You Say That It's Hard Standing Still

A near-perfect stranger had delivered a blow to Keiran's gut that was so completely correct and deserved that he couldn't even believe it. Even as he pushed the door to his flat open and stepped into he dark hall, he braced himself against the pain of it. Oliver had pinned him so instantly, so perfectly, that the ex-professor had to wonder if he wore his every emotion on his sleeve. It felt that way lately, if he were being honest.

Why hadn't he been home?

Because he didn't deserve to. He could tell that something was different in the lives of the other three people who resided within those same walls. He was drowning, but somehow they were a little less blue than usual. They were getting on and the twins were growing. And in walked Keiran Hayes, a right tosser who didn't deserve to interrupt their apparent, newfound semblance of happiness.

No, he didn't think they were normal or that things were going brilliantly. It was obvious each time he sat on the mattress and Millie didn't even try to wrap herself around him as she once had. He knew he had done something wrong - so spectacularly awful that she couldn't stand it. Otherwise why was she so cold? It had been ages since he and Melissa had actually tried to chat, and longer still since she had pushed him as she had during their first few months together. Keiran apparently wasn't what Millie had thought she wanted. She had once seemed to choose him above others, but he wasn't so blind as to be ignorant of the changes in front of him.

It didn't help, either, that he couldn't decide what to do about his new realizations. He had been chided by Oliver during their card game - not that he had let on, at the time, just how affected he was by the man's words. It was obvious to a man he had never met before that Keiran was a bad husband. A bad father. And Keiran had known for a while that he wasn't doing his best. He was sorely tempted to just march upstairs and pull Millie to him and just hold her. As if it could make things better, or different.

But it didn't seem like he would be getting that chance.

“This is surreal,” Alfie offered mischievously, wringing his arms around Millie Hayes’ waist as her hands tugged him by the collar into her home.

Having just gotten off work he was somewhat sticky and disgusting but the fierce way she smashed her lips to his explained something very clearly to him: she didn’t care. His hands immediately rose, fisting the material of her dress in his hands at her hips and he tugged her to him, his teeth absently pulling at her bottom lip questioningly, her mouth opening in response, deepening their kiss. Then, when they broke away, both no longer able to stand their breath tickling at each other’s upper lips as they dragged in air through their noses, they smiled ridiculously, their arms growing loose yet affectionate around the frames they had come to so know well.

“Good evening,” Millie laughed a little, reaching up to wipe away the lipstick that had smeared across his mouth.

Alfie’s hands lifted to do the same and for a moment they spent time fixing each other’s clothes and their faces, lingering perhaps a little too long, for it was only a distant cry that broke their stride and they both turned at once, Alfie rushing into Millie, quick to her slow. She laughed a little, grasping for his hands, guiding him to a stop. He chuckled, placing an absent kiss on the patch of skin that had been revealed to him where her dress strap had fallen. Oddly soft fingers pushed it gently back onto her shoulder and she smiled at him.

“It’s Liam,” he protested, “c’mon, Mills, let me go.”

His smile was infectious and Millie couldn’t help but relent, following after him, finding that he was here in the dead of night as surreal has he had described. When they entered the nursery, small and poky and entirely not what she had wanted but it was steadily getting more tolerable. She’d added more windows to it one day on a whim and Elijah’s paintings had gotten a new lease of life. The twins thereafter seemed much happier and Millie herself was more inclined to be in there with them instead of out with them cradled on the sofa – especially when Alfie was there.

Liam was immediately scooped up into waiting, familiar arms and his sniffles abated somewhat as he leaned into Alfie, absently lolling his head across his chest, presumably sensing that it wasn’t his mother and thus the man holding him could provide nothing but a bottle to feed him with. If anything, as that realisation crossed through him he seemed to look quite put out and his dark eyes rolled around a bit in search of Millie before settling on her, a hand extending. She came to his side immediately, cooing quietly over him, inquiring if he had slept well, and Liam tumbled into her arms of his own accord, Alfie absently making sure he was cuddled up in his blankets still before reaching for Kelly who had opened her eyes and was beginning to kick, demanding her own little portion of attention.

