My ex-wife came to see our son. She ended up staying the night. I let her sleep on the couch. After midnight, I heard something I wasn’t supposed to hear.

I shook my head. “Just stay here tonight. The couch pulls out. You’ll be back tomorrow morning anyway.”

She studied my face for a moment before nodding.

“Okay.”

I set up the pull-out couch and left extra blankets on the armrest. After tucking Mason into bed, I went to my room. It felt strange having Laura in the house again, even temporarily. Part of me wondered how two people who once shared everything could end up as distant as we were now.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

Around 12:40 AM, I woke up.

I’ve always been a light sleeper—years of parenting will do that. Normally, when I wake up at night, the house is silent.

But this time I heard something.

Footsteps.

I stayed perfectly still, listening. The sound was coming from the living room. A faint glow from the kitchen light slipped under my bedroom door.

Then I heard a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

It was Laura’s voice.

But it wasn’t the quiet whisper of someone trying not to wake a child. It sounded heavy, full of guilt and regret.

I held my breath.

Then I heard another voice.

A man’s voice.

“It’s not enough,” he said quietly. “You can’t keep running back to him every time things get difficult.”

My chest tightened.

There was someone else in my house.