The Desperate Plea
The next morning, as I nursed the babies, the front door creaked open. My heart raced. Walter stepped in, looking less the husband I once adored and more like a shadow of himself. His face was pale, and panic danced in his eyes.
“Please, can we talk?” he begged, his voice shaky. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
I clenched my jaw, uncertainty flooding me. “You threw us out, Walter. How can you expect me to just forgive you?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration visible in every line of his face. “I was overwhelmed! The stress of the newborns… I thought I couldn’t handle it.”
Something flickered in his eyes—a glimmer of regret, perhaps. “I thought if I could just… give you space, I’d find a way to cope. I never wanted this.” His words hung in the air, and a part of me wanted to believe him.
Just as he began to express remorse, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table. An incoming text lit up the screen. My breath caught. The name read ‘Lila’.