The four then retreated into the living room to cuddle up on the sofa. The Moses basket was nudged off of the end, bouncing to the floor and creating more room, and Alfie drew up the blankets resting his head against Millie’s shoulder. She smiled briefly, turning Liam around a bit before settling against the cushions, content to support Alfie as he slowly wormed down to lay his head against her legs. He passed a kiss to her thigh and he looked up at her briefly, a smile curling cheekily at his lips, before he reached to readjust the covers around Kelly.

“So where is he, then?” Alfie asked finally. They both knew who he was talking about, too. Millie reached over the side of the sofa and took a sticky note off of the side, slapping unceremoniously on Alfie’s forehead.

The man smirked a little and lifted it off, turning it over to read it, his brows furrowing a little, his lips pursing together in half-disbelief, half-cynical amusement.

“You are kidding,” he asked, holding the note on the tips of his fingers as he shifted to look at her. When she shook her head, he snorted, folding his eyes back to the note in thinly veiled disgust. “Bastard,” he commented.

Millie shifted a little, averting her eyes. Sensing her discomfort, Alfie threw the note away and looked at her pointedly, asking her silently, challenging her to contest what he’d just said without being technical about it. There was no illegitimacy in him, if that’s what he meant. Only, he didn’t. He meant it in the more conventional, urban term. He was an arsehole. Nothing he could say could ever quite convince her of the truth of that, though. He sighed, deciding to leave it, electing instead to switch on the Quidditch.

For a long while they were content to sit and watch the game, occasionally one getting up to get something for the twins but otherwise conversing normally, leaving behind the throwaway comment on Keiran, the absentee everything. It had become something of an expected gesture – to have the flat feel uncompromisingly cavernous. She loathed it. The emptiness as well as the flat itself. She’d always far preferred living at Bridget’s. At least there, with Elliot on hand, there would have been no need to rest on someone else. But there was every need here, now, in a home she hated, that she didn’t want to bring her children up in, waiting for the occasional periods when her husband would actually come home.

In truth, when she herself had gotten in after spending the day in the park with Baldric whom she had confided in quietly in between his excitement over seeing the babies, she didn’t come over the note at first. His response had been quiet, measured, and somewhat confused but as she tried to explain, his brow smoothed out a little, his lips kept their purse of irritation but he seemed to lose the majority of his aggravation. He wasn’t going to pretend to understand fully. He himself had never really extricated himself from Ben long enough for him to consider looking elsewhere for someone to talk to, to be with. When they had been apart, all he’d wanted was his lover. So there was no comparison. But the woeful woman before him wasn’t one he could loathe for her choices. It wasn’t her fault entirely, just as it wasn’t entirely Keiran’s. They were both so desperately in the wrong at junctures, Baldric wasn’t sure how they could be dragged back.

When, after feeding and putting the twins down to nap, she actually found the note, she was livid, a sudden flare of uncontrolled magic bursting all of the lights in the kitchen and living room. After fixing them, apologising briefly to each one, she tossed her wand onto the sofa and moved into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. It was then that she called Alfie, determined that she shouldn’t be without company. In hindsight, perhaps she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she should have left it, allowed the strange relationship they’d developed to end naturally. But, she couldn’t. She needed him. She felt sad and desperate all the time and at least when he was there she was on an even keel again – on familiar ground.

The need for Alfie to go and pick up his little sister from the party she’d gone to arose at some point around ten o’clock. He reluctantly extricated himself from the covers, settling a sleeping Kelly down on one of the pillows, and lifted himself up. He reached his arms overhead, revelling in the snap and crack of his joints, and he held his arms out for Millie who, having put Liam down also, went to him naturally, burying her head into his chest. He cradled his embrace around her, resting his chin on top of her head, and he sighed gently, both wishing that perhaps somehow it could be different.

