Sometimes, life unravels unexpectedly, like a tapestry snagged by a finger. I'm standing in our cluttered living room, sunlight struggling to get through the chaos that has become our home. Toys are strewn about, evidence of Bianca's insatiable curiosity. Her laughter is a siren call, drawing me to moments of joy amidst the disorder.
But today, that distant laughter feels unreachable. The air is thick with irritation, a pressure building in my chest that I can't quite understand. I whirl around to face Nico, my husband, who is engrossed in his phone, a flicker of annoyance painted across his handsome features. It's not just the phone; it's everything. The dishes piled high, the laundry spilling over, and that lingering scent of dinner long forgotten.
"Why don't you ever help out?" I find myself snapping, the words escaping my lips before I can tether them.
He lifts his gaze, confusion etching deep lines into his brow. "What do you mean? I've been busy all day—"
"Busy? Doing what? Playing with your phone while the rest of this"—I gesture animatedly around our living room—"is falling apart?"
Bianca is in her playpen, a bright-eyed observer, her tiny hands grasping a rattle. She looks up at me with wide, curious eyes, her chaos-admiring innocence creating a disconnect between my anger and the reality of my little girl's world. There's a surface calm to her, a collecting stillness that contrasts sharply with the fury bubbling in my gut.
Nico stands, a flicker of hurt igniting in his dark eyes. "I didn't know you felt that way—"
"Of course, you wouldn't! You're too busy ignoring everything!" I shout, my voice rising, echoing off the walls like an alarm. I cross my arms, the center of a storm I feel powerless to quell.
Bianca's eyebrows furrow—her tiny mouth forming an 'O' as she watches the exchange unfold. I see her gaze flit between us, absorbing the tension like a sponge. I swallow hard, guilt prickling my conscience. I don't want her to remember this.
For a brief moment, silence envelops us, thick and uncomfortable. Then, with a deep breath, Nico speaks, his voice low and steady. "Y/n, I'm trying my best. I'm here, aren't I?"
"Here? What good does it do if you're not present?" The words spill out, edged with emotion I can't pin down. I regret the accusation even as it escapes my mouth, the truth tangled in my frustration.
Bianca coos softly, her innocent observation breaking the charged air around us. She reaches out, a little hand grasping for attention, oblivious to the adult conflicts surrounding her. In that moment, it hits me like a cold splash of water—my daughter, our daughter, is watching.
I feel the fire of anger simmer down as I turn my gaze from Nico to Bianca. Her gaze locks onto mine; her eyes sparkle with wonder as she tilts her head, urging me to come back to myself. The tiny rattle in her hand shakes as she giggles, completely absorbed in this world of ours, unaware of the storm brewing within.
Suddenly, I'm struck by the overwhelming realization: this isn't who I want to be. Not for her or for him. I kneel before Bianca, the harsh lines of my frustration softening as I meet her gaze. "Hey, baby," I murmur, feeling the tension dissipate like the morning mist.
Nico is quiet behind me, the heat of our argument cooling into something more amicable. I brace my hands against my knees and watch as Bianca smiles, releasing her rattle to clap her hands together, her laughter a balm to the frayed edges of my anger.
"Can you believe us, Bianca?" I say, forcing a lightness into my voice. "We're such silly parents."
With a shared breath, Nico joins me on the floor, the remnants of our earlier fight melting away like ice in the sun. We glance at each other, the hurt dissipating as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a shared understanding that this isn't the type of family we want to build.
Bianca bounces with delight, the tension from moments prior washing away. It's a gentle reminder that sometimes, when life feels overwhelming, we need to pause, ground ourselves, and remember the simple joys—like the sweet giggle of our six-month-old daughter, whose love transcends our imperfections.
And as I wrap my arms around Bianca, I'm reminded of what truly matters: the life we're building together, one joyful moment at a time.
YOU ARE READING
The Key To Living Is Love
RomanceNico di Angelo x Female Reader Smut/Lemon. If you haven't read my other book check those out because there is some info in there that I will be referencing.