Chapter 3 — Echoes of Betrayal
Axarii
The house was wrapped in a cocoon of quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after Reyna and Cole drifted into sleep. Their tiny chests rose and fell in rhythmic dreams, and the faint hum of the ceiling fan in their room was the only sound that lingered in the air. Axarii moved softly down the hallway, her socked feet making no sound against the warm wooden floors. In her hands, she carried a steaming mug of chamomile tea, the faint floral aroma weaving through the dim light like a fragile thread of calm.
But calm was impossible. Her mind replayed the scene at the café in relentless loops—Oliver, standing there as if time hadn’t passed, as if their lives hadn’t splintered apart. His voice, the way it carried hesitation wrapped in determination, unsettled her. It had been five long years since she’d rebuilt her life brick by brick, but his sudden reappearance sent cracks through the foundation she had so painstakingly constructed.
She entered her bedroom, where the soft lamplight cast a warm glow over the cedar chest in the corner. Its smooth wooden lid gleamed faintly, a sentinel guarding the shards of the past she had locked away. The sight of it pulled at her, a quiet, persistent ache that refused to be ignored. She set the mug down on her bedside table, her hands lingering around its warmth before letting go.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the chest, her breath catching. For years, she had managed to leave it untouched. Its contents were a Pandora’s box of memories—too heavy to confront, too precious to destroy. And yet, tonight, with her emotions frayed and raw, it called to her. She didn’t want to open it. She didn’t want to see. But the weight of Oliver’s presence demanded something—action, acknowledgment, anything to keep her from drowning in the tide of unresolved feelings.
Her feet carried her closer, hesitant but inevitable, until she stood before it. The faint scent of lavender and cedar drifted up, warm and familiar, stirring something deep within her. Her fingers brushed against the lid, trembling slightly. A part of her whispered to walk away, to close her bedroom door and leave it all locked away. But her mother’s voice, steady and resolute, echoed in her mind: *“Never forget your strength.”*
Axarii inhaled and, with a soft creak, lifted the lid. The scent grew stronger, comforting and bittersweet. Her breath hitched as her eyes fell on the neatly arranged contents—photographs, letters, and small trinkets, their edges softened by time but their meanings sharp as ever. Each item was a fragment of a life she thought she had left behind but had carried with her all along.
Her gaze landed on a photograph sitting near the top. She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the glossy surface as she lifted it toward the light. The image had faded slightly, but its warmth was unmistakable. She and Oliver sat on a blanket at the park, surrounded by autumn’s crisp embrace. Reyna and Cole, barely toddlers then, toddled in front of them, their laughter frozen mid-motion. Oliver’s arm draped over her shoulders, and his face was turned toward her, caught mid-laugh—a moment of pure, unguarded joy.
Her thumb traced the edges of the photograph, her chest tightening as a familiar ache crept in. It wasn’t longing—not exactly. It was something tangled, something caught between grief for what had been and anger for what had been lost. The memory of that day surfaced with startling clarity: the crunch of leaves beneath the blanket, the warmth of Oliver’s gaze, the unshakable illusion that they were untouchable.
But illusions shatter. The ache gave way to a sharper pain as another memory surged forward—one she had tried to bury, but that refused to stay hidden.
*
It had been late. The twins were upstairs, tucked in bed, while the quiet hum of the house wrapped around Axarii like a blanket. She sat at the kitchen table, her laptop casting a faint glow as she worked on a design project, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but her focus unrelenting. Music played softly in the background, steadying her.
The sound of the front door closing pulled her from her concentration. She looked up to see Oliver entering the kitchen, his movements careful and weighted. Something about him was off. His usual composure was missing, replaced by a tightness in his shoulders and a hesitation in his step.
“We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Her fingers paused over the keyboard, her body tensing at the tone. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice cautious.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he raked a hand through his hair, his breath uneven. “Are you… Are you seeing someone else?” he finally asked, his tone clipped.
The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Axarii froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What?” she whispered, disbelief bleeding into her voice.
Oliver’s expression hardened, his vulnerability retreating behind a mask of suspicion. “Are you cheating on me?” he asked, louder this time, his voice tinged with something raw—fear, anger, and something almost pleading.
Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood abruptly, her chest tightening. “How could you even *ask* that?” she demanded, her voice trembling with equal parts fury and hurt. “How could you—”
He cut her off, reaching into his bag and pulling out a folder. Its contents spilled onto the table: photographs, emails, printed pages that seemed like evidence but felt like betrayal. The images showed her sitting with a client, laughing, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. The emails, though professional, now looked painstakingly dissected for incrimination.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she said, her voice sharp, her hands trembling as she pushed the papers aside. “He’s a client, Oliver. This was work.”
Oliver took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. “Then explain it,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less strained. “Because it doesn’t look like work.”
The room felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing against her. “I don’t need to explain anything,” she said, her voice breaking. “You should trust me.”
But he didn’t. His silence said it all.
The chasm between them grew in that moment, wide and unrelenting, swallowing everything they had built. Axarii could see it in his eyes—the doubt, the mistrust—and it broke something inside her she hadn’t even realized could still be broken.
*
The present crashed over her, snapping her back to the room. Axarii’s breath was shallow, her hands clutching the photograph so tightly that its edges bit into her skin. The memory of Oliver’s mistrust, his failure to believe in her, was a wound that had never truly healed. It had scarred, yes, but the pain lingered beneath, raw and waiting.
She set the photograph aside, her hands brushing deeper into the chest. Beneath the photos were letters—fragments of a love that once felt unshakable. She couldn’t bring herself to read them tonight. Not after the café. Not after the way his voice had stirred something tentative and unsteady within her.
Her fingers touched something cold. She pulled out a small trinket box and opened it. Inside sat a keychain with a tiny, engraved house. She stared at it, her breath catching. “A symbol of our forever,” Oliver had said with a boyish grin the day they bought their first home. The memory sent a sharp pang through her chest. She snapped the lid shut and placed it back in the chest, her hands trembling.
She lowered the lid of the chest gently, pressing her palm against the smooth wood. The scent of cedar lingered in the air, but it no longer felt comforting. It felt heavy, suffocating.
Returning to the bed, she slid under the covers, clutching the pendant around her neck. Its cool metal anchored her, her mother’s words whispering in her mind once more: *“Never forget your strength.”* She stared at the ceiling, shadows flickering faintly in the lamplight.
*What did strength mean now?* She thought of Reyna’s endless hope, of Cole’s quiet, searching eyes. They deserved stability, not uncertainty. She had built this life for them, and she would protect it fiercely.
But as she clutched the pendant, another thought surfaced, unbidden: *Could strength also mean facing the past, even if it terrified her? Could it mean letting him in, even just a little?*
The answer remained elusive. For now, Axarii closed her eyes, but she knew sleep would not come easily. Not tonight. Not yet.
