The contracted wife who left first

Aria hadn't been sleeping well.

She sat at the edge of her bed, the dawn light slipping through the curtains like a whisper. The apartment was silent—Eli was still curled under his Spider-Man blanket in the other room.

She should have felt at ease.

But she didn't.

She hadn't since she walked into Blackwood Industries and saw him.

Elias.

Just thinking his name sent a tremor through her chest.

She clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palm. She couldn't afford to feel like this. Couldn't afford to remember.

Not now.

She had done the right thing. She told herself that a thousand times in the last three years. Walking away had saved them both. Saved Eli from the cold war that would have broken him in ways he couldn't name.

But now…

Now, everything she'd built was shaking.

The knock on the door startled her.

She rose carefully, padding across the living room and checking the peephole. A delivery man stood there, holding a small white box and a brown envelope.

She opened the door cautiously. "Yes?"

"Delivery for Ms. Collins," he said, polite but unreadable.

She signed and closed the door behind her, staring at the package in her hand.

No return address.

She opened it slowly.

Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper—official, clean. A revised contract from Blackwood Industries. Terms of the merger, updated. Minor adjustments. Nothing urgent.

But it wasn't the paper that made her throat tighten.

It was what was beneath it.

A drawing.

Eli's drawing.

The one he'd made for her two nights ago—the one that had been missing yesterday morning. She had thought he'd misplaced it or torn it up in one of his bursts of energy.

But it was here.

Returned.

She stared at the crooked letters, the sun too big, the sky only half-coloured in, and her name—"Mommy"—written beside the stick figure with messy brown hair.

Tears burned her eyes.

Elias had this.

Which meant…

Madeline.

Of course.

Her heart thundered as she folded the paper carefully and pressed it against her chest.

She hadn't wanted this. She'd been careful—meticulous even—in keeping Eli out of the public eye. Out of his world. She didn't know what Elias would do if he found out. If he knew the truth.

If he knew that the child with bright green eyes and wild laughter was his.

She turned away, pressing her fingers to her temple.

She wasn't ready.

But that didn't stop the memories.

She'd met Elias on a rainy afternoon. He wasn't supposed to be at the gallery opening; he hated social functions. But he'd come for his sister, and somehow ended up standing beside Aria as she tried to explain a painting to a patron who only saw colors, not meaning.

Elias had watched her—curious, silent, amused.

"You speak like the art listens," he'd said then.

She'd laughed. "Doesn't it?"

He didn't reply, but he didn't walk away either.

That night, he sent her a note with three words: Dinner tomorrow night?

That had been the beginning.

Not of love.

Of complication.

Because with Elias, nothing had ever been simple.

They were fire and stone. She burned for connection. He built walls higher than she could scale.

But she stayed.

Because sometimes, even the hardest man holds a softness the world never sees.

She'd seen it.

In his quiet gestures. In the way he read every book she recommended but never admitted it. In the way he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking.

She stayed.

Until staying started to break her.

She leaned against the kitchen counter now, the drawing still clutched in her hand.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

A message from Madeline.

He saw it. He knows. But he's not coming yet. Thought you should know.

Aria sat down slowly, heart drumming.

She hesitated before calling.

Madeline picked up on the first ring.

"You sent it," Aria said without preamble.

"He deserved to know."

"That wasn't your choice."

"It wasn't yours to keep from him either," Madeline shot back. "You're both acting like silence is protection. It's not."

"I didn't want to ruin what little peace I had," Aria whispered. "I was scared."

"Of what? That he'd hate you? Or that he wouldn't?"

Aria didn't respond.

Madeline's voice softened. "He's not the same man, Aria. He's changed. You should talk to him."

"I don't know how," she admitted.

"Start with the truth."

The line went dead, and Aria stared at the screen for a long moment.

Footsteps shuffled down the hallway.

A soft voice followed.

"Mommy?"

She turned.

Eli stood there, rubbing his eyes, his curls a wild halo of sleep.

She knelt, wrapping her arms around him. "Morning, baby."

He yawned and buried his face in her shoulder. "I had a dream."

"Yeah?" she asked gently, pulling him to the couch. "What kind?"

"About a treehouse. And there was a man there. He had your eyes but not your smile."

Her heart skipped.

"What did he say?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eli shrugged. "He didn't talk. He just watched us play."

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

"Is he real?"

She hesitated. "Maybe. Maybe he is."

"Will I meet him?"

She pulled him close, pressing her lips to his curls. "Someday. When the time is right."

He nodded, already drifting off again.

But Aria didn't move.

She sat there, holding her son, the weight of the truth heavy in her chest.

Then he stirred again. "Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you miss him?"

She blinked. "Who?"

"The man in the dream. Your eyes got wet when I said him."

Aria smiled faintly. "I miss… a lot of things."

"Is he my daddy?"

Her breath caught. "Why would you ask that?"

Eli shrugged in that innocent way only children could. "I asked the stars last night. I said, 'Who's my daddy?' And then I dreamed about him."

Tears welled up. "Eli…"

"Is he a good man?"

She closed her eyes. "I think… he's trying to be."

He reached up and touched her cheek. "Are you mad at him?"

"I was. For a long time."

"Not anymore?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I'm trying not to be."

Eli nodded again. "Then maybe we can try together."

She kissed his forehead. "Maybe we can."

And as he drifted back to sleep in her arms, Aria stared at the drawing on the table.

The wall she had built had protected them once.

But it was starting to crack.

And maybe…

Maybe it was time to let it fall.