Their Roommate

Episode 3: Walking Into Sunlight

And so, the very next day, I found myself standing in front of my soon-to-be ex-husband — flanked by three handsome but decidedly grumpy bodyguards who all looked like they were itching for a reason to deck him.

Thomas stood to my left, arms crossed, jaw tight, the vein in his temple twitching slightly. Daniel to my right, hands in his pockets but every line of his body coiled and ready, like a panther waiting for a signal. Edward lingered a step behind me, quiet, unreadable — but his presence was like a wall at my back, steady and dependable. I couldn’t have felt safer or more supported, even in the middle of the most awkward reunion of my life.

Marc opened the door with that same infuriating calm he’d always worn like a tailored suit. A flicker of something crossed his face when he saw me — surprise, maybe. Disappointment. Or maybe he was just shocked I hadn’t come alone, like he expected I’d still be dancing to his tune.

“Hi, Marc,” I said, keeping my voice level even though my pulse was pounding in my ears. “I just want to grab my clothes. Some personal stuff. That’s it.”

He looked past me to the guys, then back to me, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t realize you needed an entourage.”

“They volunteered,” I said smoothly. “Guess you left an impression.”

Marc’s gaze flicked to Daniel, then Edward, then lingered a little too long on Thomas, who gave him a slow, pointed smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile that said, "Try something. I dare you."

“I’m not here to fight,” I added quickly, trying to keep things from boiling over. “I just want to get in and out. No drama.”

“Sure,” Marc said, stepping aside with exaggerated politeness. “Help yourself.”

I stepped over the threshold, suddenly hyperaware of how different the house felt. It was still the same walls, same furniture, same damn rug I used to trip over every morning — but it wasn’t home anymore. It was just a place that used to mean something. The warmth was gone, like someone had shut off the power at the source.

The guys followed me in, wordless and watchful, like they were expecting him to pounce. Marc lingered near the stairs, arms folded, trying to pretend like this wasn’t completely humiliating for both of us, but his pride was cracking at the edges.

As I headed upstairs to the bedroom — our bedroom — I felt Thomas brush close behind me. “Give a shout if you need backup,” he muttered, and I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t tempt me,” I whispered back, managing the smallest smirk.

It didn’t take long to throw my things into the duffel bags I’d brought. Every drawer I opened felt like peeling back a layer of something sour — memories, half-folded notes, shirts that still smelled like him. His cologne still clung to the fabric like a ghost I couldn’t shake. I didn’t cry. Not because I wasn’t sad, but because I’d already cried enough. There were no tears left for this place, no more pieces left to break.

When I finally came back down with the last of my bags, the guys were already waiting by the door, each of them shooting Marc some version of the same unimpressed look — part boredom, part loathing. Marc stood with his hands in his pockets, but there was a slight tension in his shoulders, like he knew he’d already lost something but didn’t want to admit it.

“Thanks,” I said flatly. “For letting me get my things.”

Marc looked at me, a hint of something almost human in his eyes. “You look… different.”

I didn’t ask if he meant better. I just nodded. “Yeah. Turns out getting left behind will do that.”

I turned on my heel before he could say anything else, and walked straight into the sunlight — into Daniel’s waiting arms, into Edward’s quiet warmth, into Thomas’s crooked grin. The air outside felt lighter, like the world had been holding its breath and finally let it out.

I didn’t look back.

Not even once.

The car ride home was quiet at first, blanketed in the kind of silence that feels more comforting than empty. Edward drove, his focus steady on the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel like he was holding back from spinning the car around and finishing the job. Thomas was in the passenger seat, his foot tapping some invisible rhythm, glancing back at me every few minutes with a nervous sort of energy that didn't quite know what to do with itself.

I sat in the back with Daniel. He didn’t say anything — just pulled me gently into his side like he knew I needed it. His arm around my shoulders was solid and warm, and when I finally leaned against him, letting my head rest beneath his chin, he just held me tighter. It was the kind of hug that said, "You're safe now." The kind that felt like home.

My fingers gripped the hem of his shirt as the weight of everything started to settle on my chest — the relief, the regret, the weird disorientation of walking away from something that had shaped years of my life. I wasn’t sure what to do with it all, so I just breathed him in. His scent — soap and cedar and something distinctly him — grounded me.

“Y’know,” Thomas finally said, twisting in his seat so he could look at us, his eyes mischievous but soft around the edges, “we should stop for ice cream. Emotional recovery calories and all that.”

I let out a soft breath — not quite a laugh, but close. “Ice cream?”

“Obviously. It’s science,” he said solemnly. “Sugar heals the soul. Preferably with sprinkles. Maybe two scoops. Or three. We’re not amateurs here.”

Daniel gave a small chuckle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my arm. “Don’t argue. He’s got a minor in dessert-based therapy. It’s the only part of his degree I trust.”

Edward snorted from the front, but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “God help us all. He’s gonna make us stop at that weird shop with the neon unicorn.”

“It’s called Majestic Moo,” Thomas corrected, wounded. “And it’s a sanctuary for healing.”

I couldn’t help it — I laughed. Just a little. Just enough. And it felt like a crack in the dam, like the beginning of something not broken.

The tightness in my chest began to loosen, one silly comment at a time.

I wasn’t okay yet.

But I was getting there.

And I wasn’t alone.