Chapter 4

The drive home from the picnic was silent. Lily had cried herself to sleep in her car seat, her face puffy and tear-streaked. My own emotions were a frozen block of fury and despair. When we got home, Mark wasn' t there. He didn' t come home that night.

The next morning, I was packing a bag for myself and Lily when he finally walked in. He looked exhausted, and for the first time, genuinely remorseful.

"Ava, please don't go," he said, blocking the bedroom door.

I didn't look at him. "Move, Mark."

"No. We need to talk. What I did yesterday... it was inexcusable. I was a coward. I panicked."

He reached out and gently took the clothes from my hands, setting them on the bed. He guided me to sit down, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice raw. "I hurt you, and I hurt Lily. There's no excuse for it."

He explained that seeing Scarlett at a company event threw him. He said she had a way of making him feel trapped by their shared past, and his default reaction was to placate her. He admitted that speaking French with her and Daisy was a stupid, selfish act meant to create a buffer, and he had no defense for lashing out at Lily.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "I'm asking for one more chance to prove that I can be the man you married. The father Lily deserves."

I looked at his face, at the desperation in his eyes, and my resolve wavered. Was this another performance? Or was this the real Mark, finally waking up to what he was about to lose? Lily adored him. The thought of taking her away from her father permanently was a pain all its own.

"One chance," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "But Mark, this is it. There are no more."

For the next few weeks, it was like a dream. Mark transformed. He started coming home from work at six o't clock every evening. He put his phone on silent during dinner. He didn't just attend Lily's parent-teacher conference, he asked intelligent questions and charmed her teacher.

He took us to the park, pushing Lily on the swings until she was dizzy with laughter. He sat with her for hours, patiently trying to learn how to draw, his clumsy attempts at sketching our dog making Lily giggle uncontrollably. He would look at me over her head, a hopeful, questioning look in his eyes.

One Saturday, he announced we were going on a weekend camping trip, just the three of us. It was something I had wanted to do for years, but he had always claimed to hate the outdoors.

We drove to a state park a few hours from the city. As I started to unpack the tent, struggling with the poles, he came over and took them from me.

"Let me," he said with a small smile. "I watched a dozen videos on how to do this."

He worked diligently, and soon our small tent was standing firm. While he started a fire, I sat with Lily by the lake, watching her skip stones across the quiet water. Mark came and sat beside us, putting his arm around my shoulders. It felt natural, comfortable. For the first time in a long time, I relaxed.

That evening, as we roasted marshmallows over the fire, a figure emerged from the neighboring campsite. It was Scarlett. My whole body tensed.

She walked towards us, a practiced, friendly smile on her face. "Mark! Fancy seeing you here! What a coincidence."

Before I could even react, Mark stood up, positioning himself between Scarlett and our campfire.

"Scarlett," he said, his voice polite but firm. "This is a private family trip. Please respect our privacy."

She looked taken aback, her smile faltering. "Oh. I was just being friendly."

"I appreciate that," Mark said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But we're trying to have some family time. Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her and sat back down beside me, picking up his marshmallow stick as if nothing had happened. He didn't look at her again. Scarlett stood there for a moment, stunned, before turning and walking back to her own campsite.

I stared at Mark, a wave of relief so powerful it almost made me dizzy. He had chosen us. He had drawn a line, clearly and definitively.

He caught my eye and gave me a small, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

"I told you," he whispered, so only I could hear. "Things will be different."

That night, tucked into the tent with Lily sleeping soundly between us, I listened to the crickets and the crackle of the dying fire. I felt a flicker of hope ignite in the darkness of my heart. Maybe he had meant it. Maybe we could find our way back. Maybe this time, his promises weren't hollow after all. I let myself believe it was possible.

---