“Can I come tomorrow?” He asked, his hands coming around her cheeks, lifting her head to look at him. He expected the ‘no’ that came. He knew as well as she did that they couldn’t carry on as they were. He was no man for her. His was not a stable life though his life seemed to stabilise hers. Money was not something he had a great luxury of having. His roof leaked, the house was cold. There was nothing he could provide for her but for himself though it always had to be in a setting that wasn’t of his own making. They were living a strange, uncompromising lie and as he looked at her, he knew it had to end. They both did.

“Oh, Millie,” he murmured, curling her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry,” he told her gently.

“Me too,” she replied, reaching up to tug his mouth down to hers. One kiss. One last kiss. Of an evening. Perhaps of their entire friendship. He responded in the same way he had done before, tugging her to him, grasping at her desperately, his hands looping up this time underneath the skirt of her dress, curling around the backs of her thighs, the tops of his palms resting at the point where her bum began to arch up into is curve. She sighed against his mouth, arching herself instinctively into him. She felt his fingers begin to pull down the zipper of her dress and she gasped, whining pitifully at him, her hand coming up to press him away. He went, too, albeit reluctantly.

“I love you,” he told her simply. For, there was nothing else to be said. Millie bit her lip and he chuckled a little, telling her to think on it before ducking out of the door, kissing her once before doing so.

Millie changed after that, taking the opportunity to shower and clean herself thoroughly while the twins were sleeping before changing into her nighty. She fed the twins once more after and put them down for good, knowing she’d probably have to drag herself out of bed in the early hours but content to do so because she was feeling somewhat buoyant. Despite the evening not ending as she had hoped – though really, what had she hoped would happen? – she was content. So she settled on the sofa once more, turning off all of the lights apart from the lamp beside her and she dragged a book into her blanket covered lap, determined to finish it before the night ended.

An hour or so later, whilst Millie was in the midst of making a cup of hot chocolate for herself, she heard the door jostle open. A hesitant peek out of the kitchen confirmed who she already knew it was. She slunk hesitantly back into the kitchen, picking up her spoon, focusing on the hot chocolate, her other hand reaching into the back of mini marshmallows for a couple to eat while she waited. She was determined to keep her peace, as ever, but it was exhausting to do so. She was so desperate for him to stand up and take notice of her that she’d actually stopped trying to make him.

She poured two cups of hot chocolate, though, liberally scattering the marshmallows and nutmeg across the top.

Millie stepped into the living room, nudging the kitchen light off with her elbow and turning on the main living room one. She stood there for a moment, feeling altogether completely ridiculous. She eyed the blankets and her book and the half-eaten bar of chocolate she’d been nibbling on while reading. She bit her lip, glancing over at Keiran briefly before moving to the coffee table, setting the two mugs down. She looked at him again, unable to quite find the words, fearing that if she did speak, it would all come out like a torrent and she’d be unable to stop it.

“Did you have a good evening?” She forced out, clambering back into her nest, cuddling the blankets back around her, lifting the book back into her lap. “Thanks so much for all your help by the way,” she added before she could stop herself. “You know, raising our children and all that rubbish. You’ve made a great contribution of absolutely fuck all. So thanks for that.”

Oops.

Keiran's eyes followed the cocoa warily, trying to determine what, exactly, his wife was still doing up. She had long since stopped waiting for him, so either something had changed, or Kerian was about to be had after. He wasn't sure if either were appealing options; he had nearly forgotten what it meant to be close to Millie in anything besides where he sat or stood.

For a ridiculous, short moment, Keiran considered the idea that the second drink was actually there to mock him. As if Millie was going to snatch it away, he hesitantly made his way into the living room, eyes darting from the mug to settle on her face.

"Well, no, I-"

He'd been ready to say he had some sense knocked into him. That the evening had actually given him a look at himself. That he was later than he wanted to be because Darren refused to use magic considering the law, and Keiran had agreed to side-along the student home.

But Millie had continued and the aggression had put him on guard. No way was he taking that chocolate now. It felt almost like a trap - that his taking it up meant giving into whatever the hell she was after - and Keiran didn't know what that was or if he wanted it.

