Going Home (Selah)

[Dorian Innes]

It was late, nearing two in the morning, and Dorian knew it was reckless, brazen, perhaps even stupid to appear uninvited and unannounced, yet he couldn’t wait any longer. Once he had finished with the dance and ensured the students were safely back in their dorms, he left Hogwarts immediately. Seeing Selah tonight, after so long, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise. He could only hope she felt the same, or at least that he wasn’t unwelcome. Even if she was asleep, he had no choice; if he didn’t come tonight, he would lose his nerve entirely.

Dorian Apparated onto the doorstep with a soft pop and lingered there for a long moment, staring at the door without moving. With a heavy sigh, he pulled a cigarette from the packet he kept in his pocket just in case; he had hoped he’d quit by now. He had cut back significantly, but tonight his hands shook too much for restraint. He didn’t love that the smoke would cling to him, and part of him wished he had a flask of whisky instead, but this addiction was the lesser of two evils.

Lighting the cigarette, Dorian drew in long, slow drags, letting the smoke fill his lungs and steady the tremor in his chest before exhaling sharply. When he finished, he dropped the stub to the ground, tamped it out with his boot, and then vanished it entirely. Bracing himself for what he needed to do, Dorian raised his hand and knocked on the door, every second stretching, every heartbeat pounding in his ears, fully aware that the moment she answered that there would be no turning back.

[Selah Innes]

She'd returned home, stripped out of her best dress, showered and put on her comfy clothes before settling into the couch downstairs to rot. Out of everything that had happened the last thing she'd expected was Dorian actually speaking to her, Selah hadn't been prepared for that. But of course duty had called and their conversation had been cut painfully short which felt fitting anymore. Everything had been painful as of late and she'd just learned to bear it, move on and keep going regardless of how badly she'd wanted to collapse into the pain.

Cailleach chirped from her perch softly, she'd been trying more as of late to converse in her own way with Selah and she knew it but it just wasn't the same. The silence had been eating at her more and more especially since she'd been offered that position Stateside. Was she really considering it? It certainly couldn't be worse than living with ghosts like she was now. She had no idea how long she'd just sat there curled into herself beneath a quilt before the clock chimed an hour far later than it should have and she dragged herself upstairs to bed.

Their bed.

Selah hadn't wanted to change the sheets or wash it or anything since Nigel had brought him home that one night completely sloshed out of his mind, she couldn't fault the man neither was in their right mind. He just brought his friend home, where he thought he belonged. Where Selah wanted him to belong but Dorian thought otherwise and she couldn't convince him differently especially when he didn't want to talk to her, but he had talked to her tonight though hadn't he? Even for just a few sentences?

She had of course because otherwise her mind would have actually driven her mad. Climbing into her side she settled in and closed her eyes, feeling that now all too familiar cold settled around her; the lack of warmth that came from being there alone. Sleep was surface level, she didn't dream anymore so when that knock came at the door she heard it clearly and her lashes lifted immediately glancing at the time. Climbing from the bed she threw on her robe and made her way downstairs wondering what emergency would be waiting now before she unlocked the door and pulled it open, "Can I…" Her words died when she saw who was standing there and Selah swallowed hard, "... Dorian?"

[Dorian Innes]

The door opened, and Dorian’s breath caught before he could stop it.

Selah looked nothing like she had at the dance, and somehow that made it worse. There was no careful composure now, just her, in her comfortable clothes and a robe, like he’d seen her a hundred times before. The sight of it pulled him somewhere he hadn’t let himself go in a long time: evenings spent here, slow mornings, a life that had once felt easy. For a fleeting second, it almost felt natural to step forward, to walk inside like he belonged there, like he was coming home from work and nothing between them had ever broken.

But it had.

“…Dorian?”

“Yeah,” he answered, a little hoarse, his throat tight, crowded with everything else he could have said. I’m sorry it’s so late. You look beautiful. I shouldn’t have come like this. I’ve missed you. Did I wake you? The words pressed forward, one over the other, but none of them made it past his lips.

