Leander locked himself in his room for three days.
Fiammetta brought him food, which he barely touched. Refused to see anyone. Especially Liora and Dashiell.
Liora camped outside his door the first night, begging him to talk to her.
"Please, Leander. Please let me explain. I love you. I never meant to hurt you."
No response.
"The baby—Atlas—he still needs you. You're still going to be his father. The man who raises him. That's what matters."
Nothing.
"Leander, please. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Finally, his voice came through the door. Broken. Hollow.
"Go away, Liora. I can't—I can't do this right now."
"When can we talk?"
"I don't know. Maybe never."
Liora sank to the floor, her back against his door, and cried until she had no tears left.
Dashiell wasn't faring any better