It took several moments for Keiran to come up with any reply for her words, but when he did, they came out cold and detached. "Right, well... If you want to go off for a night, yourself, you're more than welcome. Just be warned that poker makes you miserable. Even when you win."

Which he hadn't. But that wasn't the point. He hadn't bet anything, really, though that would hardly have been a concern. The thought crossed his mind briefly, upon looking around, that he really should have been living somewhere else by normal standards. He had the ability and the family of four and all the rest. A part of him wondered why they hadn't moved, where the rest knew full well why he hadn't suggested it after that first time, months ago.

If they were going to get a new start, they had to both want to be there.

Keiran wasn't interested in buying a nice new home for them to move to, when Millie would just be as distant as she was now, and he wouldn't feel right trying to draw her back in. Provider or not.

"Did you need anything? Because I might just head up. Say G'night to the twins and all."

He was fairly convinced that they would be sleeping already, but he had felt the words escape. It was as if his own subconscious was reminding him that he needed to work harder when it came to those kids. That he needed to get himself sorted so they didn't grow up to hate him. It was a shame, though, that their mum seemed to already do so, herself.

Nothing. From that she got nothing. There was part of Millie that wondered whether she’d been right in letting Alfie leave. There was a part of her that was seriously wondering after what Keiran would have done if he’d walked in and they’d just been there. Would he have said anything? She sincerely doubted it now. In fact, she was mortally offended that he didn’t rise to her temper, that he remained cool and collected – ever Slytherin, she supposed bitterly.

She knew that now she could scream at him until she was blue in the face. She wanted to hurl the hot chocolate at him when he suggested she go out for an evening. As though that all made it better. As though somehow in doing that she’d be even with him and therefore, somehow, they’d muster being civil to each other – or, well, perhaps warm. Civil was what they did now. But it didn’t. Drinks with Gisele and Cordella and Baldric couldn’t make up for the cold she felt deep within herself.

“It’s not difficult to win,” she returned under her breath, a faint image of herself not four years ago flashing through her mind. The dingy backroom of the corner pub was her favourite and she’d always enjoyed poker. It was a smoky den fragranced by menthol tobacco and whisky. She’d loved it in there, a cigarette between her lips, faint curl to their sides. A bandana had been wrapped around her hair that had grown intolerably curly in the heat of the room. She couldn’t remember why but she remembered who she’d been with. The thought of Stephen sent a flash of hurt through her that was entirely her own but only served to capitulate and add to her already simmering despair and anger.

“And besides that, I’m not saying I want to go out and get pissed.” She sucked back a little, closing her eyes briefly, trying in vain to control herself. She could hear the flaming banshee mother in her voice. She could feel Lavender’s irresponsible, ridiculous screaming waiting to happen. There was none of the calm, collected Seamus in her now. No, Keiran took that role. And it killed her. But was she saying, anyway? She hadn’t a clue.

“Is that it then?” She exclaimed, tossing her book across to the other end of the sofa. She got up, furiously throwing the blankets away from herself. She tugged down the end of her nighty, hating the way this one rode up, and scowled at him openly. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

But of course, it was. And therein lay the reason why she had rested so heavily on Alfie. She bit her lip, inclining her head stubbornly. She had no stuffing left. Not for this fight, really, however much she wanted it. She wanted to go somewhere, to storm out, yes, and perhaps, indeed, get drunk. However, there would be no solace in it. Even if Keiran did follow it would be to take her home in his cold, stoic manner to prevent her from hurting herself which, in truth, was a likely outcome – one that Elliot knew well. But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want any of it, not really. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she knew what she wanted really.

And he wanted to go, too. He wanted to avoid her. Avoid the fight. She wanted to do the latter, really, but her heart cracked a little bit as she perceived the former. This was her husband and for all of the stupid things they both did she loved him but for some reason, it didn’t seem to sink in and she was feeling his need for duty, to do right by her – something she’d always hated – but none of the love. They’d lost their easiness of manner weeks – if not months – ago. Something had gone wrong somewhere along the line and she was sure it had something to do with their children, albeit it wasn’t their fault, they were perhaps merely a catalyst. Speeding the inevitable up.

