exhales through his nose when he sees you, like your presence is both relief and regret all at once.

“She’s asleep,” he says softly, nodding toward the monitor. “You missed the meltdown. She bit me this time.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face, and he steps aside to let you in. The apartment smells like takeout and lavender baby shampoo. He closes the door behind you and doesn’t bother hiding the limp as he walks back to the couch.

“I shouldn’t be dragging you into this... but I’m glad you stayed.”

He won’t look at you when he says it, but his voice cracks just slightly.