Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER THREE

Heavy footfalls paraded around the house. I groaned, turning my head to glance at the dim glow of the clock—three sun-white digits stared back at me. 4:00 AM. My husband was cursing under his breath outside the bedroom door.

Fatigue anchored me in place. I rolled over, ignoring him, determined to claim the rest I desperately needed. Growing a person was no easy feat, and I'd learned to steal sleep whenever I could. Humming softly, I buried my face into the pillow, letting the intoxicating pull of exhaustion take me under.

I was nearly gone when the sheet was ripped from my body.

Cold air crashed against my skin like ice water, shocking me awake. My pulse stammered in my chest, and a dull throb pulsed at my temple. Blinking against the darkness, I made out Warren's tense figure, his hands rifling through the bedding.

"Where the hell is it?" he muttered through gritted teeth, a single stray hair escaping the gel that usually kept him immaculately in place.

I pushed myself upright, voice thick with sleep. "What—what is it?"

He straightened, his laptop clutched in one hand, lifting it as if it were evidence against me. His eyes burned with accusation.

"Are you that desperate for attention that you'd try to hide my laptop?"

I frowned. "You seriously think I would do something like that? Hide your laptop?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm sure you're hiding a lot of things."

I scoffed, heat flaring in my chest. "Oh no. You don't get to say that. You don't get to point that finger. You are hiding more from me than I even know what to do with. And honestly? I don't think this is working anymore."

The exhaustion evaporated, replaced with something far more volatile. If he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

I threw off the rest of the blanket and stood, squaring up to him. "I'm tired of your shit. I'm tired of the late nights. The whispered phone calls. This is it, Warren. If you don't come clean right now, I'm gone. I mean it."

His nostrils flared. "What do I have to say for you to get it? I'm not cheating on you! I don't even have time to cheat! All I do is work—for you, for us, for the baby!"

His voice rose, rattling in the space between us. The vein at his forehead pulsed, straining like it needed release.

I let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just disgust. "Oh, so this is all for me, but you can't stand to be here with me? That's what you're saying?" I shook my head, bile rising in my throat. "Well, thanks for letting me know. Thanks for finally telling me where we stand."

I turned, heading toward the bathroom, but he grabbed my wrist before I could step away.

His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm. His voice was low and bitter. "I'd bet you'd love that, huh? For me to just let you go so you can run into the arms of someone else? Is that what this is about?" His lip curled. "You're lonely, you're tired, you're needy, and I'm the bad guy for not catering to you, what about me?"

The fury inside me went razor-sharp. The words slipped out, cold and final.

"Fuck you."

A muscle in his jaw jumped. His hand loosened and fell away. He ran a rough hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Without another word, he stormed out, the garage door slamming behind him.

I stood there, shaking, before stepping into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, hoping—praying—it could scrub away the pain and regret.

"All we do is argue."

My breath stuttered as I set my phone down on the counter, voice cracking beneath the weight of exhaustion.

"It's just a rough patch. It gets better. All couples go through this," Sierra reassured me on the other end.

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "No, it's more than that."

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off with trembling fingers. "It's like... he wants to keep me, but he doesn't want anything to do with me or the baby."

Sierra hesitated before saying, "Didn't he say he didn't want kids?"

I sighed. "Yeah, he did. But you're supposed to be on my side. It's not like I planned this either."

"I am on your side, babe. But maybe you need to sit him down. Really lay it out. Set boundaries. And if he can't meet them, then..." She exhaled. "Maybe you need to start thinking about what's best for you."

She was right. I'd already threatened to leave, but that had been fueled by rage, reckless and blind. Now? Now it felt heavier—like something real.

What would my life look like without him? Raising this baby alone?

"It's a lot to think about," I murmured. "I just... I wish he'd go back to how he was four months ago."

We said our goodbyes, and I sat in silence, staring at the water bottle in my hands.

I hadn't worked since we got married. I had a degree, but was that enough? Would I be able to find a job? Could I really do this alone?

But that wasn't what I wanted.

I didn't want to leave.

I just wanted my husband back.

When Warren came home that night, I thought about what Sierra said. Maybe a calm, rational conversation would go over better.

He sighed as he placed his briefcase down.

"I waited to have dinner with you."

There was no venom in my voice, just quiet honesty.

He rubbed a hand down his face. "I already ate."

I watched as he moved through the house, shutting the blinds like he always did, even though there was no one for miles.

I followed behind him. "I was hoping we could talk. Please."

He sighed, shoulders tight. "If this is about earlier, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled." He glanced away, jaw clenched. "I just—" He swallowed. "I'm sorry, okay?"

I searched his face, but the words felt forced, like they had to be dragged out of him.

"Thank you for apologizing," I said carefully. "But I don't want an apology, Warren. I want to talk."

He sat on the couch, and I lowered myself onto the opposite end.

"Warren, I love you. I appreciate what you do for us. I know this project means a lot to you, but... what about the next project? And the one after that? Am I supposed to endure this every time?"

He leaned back, legs spread, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. His hair—normally styled to perfection—fell into his face. He was devastatingly handsome.

"I get it, baby. I know I've been distracted. But I have to finish this. Everything has to be perfect." His voice was tight. "Once this is over, we'll never have to worry again. I promise."

I frowned. He sounded insane.

"I don't see how this project can be more important than what we already have." My voice softened. "What could possibly be worth missing all of this?"

He looked at me then, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

"Just a few more weeks."

Nothing I said would change his mind.

That night, I locked him out of our bedroom.