“I got an ‘A’ on my Lit essay by the way,” she snapped, throwing her arms across her chest, folding them petulantly.

She felt pathetic, ridiculous even. She felt sick with anger and all of the other frivolous feelings she didn’t deserve to harbour. She shouldn’t have harboured any of it. She just wanted him to notice her. Being provocative had always been her way of doing it. With her parents she caused trouble to get a rise from them. With Keiran, she’d always inserted herself, dragging him off to do this and that but she’d lost the drive to do that. She hated the school. The place that had let him hide.

“I spent fifty galleons on a pair of shoes,” she threw out – a lie, technically, because it wasn’t shoes it was multiple pairs but all the same, she’d still done it. “And a hundred on broomstick maintenance.” They didn’t even use the brooms. Baldric had enjoyed the cash injection, though, all the same. Somehow though, she knew that he wouldn’t really care much for a list of what she’d done with the money he toiled over. It would just reaffirm he was doing a good job. It wasn’t that he wasn’t, so to speak but it wasn’t what she wanted, clearly.

“Tomorrow I’ll blow the lot if it means I’ll get a reaction out of you Keiran,” she shouted at him, throwing her hands up in the air. “For goodness sake, do you not even give a toss anymore? Is this it now – is it going to be like this forever?”

"Spectacular."

The word fell, the pride barely concealed. Keiran wasn't sure he had a right to such things anymore, when she hadn't even mentioned the essay to begin with. Perhaps she had been waiting - saving up any blow to his chest that she could manage.

As if she just knew that he wouldn't be able to contend with her complaints, Millie continued to toss them at him, leaving Keiran wondering what she wanted from him.

"I don't understand. You want me to be angry about... Money? Millie, I've told you. We don't have to worry about that." Shaking his head, Keiran leaned against the archway that would lead up the stairs if he chose to take them. Something told him that it wouldn't be wise to do so, however, so he remained.

"Tell me what's wrong. Millie. Whatever it is, it's not money, and it's not just me going out. You know that as well as I do. Just say it."

Did he want to find out? Keiran want sure. But it had to be better than whatever this was. Because he had clearly done something different that day to push her over like this. "What did I do? I mean, I know stuff is... Messed up right now, but you're acting strange."

Pitifully, she deflated a little, her eyes widening imperceptibly at the sides, fixing him with a begging look. But there was nothing there to take from him. So she dropped her gaze, tossing it away by spying a dust bunny peeking out from under the sofa. She made a mental note to clean underneath in the morning, to chase the little things out of the flat. It gave an inconsequential squeak before retreating back underneath the sofa and Millie dropped herself onto it, pulling her book down, straightening the pages that had been blown askew when she’d thrown it.

“I want you to do something,” she muttered balefully. “I don’t know. I want you to care and not just stand there and reply to me. I don’t want to talk to you at all if that’s it. I want to feel like we’re actually married – not just putting up with each other because I am so sick of feeling lonely and I am so sick of standing by you when I have, really, no incentive for doing so anymore, Keiran.”

It was a small truth. She didn’t have an incentive. What she also had and failed to add was an option outside of the marriage that was stagnating, making her feel trapped. But she could leave. She knew that. But she didn’t want to. She was desperate to stay with him because she adored him however when he stood there, questioning her so emotionlessly, she couldn’t see the man that she loved but some façade masquerading as Keiran.

“I love you.” She told him, her voice thick and convoluted with emotion. “And I don’t want to have to carry on with anyone else anymore because I’m lonely and because I can’t deal with two children on my own. I had an affair Keiran. Well, I don’t know. It wasn’t really real I mean.. there wasn’t any real funny business but I..” she pursed her lips. “I’m desperate, Keiran and I’m lonely and I’m weak and I need someone to care about me and I feel like you don’t. That’s why. So what I’ve done is bad and I am sorry but for goodness sake, all I want is for you to give a toss about me. Please. Just don’t… stop trying to hide from me.”

