Father's Apology
A few evenings later, the doorbell rang. Father stood on the threshold. He looked a decade older in just days, eyes sunken, hair grayer, his old jacket rumpled. Seeing me, his lips moved soundlessly. His eyes held only exhaustion, guilt, and a plea for mercy. Finally, his voice scraped out, dry as gravel: "Luke... I... I'm sorry... I never imagined... it would come to this... I failed you both..." He didn't enter. Just stood in the dim porch light, a statue crushed by remorse.
The Family Knot
Father didn't stay long, leaving fragmented apologies before vanishing into the night, his back bent low. The oppressive silence returned. Sara emerged from the guest room, eyes red-rimmed. "Was... was that him?" she whispered. I nodded. We stood in shared silence. Where was the future? Divorce? But it wasn't just a broken relationship. Remain married? The thought alone sickened me. This grotesque connection coiled around us all, a cold, venomous snake. We endured another month in this crushing limbo.
Sara's Pregnancy
One night, Sara knocked on my door. She didn't enter, standing silhouetted in the hallway light. Pale, her fingers clenched white on her robe. She looked at me, eyes hollow, voice barely a whisper: "Luke... I... I'm pregnant." Time stopped. The air solidified. My gaze dropped to her flat stomach, then snapped back to her eyes. A wave of absurdity and icy terror engulfed me. A child. This sudden new life, meant to be profound joy, detonated like a bomb in still waters, blasting open even deeper despair.
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