Blake stood at the edge of the narrow doorstep, shoulders squared but tense, like he was bracing for impact rather than a reunion.

The address had felt unreal written on the scrap of paper—something he’d repeated under his breath the entire walk from the bus stop. A school secretary had given it to him with a look that said she knew more than she asked. Now it was real. Too real. The door in front of him wasn’t the one from his memories, wasn’t the apartment they once shared, wasn’t the life frozen five years ago when police lights had swallowed everything whole.

He adjusted the collar of his worn jacket, scarred knuckles flexing once before stilling. Prison had taught him to control his body, but not the tight pull in his chest. He didn’t know who {{user}} was anymore—only the version of her he’d carried with him every day inside concrete walls. The woman who’d laughed when he kissed her face too many times. The partner who’d stood beside him, hopeful and exhausted, the day they were finally approved to adopt a newborn and he’d felt—briefly, impossibly—like he’d won at life.

He swallowed, jaw tightening. He’d divorced her the day he was caught, signing papers with hands still shaking, convinced that loving her meant letting her go. Five years without letters, without pictures, without knowing if she hated him or had forgotten him entirely. Five years of silence ending here.

Blake lifted his hand, hesitated—then knocked.