The air flew out of him faster than he thought it possible, even given his history of Quidditch accidents and verbal attacks from others. Now, though, others extended to include his wife, and Keiran wasn't actually sure what to do. His arms, which he had unconsciously crossed in front of his chest, fell at her words.

She had -

Missie had -

Right. Okay. That didn't explain all of it, but Keiran couldn't deny that he had noticed a change somehow, even if he had never known what it was. Turning his head, he stared - unseeing - at the other side of the archway. He should be furious. Some part of him burned with the scalding heat of betrayal and anger, but it wasn't directed at Millie. It wasn't even directed at whoever the other guy was.

"Okay..." He started finally, nodding slowly as the wall came back into focus, the lining no longer blurred before him. "That's - yeah. I mean... I understand. I get it."

Sucking in a breath he stood straighter, no longer leaning against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor as he nodded more firmly. It made some sense. Especially considering what he had confessed earlier that evening to the people Keiran had hoped to befriend. He would certainly need them now. For the first time in months, he wanted the Ivanovs to come bursting through the door and just forgive him. Well, that wasn't totally true. He always wanted that. But for the first time, he was willing to make the first move towards fixing it. Keiran want convinced that Robin would actually feel any sympathy for him, though.

Running his tongue over the front of his top teeth, Keiran refused to let himself say anything stupid. Not this time. Instead, he just set his gaze on Millie and watched her, not even trying to hide he disappointment. He didn't hate her, by any means. He didn't feel true betrayal. He just wished she would have done something about him rather than having done something with someone else.

"It's okay. I get it."

She had wanted him to shout. She had wanted him to show something. She had wanted him to hit her even, when she was thinking at her most wildest, if it meant that he would have shown emotion. Yet, at that thought she grew sick to her stomach for she knew that was one thing he’d never do and one thing she’d never want him to do. Yet, he was calm. He was so utterly, painfully calm that she wondered why she’d even bothered to tell him when she knew in her heart of hearts that he would have been stoic and unresponsive. If they hadn’t been the way they were, perhaps he would’ve been angry but at the same time, if they hadn’t been the way they were she wouldn’t have needed someone else, would she?

Millie dropped her face into her hands, rubbing her fingers across her brows desperately, wondering what she had really thought he would do. She sighed heavily, bringing one hand to rub across her neck. Somehow, inexplicably, they’d made children. Yet, how were they supposed to raise them if they couldn’t get along, if they didn’t lean on each other and if, stood across the room from each other they couldn’t even bear to look at each other. She didn’t want to be in the same room as him now she’d said it, shame glittered across her face. And that was the point in time when she knew that it was all so wrong. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to be with him. Why had it gotten like this?

“No, it’s not okay, is it?” She complained sorrowfully. “Because I never should’ve done it.”

Sex hadn’t happened, either. What terrified her was the fact that she had grown emotionally invested. She had considered going with Alfie when he asked but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She still loved Keiran and it was that conflict of interest that scared her. She could have done with sex. Because it would have meant nothing but Alfie had filled the hole that never should have been there and she had grown to depend on him as a partner, as someone who could help and be there for her emotionally. It was that investment that had qualified it as infidelity and it had led to other things, unavoidable things. She hadn’t wanted it. She’d wanted Keiran. But where had he been?

“Are you hungry?” She asked, getting up.

Millie moved instinctively into the kitchen, needing to do something with her hands. She robotically made her way around the kitchen, pulling a fresh loaf of bread she’d bought down the shop from the cupboard before taking cream cheese, leftover beef and some horse radish dip. She then dropped four pieces of bread on the chopping board laid out from earlier and took a knife from the drawer. She took solace in the familiar rhythm of making sandwiches. Once they were done she cut them into diamonds, watching as the liberally spread dip she’d put in it spurted out of the middle. She took two plates out of the cupboard and a bowl for a bag of cheese and onion chips to go into. Then, she had nothing else to do. So she poured herself a drink.

