Leila was scrubbing the already-clean countertop when Nathan walked in.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there by the door, watching her with a gaze so heavy it pressed against her skin. She didn’t need to turn to know it was him, she’d memorized the rhythm of his silence by now.

“You should stop looking at the door like you’re waiting for him,” Nathan said quietly, his voice sharp against the hum of the refrigerator.

She froze. “I wasn’t.”

“You were,” he replied, walking in fully now. “You’ve been doing it all day.”

Leila turned, drying her hands on a towel, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. “Nathan, don’t start.”

“I can’t help it,” he snapped, then immediately softened his tone. “I’m sorry. I just—God, Leila, I’ve been holding this in for too long.”

She blinked. “Holding what in?”

Nathan looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face before it belonged to someone else. “That I’ve been in love with you for years. Before Roman. During Roman. After Roman. Hell, I was in love with you when we were just kids eating powdered sugar straight from the jar and dreaming about running a bakery on Mars.”

Leila opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wasn’t ready for this. Not now. Not when her world already felt like it was fraying at the edges.

“I waited,” Nathan continued, stepping closer. “I stayed in the shadows, hoping one day you’d look my way. And then he came in like a damn hurricane, and you… you lit up in a way I couldn’t compete with. So I stayed. I waited again. For years.”

Tears burned her eyes. “Nathan…”

“But now he’s back,” Nathan whispered. “And I see the way you look at him, and I’m terrified. I’m terrified that no matter how hard I try, no matter how long I wait, it’ll never be enough because he already had the part of you I’ve been dreaming of.”

Leila couldn’t breathe.

“I lied for you,” he said, voice cracking. “I agreed to this whole thing, to hiding the truth, to playing the part because I thought maybe, just maybe, this would finally be my shot. But I can’t lie to myself anymore.”

She turned away, heart pounding against her ribs.

“I need to know,” Nathan said softly, but firmly. “If he hadn’t come back, would you have eventually chosen me? Or have I just been the safety net you never wanted to fall into?”

Leila turned around slowly, words trapped in her throat, her emotions a mess of guilt, confusion, and unspoken grief.

Because in that moment, she didn’t know the answer.

Not yet.

“I need to know,” Nathan said again, more firmly this time. “Leila, please. Tell me. Tell me I’m not crazy for hoping.”

The desperation in his voice split something in her. She had never heard him sound like this raw, exposed, like every word coming out of his mouth was a last attempt at holding something precious together.

She took a step toward him, her eyes already stinging. “Nathan… you’re not crazy.”

Hope flickered in his eyes.

“But…” she whispered, and that hope died a little.

“I’m grateful,” she said gently, her voice thick. “For everything. For you. For how you’ve been there for me in ways I never even asked for. How you love Eli, how you show up even when you shouldn’t have to. I know I haven’t made it easy, and you’ve carried a lot more than you ever should have.”

He swallowed, his jaw tight, bracing himself.

“But I’ve only ever seen you as my friend. My anchor. My safe place,” she continued, voice cracking. “You’ve been my constant, Nathan. But not my… not my heart.”

The silence that followed was brutal.

Nathan looked like he’d just been hit. His face went pale, then red, then pale again, like the words had knocked the breath out of him.

“So he still has your heart?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know what he has,” she said honestly. “But I know what you don’t, and it’s not fair to keep pretending otherwise.”

He took a step back. “I’ve loved you for so long, Leila. I built my life around the idea that someday you might—”

“I know,” she cut in, tears slipping down her cheeks. “And I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. But I can’t lie to you anymore. You deserve someone who looks at you the way you look at me. And that person… isn’t me.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes glossy, shoulders sinking with the weight of everything she’d just taken away from him.

“Thanks for the clarity,” he said stiffly.

“Nathan—”

“I’ll still be there for Eli. That doesn’t change,” he added, turning toward the door. “But I need… space. For now.”

And with that, he walked out of the bakery and maybe, out of her heart’s shadow, leaving behind an ache she hadn’t expected.

Because even if she hadn’t loved him that way, losing someone who’d loved her like that… still hurt.

The sound of Eli’s tiny sneakers padding across the bakery tiles filled the quiet room. He stopped by the counter where Leila was organizing receipts and stared at her with a peculiar frown. The kind of frown that made her heart skip.

“Mama,” he said, tilting his head, “is Mr. Roman my daddy?”

Leila froze, one hand still gripping a paper slip. She slowly looked down into the little boy’s storm-gray eyes, those eyes that had haunted her for years. The same eyes that once belonged to a man who shattered her heart and walked away with pieces she never got back.

She crouched down to his level, smoothing back a curl from his forehead. “Why do you ask that, baby?”

“Because he looks like me,” Eli said, shrugging. “And he was staring at me real hard yesterday. Like he was trying to find something on my face.”

Leila tried to smile, but it came out tight. “Sometimes grown-ups stare when they’re confused. Or sad. Mr. Roman is just… someone from a long time ago.”

“Are you sad too?” he asked quietly.

Before she could answer, the front door chimed open, and Aunty Carmen’s voice carried into the room like sunlight after rain.

“Eli, come get your jacket. You left it in the kitchen again.”

Leila rose, grateful for the interruption. But Aunty Carmen didn’t move toward the back. She came to the front instead, her brows knitted as she watched the mother and son.

“That boy’s too sharp for his age,” she said softly, once Eli skipped off. “Asking the kind of questions that make women lose sleep.”

“I know,” Leila whispered, biting her lip. “I’ve been losing sleep for five years.”

Aunty Carmen leaned against the counter, her apron smudged with flour, her tone gentle but firm. “Leila, I’ve been with you since your grandmother passed. I wash this boy’s clothes, feed him, hold him when he’s sick. I know what’s in those eyes.”

Leila swallowed hard. “I never told you because… because I couldn’t even admit it to myself.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Carmen said. “But I hope you’re ready to tell him. Roman. Because if you’re not careful, someone else will do it for you.”

Leila glanced toward the kitchen, where Eli’s laughter rang out. “Talia already tried.”

“And she’ll try again,” Carmen warned. “Some people burn the house down just to feel the heat.”

Silence fell between them.

“You know I came to this country to clean floors, not lives,” Aunty Carmen added after a beat. “But God put me here, with you and that boy. So I’m telling you what I’d tell my daughter if she were yours; don’t let shame rob you twice. Once is already too much.”

Leila blinked back tears, her chest aching from the weight of secrets and years she couldn’t take back.

“I just… I don’t want him to hate me,” she whispered.

“Then stop giving him reasons to.” Aunty Carmen’s voice was kind, but firm. “You owe him the truth, Leila. And you owe yourself peace.”

Leila nodded slowly, the tears finally spilling, quiet and warm. It was time. Maybe not today. But soon.

Because Eli was asking questions.

And Roman would too.