Chapter 9: The Kiss

I pulled the tablet out. There was no point in denying it. The device was heavy in my hands, the screen dark but the guilt radiating off it like heat.

"I found it," I whispered. "I just... I wanted to see if I could figure out the baby monitor. The app."

It was a flimsy lie, thin as tissue paper. Mark stared at me, his eyes dark pools in the dim light of the bedroom. He didn't reach for the tablet. He didn't shout. He just stood there, perfectly still, radiating a quiet, suffocating disappointment.

"You were snooping," he said.

"I wasn't snooping. It's our house. It's our data." I sat up straighter, wincing as the movement pulled at my stitches. "Why does it matter? Why are you acting like I broke into a safe?"

"Because you're not well, Elara. Because Dr. Thorne said obsession with surveillance is a symptom of your condition. Postpartum paranoia."

He took a step closer. The air in the room felt suddenly very thin.

"I saw the photo," I blurted out.

Mark stopped. "What photo?"

"The one of you and Chloe. On the beach. In Cabo."

Silence stretched between us, tight as a piano wire. Mark's face was unreadable, a mask of calm concern that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Elara," he said slowly, as if talking to a skittish animal. "Chloe and I haven't been to Cabo since we were kids. With our parents."

"This wasn't when you were kids. You were wearing the watch I bought you. The one with the blue face."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That watch is a common model. And digital photos can be glitchy. Metadata gets corrupted all the time."

"It wasn't a glitch, Mark. You were kissing her."

He looked at me then, really looked at me. His expression shifted from pity to something harder. Something cold.

"Kissing her?" he repeated. "My sister?"

"Yes."

"That's disgusting, Elara." His voice was low, laced with genuine revulsion. "That's sick. Is that what your mind is doing to you? turning my family into... into some twisted incestuous fantasy?"

He snatched the tablet from my hands. I flinched, expecting him to throw it, to smash it. But he just tapped the screen, waking it up. He swiped through the menus with practiced ease.

"Show me," he challenged. "Show me this photo."

I pointed a shaking finger at the 'Recovered_Items_01' folder.

He opened it.

It was empty.

"There's nothing here," he said, turning the screen toward me. The white void of the empty folder glared back.

"It was there! Just a second ago!"

"Elara." He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He put a hand on my knee. His palm was warm, heavy. "There was no photo. Just like there was no locked door. Just like there was no woman in the guest room two years ago."

My blood ran cold. "I didn't say anything about the guest room."

He paused. The silence was absolute. The hum of the refrigerator seemed to stop. The world narrowed down to the two of us, sitting in the dark.

"You didn't have to," he said softly. "I can see it in your face. You're looking for reasons to push us away. To push *her* away. Because you feel guilty that you can't take care of Lily yourself."

"That's not true."

"Is it?" He leaned in close. I could smell the wine on his breath, sour and rich. "You're drowning, Elara. We're just trying to keep your head above water. Why are you fighting us?"

He stood up, tucking the tablet under his arm.

"I'm taking this," he said. "For your own good. No more screens. No more paranoia. You need sleep."

He walked to the door. He didn't look back.

"Mark," I whispered.

He stopped, his hand on the frame.

"The wedding ring," I said. "In the photo. The one you said didn't exist."

He didn't turn around.

"What about it?"

"It wasn't the platinum band I gave you," I said, my voice trembling but clear. "It was gold. A thick, gold band."

Mark stood frozen in the doorway for a heartbeat. Then he stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut.

The lock clicked.

I sank back against the pillows, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He hadn't denied the ring. He hadn't said it was a glitch. He had just walked away.

I closed my eyes, picturing the photo again. The beach. The kiss. The hand on her waist.

And the ring.

I hadn't just seen a gold band. I had seen the inscription etched on the outside, caught in a flare of sunlight. It was blurry, distorted by the pixels, but I knew what it looked like. I had seen it before.

Not on Mark's finger.

In a small, velvet box in the back of his sock drawer, hidden beneath layers of wool and cotton. A box I had found six months ago while putting away laundry and never mentioned, assuming it was a keepsake from his grandfather.

The inscription wasn't a date or a name. It was a single, Latin word.

*Aeternum.*

Forever.