The smoke between us

Eve-present

Sophia's whimper came through the baby monitor before the sunrise did.

I heard it first in the stillness of my own breath, that feather-light stirring that meant she wasn't crying yet just rustling, maybe dreaming, maybe wondering if the world outside her crib was worth waking up for. I lay there a moment, blanket pulled to my chin, and let my heart ache in the familiar way it did every morning. That specific kind of heaviness only a mother understands. Not exhaustion. Not fear. Just... everything.

The hallway creaked before I moved. A floorboard near the kitchen. And I knew.

Kai was up.

That knowledge felt like a needle under my skin, sharp and small and entirely inescapable. I hadn't told him where the baby monitor was, but somehow, he always beat me to it. I think he listened for her like I did every twitch, every shift, every sigh. Maybe he was trying to make up for lost time. Or maybe he just didn't sleep.

I padded down the hallway barefoot, the old floor cold under my soles. The closer I got to the kitchen, the more the smell hit me. Eggs. Toast. Over-steeped coffee. Desperation, if it had a scent.

He was humming something under his breath when I walked in. Shirtless, of course tattoos inked down his spine like ancient scripture, something angry and holy. His hair was a mess. That same midnight black mop he always raked his hands through when he was stressed. He stood over the stove, baby on one hip, spatula in the other, like he belonged here.

He didn't.

“Morning," I said, voice flat.

He didn't turn. "Hey. She was fussing. Thought I'd let you sleep."

That stung more than it should've. Because a part of metoo big a part wanted to believe he meant it. That he was doing this out of kindness. Not guilt. Not performance.

Sophia was tucked under his chin, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his dog tag necklace like she'd owned it all her life. She was in her footie pyjamas, ones I'd folded just last night. And somehow, it hurt seeing her in his arms like that. Like she hadn't missed a day of him.

Like he hadn't left.

"How long have you been up?" I asked, crossing my arms.

He finally looked at me. Brown eyes warm, but rimmed with shadows. "Couple hours. Couldn't sleep.

I almost asked if he was using again. Almost. But I didn't want to be the one to start that fight. Not yet. Not when Sophia was watching us with wide, curious eyes and a soft bubble of drool on her lip.

Instead, I walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. My chest ached in that constant, quiet way it did whenever Kai was in the room. Because I remembered. God, I remembered too much. The nights he made me laugh until I cried. The way he looked at me like I was the only girl in the world. The way he destroyed all of that with a text and a bottle and a half assed proposal to my sister.

"Did she eat?" I asked, nodding to Sophia.

"She had half a bottle," he said. "Wasn't too hungry. Just wanted someone to hold her, I think."

He turned off the burner and moved toward me, slowly, like I was a deer that might bolt. He placed Sophia gently in the high chair, brushing her soft curls off her forehead. He looked at her like she was the only good thing he'd ever done.

And I hated him for that. Because he wasn't wrong.

"Eve..." he said, voice low. "I was thinking. Maybe today... I could take her to the park. Just for an hour. You could have a break or—"

"No." I cut him off before I could stop myself. It came out harsher than I intended.

He stiffened.

"No?" he repeated.

"I'm not ready for you to take her out. Not yet."

A silence stretched between us. Heavy. Dense. Like fog before a storm.

"You still don't trust me," he said.

I didn't answer. Because what was there to say?

He rubbed a hand down his face, jaw tightening. "I'm not the same guy, Eve."

But I remembered the last time he said that. Right before he disappeared for five months. Right before he came back with hollow cheeks, glazed eyes, and apologies he couldn't even finish without slurring.

"I know who you are, Kai," I whispered. "I just don't know how many more versions of you I can survive."

He looked like I'd slapped him. And for a second, I saw it. That version of Kai that cared. The boy under the ink and bravado. The one who showed up too late and still thought he deserved a parade for it.

He turned away, muttering something I couldn't catch.

"What?”

"Nothing," he said, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee. "Aurora's coming today, right? For... whatever this is?"

"Mediation," I said.

He scoffed. "Right. Because nothing says neutral third party like your sister who wants me dead."

"Then don't give her a reason."

His laugh was bitter. "Babe, I exist. That's reason enough."

I didn't correct the babe. I should've. But I didn't.

Instead, I watched him from across the room one hand on his mug, one still shaking from whatever ghosts he fought in his sleep. And I wondered if I could survive this again.

If I could survive him again.

——————————————————

I lit a candle before she got there.

