The evening was calm, the sky painted in soft hues of twilight, as Dante knocked on Isla’s bedroom door. He wasn’t his usual commanding self. His voice was soft, almost pleading.
“Isla, I’ve arranged dinner for us,” he said.
Inside, Isla hesitated, holding Amara close. For days, she had been firm in her resolve to keep her distance. She didn’t trust Dante, but a part of her longed for a sense of normalcy-for her daughter’s sake, if nothing else.
“Why, Dante?” she finally asked. “What’s the point of pretending we’re a family when we both know we’re not?”
The door creaked open, and Dante stood there, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“Because we need to start somewhere,” he said. “For Amara. And for us.”
Isla looked at him, searching for any trace of sincerity. There was something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes softened when he glanced at Amara, that made her walls falter slightly.
“Fine,” she said, her voice reluctant. “But don’t expect miracles, Dante.”
—
The Dinner Setup
The dining room was unlike its usual cold and formal ambiance. Tonight, Dante had arranged for a more intimate setting-a smaller table adorned with candles and fresh flowers. The faint aroma of roasted vegetables and grilled chicken filled the room.
When Isla entered, holding Amara, her eyes widened slightly at the effort.
“This is unexpected,” she admitted, her tone wary.
Dante pulled out a chair for her. “I wanted it to be special,” he said. “You deserve that much.”
Isla sat down cautiously, her gaze flickering to Amara, who was gurgling happily in her arms.
“She seems to like you more these days,” Isla commented, her voice laced with irony.
Dante smiled faintly, taking the baby from her arms. “Can you blame her? She’s got excellent taste.”
Isla rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile as she watched him interact with their daughter.
—
A Moment of Connection
As they ate, the tension in the room gradually eased. Dante asked about Amara’s milestones-her first words, her habits, and how Isla managed to juggle everything alone.
“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” Dante admitted, his tone genuine.
Isla raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve been an idiot,” he said, surprising her. “I should have been there for you. For both of you.”
Isla put down her fork, her expression conflicted. “You’re right, Dante. You should have. And one dinner doesn’t erase months of neglect.”
Dante nodded, his face clouded with regret. “I know. But I want to do better, Isla. For you and Amara.”
For a brief moment, Isla allowed herself to believe him. She looked at Amara, who was now babbling happily in Dante’s arms, and felt a pang of longing for the family they could have been.
—
An Unwelcome Arrival
The evening was almost peaceful when the door to the dining room swung open, shattering the fragile calm. A tall, elegant woman entered, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She exuded confidence, her dark hair perfectly styled and her red dress hugging her figure.
“Dante,” she purred, her eyes lighting up as she approached him.
Isla froze, her heart sinking as the woman leaned in to kiss Dante on the cheek. He stiffened, clearly caught off guard, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“Who is this?” Isla demanded, her voice icy.
The woman turned, her gaze appraising Isla with thinly veiled disdain. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had company,” she said smoothly. “I’m Seraphina. Dante and I go way back.”
Dante shot Seraphina a sharp look. “Now’s not the time,” he said firmly.
But Isla was already on her feet, her face pale with anger and hurt.
“This is why you wanted me here, isn’t it?” she spat, her voice trembling. “To humiliate me? To parade your other women in front of me?”
“Isla, no,” Dante said, standing as well. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Isn’t it?” she countered, her eyes blazing. “Because it looks exactly like every other time you’ve made me feel like I’m just another piece in your game.”
Seraphina raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the drama. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” she said, her tone insincere. “But Dante and I have unfinished business. Perhaps we should discuss it in private?”
—
Breaking Point
That was the final straw for Isla. She picked up Amara from her high chair, her hands shaking as she held her close.
“You don’t have to discuss anything, Dante,” she said, her voice cold. “Because I’m done.”
Dante stepped forward, panic flashing in his eyes. “Isla, wait-”
“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to play the doting father and then let this… this woman walk into your life like it’s nothing. I won’t let you do this to me. To Amara.”
Dante turned to Seraphina, his expression hard. “Leave. Now.”
Seraphina looked surprised but didn’t argue. She sauntered out of the room, her heels clicking against the floor.
Dante turned back to Isla, his voice desperate. “Isla, please. Don’t do this.”
“I already have,” she said, her voice breaking. “I should have known better than to trust you, even for a moment.”
—
Retreat to Safety
Isla stormed back to her room, locking the door behind her. She placed Amara on the bed, her hands trembling as she tried to calm herself.
“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “We’ll be okay. We don’t need him.”
Amara gurgled softly, her innocent smile a stark contrast to the turmoil Isla felt inside.
Outside the door, Dante stood, his fists clenched. He could hear Isla’s muffled sobs, and it tore at him. He had ruined everything again, just when he thought he was making progress.
“I’ll fix this,” he vowed quietly. “No matter what it takes.”
But inside, Isla had made up her mind. She wouldn’t let Dante hurt her again. For her sake, and for Amara’s, she would find a way to leave this life behind for good.