Ryan nodded and carefully took her, but as soon as he looked at her face, something shifted. The happiness in his expression faded, replaced by something I couldn’t identify. He stared at her briefly, then handed her back.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction. “Just like you.”
At first, I assumed it was exhaustion. We had both been through so much. But once we returned home, his behavior only grew more concerning.
Ryan avoided looking directly at Lily. He still helped with feeding and changing her, but his eyes would always hover just above her face. Whenever I tried to take pictures, he would suddenly find reasons to leave the room.
“I need to check something outside,” he’d say, or, “I’ll start dinner.”
Two weeks later, things became impossible to ignore. I woke up one night to an empty bed and heard the front door quietly closing. The first time, I thought nothing of it. By the fifth night, I knew something wasn’t right.
“Where did you go last night?” I asked casually over breakfast.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, avoiding my eyes. “I went for a drive.”
That’s when I decided to find out the truth.
The following night, I pretended to be asleep. Around midnight, I heard him get up quietly and leave the house. My heart pounded as I quickly got dressed, grabbed my keys, and followed him at a distance.