It was stupid ritualistic in a way that felt more like superstition than preparation but I always did it before Aurora came over. Sandalwood and something smoky. Something that smelled clean. Controlled. Like I could burn away the chaos before it bled into the floorboards.

Kai was pacing.

He'd been trying not to for the last twenty minutes, but every time he sat, his knee bounced like a drumbeat of dread, and eventually, he gave up pretending. His hands kept going to his pockets except they were empty. No lighter. No pills. No bottle. Just the ghost of every vice he'd shoved into himself to feel better, or feel nothing, or just...feel anything at all.

Sophia was asleep in her room . I prayed she'd stay that way.

"You don't have to stay in the room the whole time," I said softly, watching him hover by the kitchen counter like a caged animal.

He looked at me with that kind of anger that wasn't aimed at me but still landed in my chest. "I do, actually. Because I don't trust your sister not to try to crucify me the second I blink."

"She's not here to fight."

"Right." He laughed, but it was flat. "She's here to mediate. Which is apparently what we're calling character assassination now."

I didn't answer. Because part of me knew he was right.

The knock.

Three hard raps. Sharp. Decisive. It was so Aurora.

Kai exhaled like he was preparing for battle. I moved to the door before he could, wiping my hands down my jeans even though they weren't sweaty. My stomach twisted as I opened it.

She looked like she always did perfect. Imposing. Her long dark hair was braided back tight, and those piercing blue eyes scanned the hallway before landing on me.

"Hey," she said flatly. "Where's is he?"

I flinched. "Aurora-

"I'm kidding," she said dryly, brushing past me into the house. "Mostly."

Kai stood taller the second he saw her. Like instinct told him to look confident, even if he was breaking beneath it.

"Aurora," he greeted her like a dare.

"Kai." Her voice was made of glass and venom. "Still breathing, I see."

"Still bitter, I see."

She dropped her coat over the arm of the couch without looking at him. "You think you're clever. But I've known boys like you since I was twelve. Hell, you were one of them. You leave wreckage and come back with sad eyes and tattoos and expect everyone to throw a fucking welcome party."

"I didn't come for a party," Kai said. "I came for my daughter."

That silenced the room. Like a punch that didn't land on skin but knocked the air out of all of us anyway.

Aurora tilted her head. "Your daughter. Interesting. That's a funny way of saying the baby you ditched before the ink on the paternity test was even dry."

Kai stepped forward. Just one step. But I saw his jaw clench, his shoulders roll like thunder about to strike.

"Don't," I warned him.

"I'm fine," he said, too tightly.

"I can't believe you let him back in this house," Aurora said, turning her fire back on me now. "You think one clean week, one batch of scrambled eggs and a shaky voice makes him fit to be around her?"

"That's not your call," I said.

"It should be," she snapped. "Someone has to protect you when you won't do it yourself."

And there it was.

The guilt. The shame. The familiar sting of knowing my sister saw me as weak for loving someone like him. For letting him close again. Even if it was only for Sophia.

Kai spoke up before I could. "You think I don't know what I did? You think I don't hear it every time Eve won't look at me for longer than three seconds?"

"Good," Aurora said. "Then maybe we're getting somewhere."

He laughed bitterly. "You always hated me. Even before everything."

"You were a walking red flag," she said. "You were my baby sister's heartbreak waiting to happen."

Kai moved again closer to the coffee table now, where Aurora had taken a seat like a lawyer about to cross-examine.

"I didn't come here to beg," he said, his voice low. "I came here because Sophia deserves something better than a dad who only exists in stories."

"Then prove it," she snapped. "Stay sober. Show up. Be consistent. And don't run the second it gets hard again."

Kai opened his mouth but I cut in first. Quiet. Sharp.

"She's right."

He froze.

My voice trembled, but I forced it out. "You want to see her? Then be the man who doesn't disappear when she cries. Be the man who doesn't take off for months because reality's too loud. Be the man you said you were going to be."

Kai looked down at his hands. They were shaking again.

"Eve..." he said, and that was all. Just my name. Nothing more. But it sounded like a prayer. Or an apology. Or the beginning of another disaster I wasn't strong enough to walk away from yet.

Aurora stood, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve like the conversation hadn't just gutted the room.

"You want joint visits?" she said. "Then act like it."

She walked past him without another word, her heels clicking like punctuation marks against the floor.

The door slammed behind her.

And Kai just stood there.

Staring at nothing.

Breathing too fast. Like something inside him had cracked.

Like the truth was finally too loud to ignore.