The lamp was on low, and the room was dim.

Franz’s bag sat half-packed near the closet, its mouth open but not yet full. He’d been putting off the task all evening, finding reasons to linger in the sitting room with the twins, to help Aunt Estella with the dishes, to review his script one more time even though he’d already memorized it. The bag was a deadline. Once it was packed, the leaving became real.

Arianne sat on his bed with her back against the headboard, her legs stretched out before her. She was wearing her nightdress, the pale gray one he’d seen a hundred times, and a few documents were spread across her lap—reports from Rochefort Group that Gio had flagged for her review. She’d been staring at the same page for ten minutes without reading a word.

The bathroom door opened. Franz emerged with a towel around his shoulders, his hair dark and wet and a touch too long, dripping onto the collar of his shirt. He’d stopped cutting it months ago. She’d grown used to the length, the way it fell across his forehead, the way it curled at the ends — it made him look older, more serious. The director had been right about the mature look.

He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, running the towel through his hair one last time before draping it over the back of a chair. He made no move toward her, no reach for a kiss. He just sat there, his shoulders bowed, his hands resting on his knees.

She closed the folder in her lap. "Is everything packed?"

"Almost. I’m bringing the essentials. I don’t need much for this leg of filming." He paused. "The schedule should wrap by mid-May. The location changes in about a month—it’ll be closer to the city. I’ll try to come home whenever I can. Even if it’s just for a night."

"I know."

"I don’t want you to worry."

"I’m not worried." She set the folder aside. "I just want you to come back safe. That’s all."

"There are a few stunts in the upcoming episodes. Nothing dangerous—safety protocols, stunt coordinators, the usual precautions. They’ve been planning them for weeks."

"I trust you." Her voice was steady, but something flickered behind her eyes. "I don’t trust the people around you. The crew. The other actors. Anyone who might have access to you."

Franz turned to look at her. "Are you worried that someone might try to hurt me? To hurt you?"

"I’m asking you to be careful. That’s all." She paused. "It might really break me. If I lost you too."

The words hung in the air between them. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. He knew what she was saying—that she had already lost Alex and Layla, that she had already buried her best friend, that the twins had already lost their parents. If something happened to him, she didn’t know if she could survive it. Not because she was weak, but because there was only so much loss a person could carry before something essential gave way.

Franz didn’t try to assure her with words. He didn’t tell her it would be fine, that nothing would happen, that she was worrying over nothing. He’d learned long ago that Arianne didn’t need empty promises. She needed honesty, and the honest truth was that he couldn’t guarantee his safety. There were people in the world who wanted to hurt her, and hurting him was one way to do it.

He reached for her instead. His hands found her waist, and he drew her across the bed toward him, her documents sliding forgotten to the floor. She came willingly, her body fitting against his, her head finding the curve of his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

She rarely told him she loved him. Not with words. She said it in other ways—in "be careful" and "come home safe". She said it in the way she let him hold her now, her body relaxing against his, her hand resting flat on his chest. He’d learned to hear the words beneath the words. He’d had years of practice.

They stayed like that for a long time. The lamp burned low. The bag stayed half-packed.

"Lily told me something this morning," Arianne said. "About the night of the accident."

Franz’s hand stilled on her back. "What did she say?"

"She remembers the hospital. The lights were too bright. Someone tried to hold her and she didn’t want to be held. She was screaming for Alex. She said she screamed for a long time, and no one could make her stop." Arianne paused. "She remembers you arriving. Your arm was in a sling. You couldn’t hold her properly, so you knelt down in front of her. You waited. You were the only one who waited."

Franz didn’t speak.

"She said everyone else tried to grab her. You just stayed there. You let her scream until she couldn’t scream anymore. And when she finally stopped, she climbed into your lap. She was careful of your arm. You held her with your good arm and didn’t say anything."

"I couldn’t lift her," Franz said. His voice was rough. "My shoulder was still healing back then. I couldn’t pick her up. I couldn’t do anything except stay there."

"That’s what she remembered. That you stayed."

He said nothing for a long moment.

"I didn’t know she remembered any of that. She’s never asked me about it. Not once. She’s always been so cheerful, so forward-looking. I thought—I thought she’d been too young. That the memories had faded, or that she’d blocked them out."

"She’s five. She remembers more than anyone gives her credit for. Both of them do." Arianne turned against him. "Leo stopped talking that night. Lily told me that too. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just stopped. She said he hasn’t spoken since."

"Until the school incident."

"Until the school incident."

Franz’s arm tightened around her.

"I don’t know how to tell them. If they ask—if Lily asks directly—I don’t know what to say. The investigation is still ongoing. We don’t have all the answers. We don’t know for certain what happened to Alex and Layla, or who was responsible, or why. How do I tell two five-year-olds that their parents might have been murdered by someone who wanted to hurt their aunt?"

"You don’t have to do it alone." Arianne’s voice was steady. "When the time comes, we’ll tell them together. But not yet. Not until we’re certain about what really happened. They deserve the truth, but they also deserve to be children for a little longer."

"And if they ask before we’re ready?" 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Then we’ll tell them what we know. We’ll be honest about what we don’t know. And we’ll make sure they understand that whatever happened, they are loved and protected and never, ever alone." She paused. "You did that for them already. The night of the accident. You couldn’t hold them properly, but you held them anyway. That’s what Lily remembers. Not the fear. Not the confusion. You."

Franz didn’t answer. But his hand moved to her hair, his fingers threading through the strands, and the tension in his chest began to ease.

They moved under the covers eventually. The documents were on the floor. The bag was half-packed. Tomorrow, he would leave. Tomorrow, the calendar would begin its new count, a fresh row of X’s marching toward his return.

But tonight, the lamp glowed low and warm. His arm was wrapped around her, her head rested on his chest, and the hush of the estate settled around them like a blanket.

"When you come back," Arianne said, her voice already thick with sleep, "the twins want to rebuild the blanket fort. Lily says the old one is structurally unsound."

"Structurally unsound."

"Her words."

"I think she’s spending too much time with you; she’s picking up unusual words. I’ll add it to my schedule." He pressed another kiss to her hair. "Blanket fort reconstruction. Top priority."

She didn’t answer. Her breathing had already begun to slow, her body heavy against his.

Franz lay awake a while longer. He listened to the darkened house. He thought about the calendar on the refrigerator and the days that would stretch between now and mid-May.

Then he closed his eyes, and he held his wife, and he let himself drift toward sleep.

Tomorrow, the leaving. Tonight, this.