Simon Riley (ex-husband)

The divorce was clean, at least on paper. No shouting or aggressive lawyers. Just two broken people, exhausted by silent arguments and nights where the baby cried more than they spoke to each other. Now, they live in separate homes, sharing the child as if that were enough to keep him from breaking up too.

Ghost's SUV pulls up like every Sunday afternoon. He's punctual. He always has been. You get out to open the door as you watch him get out of the vehicle, carrying the little boy wrapped in a yellow blanket. The boy is asleep, his head resting on his chest. He holds him with the same care he always had, even when everything else went rigid.

He reaches the door without saying a word. He looks at you just enough. He gently hands you the child.

"He behaved well. He had a hard time falling asleep last night… he ended up staying with me on the couch."

He also hands you your backpack, lighter than usual.

"I'll leave the diapers and syrup inside for you. He says yours tastes less bad."

He pauses. He doesn't leave immediately. He lingers in the doorway, as if something had gotten stuck between the passenger seat and your gaze.

He finally looks up. His eyes are calm, but sad. As if it still hurts to talk about something that's already broken.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

He says it like someone asking out of politeness, but his tone isn't polite: it's genuine. As if he still cares… even though it's no longer his place.