The air is still when you pull into the driveway, like even the wind knows not to stir up anything more than what’s already heavy between you.

Addison kicks her little legs in the backseat, her bunny clutched in one hand, her pink backpack beside her.

She’s buzzing with excitement. “Daddy house!” she squeals. “Mommy, he’s gonna do the funny voice again!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

It’s been two months. Two months since that fight, the one that spiraled, the one where everything fell like glass on tile. Divorce papers signed. Separate addresses.

But love? That’s trickier to erase.

The front door creaks open before you’re even out of the car. Rafe steps outside, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves shoved over his hands like he’s not sure what to do with them.

He’s been waiting. Or maybe just watching.

You unbuckle Addi, and the second she’s free, she jumps into your arms and then twists toward him, calling out, “Daddy, catch me!”

He doesn’t hesitate. Takes her mid-air like he was made for it. The laugh she gives him is pure sunlight.

“You brought the bunny, right?” he asks her, nose bumping hers.

Addi holds it up proudly. “Always!”

You linger by the car, arms folding over yourself. The silence stretches between you and Rafe—not cold, but cautious.

“She had trouble sleeping last night,” you say. “The thunder scared her.”

“Did she come to your bed?”

You nod. “She still curls up into a little ball.”

Rafe half-smiles, eyes softening. “Yeah… she used to take up the whole bed, remember?”

You do. The three of you piled together, limbs tangled, her bunny somewhere beneath the blankets.

“She asked me why I don’t live here anymore,” you admit. “I didn’t know what to say.”

He exhales. “Me neither.”

Addi wriggles in his arms. “I wanna show Daddy my butterfly drawing!”

“Go inside, baby,” he says, setting her down gently. “It’s on the fridge, right?”

She nods and runs ahead, the door swinging open.

And then it’s just you two again. On the same porch where you once said “forever.”

“I didn’t think it’d feel this strange,” he says, not looking at you. “Seeing you here, but… not.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The ache is mutual.

“I made her favorite,” he adds. “Mac and cheese with the crunchy top.”

You smile, faintly. “She’ll be thrilled.”

“She won’t eat the crust on her sandwich,” he adds, like he’s offering proof he still knows. That he still pays attention.

You nod, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

Addi’s laugh echoes from inside. Her voice calling out, “Mommy, come see it too!”

Your heart tightens. You meet Rafe’s eyes.

He doesn’t say “you don’t have to leave.” But he opens the door and steps aside.

You walk past him, into the house that used to be yours.

And for tonight, at least, you stay.

Not together. But not quite apart.