Millie drank hungrily from the grass, the red wine disappearing down her throat and she topped it up again, watching as it sloshed into the glass. Rinse and repeat. She picked up a pinch of the crisps and crunched them a little between her fingers before tossing them into her mouth, washing them down with a mouthful of wine. She rested herself against the corner of the counters, her arms wrapped around herself, one hand grasping the glass as though it was the only thing grounding her in the room.

“Is that it then?” She asked darkly. “It’s just ‘okay’ is it? You actually have nothing to say to me. Do you even care?”

"But it did happen." Keiran retorted unhelpfully. He didn't intend to snap. He had intended to accept his lot and move on. But she changed the subject and left him glowering at the spot she had abandoned by the couch.

His feet moved of their own accord, carrying him along behind her. It wasn't until she started knocking back her drink that he found that part of him once more: the sad, accepting side that he shouldn't have let in. But of course he would, with her.

"What do you want me to say? I mean, what could I do about it? Say I'll kill him if I ever find out who it was? I wouldn't, even if I met him. Even if I want to - which I kind of do. But I couldn't, Millie. Not really. Because you wanted him. You chose him."

And that's what it came down to. She could have had after Keiran. Could have told him her problems long ago, when he first started. Could have made him promise not to be there at all hours. It wasn't all on her, certainly. But she didn't have to go to someone else. Didn't have to replace him and make that man part of her family, to whatever extent it was. She didn't have to choose someone else over him.

A hand reached out, taking up the sandwich and eying it as he considered his next words. He had two options as he saw it: be furious and hurt her, or let her do as she wished and risk her being upset with him instead.

He chose the latter.

"You chose him and I can't make you undo that. I can't keep you from loving someone else. Nobody can manage who someone else loves. So yes. It's okay. You did what the Ministry required of you, and at the time I was the best option. But now you have a new choice and I can't stop you from making it."

He couldn't stop her loving this other man, just as he couldn't stop himself from loving her. So what choice did he have, really, besides letting her do what she wanted?

The cool wine slid down her throat again and she abandoned the glass roughly on the side. She didn’t want the food. She’d made it for the sake of doing something. She poured more into the glass, dropping the bottle with a light bang back onto the countertop. She pushed herself away, the Dutch courage rumbling through her and she thrust her hand against his shoulder, pushing at him.

“I want you to give a damn, Keiran!” She exclaimed. “Yes, I want you say you’ll kill him. Yes, I want you to shout at me. Shake me. Do something. Anything. Why do you want to just stand there and take it? Why? Assert yourself, for god’s sake. This is your bloody territory. I’m your wife. You’re not bothered, though! Do you even care? Would you even give a toss if I turned around and said we had sex in our bed or on the dining table or something? Would you just say ‘oh, okay’ and nod and go to bed? Would you? Huh?”

She pushed him again, her eyes blazing with anger. She was lying to him, of course, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t care. She just couldn’t get her head around it. If she was in his position she would have been livid. She would have tried in vain to get back that passion. She would’ve done anything. She would have gone crazy, demanded that he let her explain exactly why he was with her in the first place in many different ways before the night was over. But instead, in this moment, they just stood there.

Millie stole back from him when he spoke, retracting her hand as though his skin had burned her. She stared at him, disbelief clawing its way through her and she stepped back, shaking her head fiercely, unable to properly articulate herself. Was that it then? He wanted her to go? He was accepting it because she had elected to go so he had to respect that? Was that it?

“Piss off, Keiran. Don’t you think that if I wanted to go then I would’ve? That I would have just packed up the twins and gone? If I wanted to go, I would have gone the minute I decided but I don’t want to. I love you. Don’t you understand? But I was so … I thought that you weren’t… that you didn’t want anything to do with me and I can’t. I can’t be alone. I was lonely. I needed someone. And I didn’t shag him. I just needed… I need someone to be there, Keiran because you were never home. You are never home. And we need you. But where have you been? This whole time? I don’t love him. I love you. I care for him but you’re my husband. You. Are. My. Husband. Do you not want me to be your wife?”