"You think I don't notice?" Shawn's voice cracked the silence of their home like shattered glass. "You think I didn't see the way you walked in last night—drunk, wearing that dress, smelling like another man's cologne?"
Naledi didn't look up.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her earrings already off, her clutch tossed to the side like it didn't matter anymore. Her face was unreadable, her silence louder than his rage.
"Naledi," he pressed, stepping closer, chest heaving with guilt masked as anger, "say something."
She turned her head slightly, then slowly stood.
"I'm not like you," she said, voice calm but laced with something cold. "I don't forget I'm married—contract or not. I know boundaries. Don't worry, Shawn... I won't do anything until it's worth it."
The sting in her words landed harder than any accusation he could've made.
He knew what she meant.
He hadn't cheated—not physically, but he'd left her to feel abandoned in their marriage. He had chosen promises to his best friend—protecting Melissa and Caroline—over showing up for the woman he promised to love. He hadn't touched Naledi's heart in months. Hadn't seen her pain when she stopped asking him to come home. Hadn't noticed the ache in her eyes when the children, especially Tiana, treated her like a stranger.
Lincoln had let it go. He was quiet like his mother. Thoughtful. Still loved her, in his own way. But Tiana…
Tiana was different.
"I just want to stay with Melissa," Tiana had cried once after a small disagreement over chores. "I don't like being here. Mama Naledi scares me."
Shawn remembered the way Naledi froze.
She didn't fight back.
She just nodded and left the room.
She stopped trying after that.
Stopped asking him to talk to the kids. Stopped asking him to come home earlier. Stopped trying to fix something that kept cutting her.
That night after their fight, she packed a small bag and left.
He didn't know where she went.
But she never stayed out overnight.
Until that time.
What Shawn never knew—what he still didn't know—was that she hadn't been out partying with a man.
She had gone to Max's.
Maxwell Amani, the kind-eyed librarian from the local community center.
They'd met months before in the quiet corners of the library. She'd found solace there on long afternoons when home felt like a stranger's house and her heart didn't have a place to rest.
He'd noticed her reading book after book on digital marketing, design, and even cybersecurity. One day, he offered to help.
Turned out, Max used to teach basic cybersecurity classes and ran a small tech consulting firm on the side.
He taught her for free.
They became friends. Real friends.
Max had a daughter, Mila, bright-eyed, artsy, curious. Ten years old. Two years younger than Tiana. And Mila adored Naledi like a big sister from the start. They baked together, read together, and even made little handmade cards.
It was Mila who told Naledi about Jacob.
"Uncle Jacob is funny," she giggled one evening, "but he always thinks you're gonna steal Daddy from him."
Naledi smiled, brushing Mila's braids. "He doesn't have to worry. Your dad is safe."
Max had only chuckled when she told him.
Jacob Lester was Max's long-time partner. At first, he didn't trust Naledi. Thought she was another pretty woman stepping too close. But the more he saw her with Mila—and the more he heard how she talked about her business dreams instead of anyone's husband—he began to relax.
Soon, he introduced her to his network.
Small business owners. Designers. Marketing strategists.
With their help—and Max's quiet guidance—Naledi's freelancing gig bloomed into something real. She learned how to pitch. How to budget. How to ask for what she was worth.
Max never asked for anything back.
Just offered his spare couch, warm meals, and safe silence.
When she couldn't sleep, she stayed there.
When she cried, she did it into the cushions, with Mila asleep in the next room and Max sitting quietly in the kitchen, waiting if she needed to talk.
She didn't mention Shawn. Not once.
Tonight, she was back on Max's couch.
Not because she was running away.
But because she was finding herself.
Mila had gone to sleep early after watching a movie. Max was folding laundry and talking to Jacob on the phone, laughing about someone's birthday prank. Naledi curled up in the corner, tea in hand, half-listening.
And then, just like that, her mind drifted.
Back to the party.
The business party Jacob had taken her to three months ago.
She hadn't expected much from it.
Just another night of handshakes and fake compliments.
She remembered the string lights in the rooftop venue. The way jazz music wrapped around the crowd. Her black dress—simple but bold. She wore it to remind herself she wasn't invisible.
And then she saw him.
Noah.
At first, her chest tightened.
He looked like Shawn. Uncannily so.
Same build. Same sharp jawline. Same dark hair swept back like he didn't care.
But his energy?
Different.
He was quieter. Observant. Moved like someone who knew how to disappear in a room.
She looked away quickly.
But fate doesn't let go that easily.
They met again by the bar. She was ordering sparkling water. He was staring at a tray of tiny desserts like he didn't trust them.
She laughed under her breath.
He noticed.
"Something funny?" he asked, not looking at her.
"Just wondering which one you're gonna try and spit out first," she replied.
He smirked. "They all look suspicious."
"You should try the tart. It's not bad."
He looked at her then, really looked.
His eyes weren't like Shawn's. They held softness under the storm.
He noticed her ring.
Didn't ask.
She noticed his brief pause.
Didn't explain.
They talked briefly. About the party. About the awkward lighting. About architecture—his passion. How he built his firm from scratch. How he once worked construction just to fund night classes. She admired that.
But when the conversation started to feel like something… more…
They stepped back.
Silently.
He didn't flirt.
She didn't linger.
Professional. Respectful. Muted curiosity.
Still, she felt—something.
They crossed paths again later—this time during a pitch meeting. She didn't know he'd be one of the project leads.
They nodded again.
Worked together. Cleanly. Efficiently.
But every now and then… their eyes would meet.
Not with longing.
But with questions.
Unspoken ones.
Back in Max's apartment, her phone lit up.
An email.
Subject: Design Update – Youth Center Project
From: Noah Hayes
She opened it.
Short. Direct. Attached files.
But at the end…
"P.S. Let me know if you're still anti-symbolism."
She smiled despite herself.
Typed back.
"Still prefer facts. But… maybe a little poetry isn't so bad."
She hovered over the send button.
Paused.
Then hit it.
Just as Max walked back into the room.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Something… unfinished."