Dorian hesitated, just for a second, caught between saying too much and not enough, before settling on the only thing he could manage. “Can I come in?”

[Selah Innes]

For a moment, Selah just stared at him.

Not because she didn’t understand the question but because there was something about the way he stood there that unraveled her completely. The hesitation, the roughness in his voice, the way he looked at her like stepping over that threshold meant more than just crossing a doorway. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood there.

But it was the first time it felt like he didn’t know if he was allowed to. Her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the door, grounding herself as a hundred thoughts rushed through her at once. How many nights had she imagined this? Him showing up. Choosing her. Saying something anything that meant he hadn’t let go.

And now he was here. Not polished, not guarded like at the ball; but real. Uncertain. Trying. Her throat tightened, and for a second she was afraid if she spoke too quickly, her voice might betray her. But she didn’t make him wait long. She never could. “…You don’t have to ask that,” she said softly.

The words weren’t sharp, not accusatory; just quiet, honest. Because to her, he had never stopped belonging there, no matter how far he’d pulled away. Selah stepped back, opening the door wider for him, her hand lingering on it as if she needed that small anchor to keep herself steady. “Of course you can come in.”

Her gaze flickered over him then, taking him in properly; like she hadn’t had the chance to at the ball. There was something different now. Not just the exhaustion she’d seen before, but something heavier… something resolved, maybe. Or at least trying to be.

She swallowed gently, closing the door behind him once he stepped inside, the quiet of the house settling around them like it always used to. For a moment, she didn’t move any closer, even though every instinct in her begged her to. Instead, she turned to face him fully, hands coming together loosely in front of her; not clenched this time, just… held.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. Not I hoped. Not I waited. Just the truth he could handle. A small pause. “…Is everything alright?”

[Dorian Innes]

As touched as he was by her assertion that he didn't need to ask to come in, the instinct to argue rose immediately. Whatever claim Dorian had once had to this house, he had surrendered it the day he walked out and stayed gone. But the words died before they reached his tongue. He had come here hoping to make things right, or at least begin trying, and starting an argument over a kindness she had offered freely seemed like the worst possible way to begin.

The familiarity of the house hit him immediately as he stepped inside. Part of him wanted to kick off his boots by the door and drape his robes over the bannister without a second thought, the way he had done countless times before. The other part couldn't shake the feeling that he was a guest standing in someone else's home. In the end, he settled for something in between. He untied his boots and set them neatly beside the door before hanging up his robes with a care he would never have bothered with in the past.

Dorian glanced back at Selah as she asked if everything was alright. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant. Did she mean Hogwarts? The reason he had rushed away?

Or did she mean him?

The answer to that question was considerably more complicated.

"Sure," he said anyway, with all the conviction of a poorly constructed lie.

His gaze dropped away from hers almost immediately. It wasn't even an answer, and they both knew it. Why was this so difficult?

His gaze drifted through the house as he moved farther inside. It looked much the same as he remembered, albeit cleaner without the clutter he used to leave behind wherever he went. Crossing to the living room, Dorian lowered himself onto the couch, only to realize a second too late that he had chosen his usual spot. The realization that Selah's usual place was right beside him twisted something painfully in his chest.

His first instinct was to stand again, to move to one of the armchairs and spare them both the awkwardness of pretending things were normal. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Leaving that space empty felt worse somehow, like admitting he no longer belonged there. Would she remain standing, or choose another seat? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but he found himself waiting for it all the same, his heart thrumming painfully in his chest.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath his palm, and finally looked up again. His eyes flicked toward the clock before returning to her standing there in her robe and nightclothes. Fuck. It was late. He was a right bastard for showing up on her doorstep at this hour with no real emergency other than his own failing nerve. He swallowed the self-directed anger before it could leak into his expression, shaping his voice into something quieter, gentler than what he felt. "Did I wake you?"

[Selah Innes]

The question caught her off guard. Not because of what he asked, but because of how normal it was. After months of silence, after everything that had happened between them, Dorian had shown up at two in the morning looking like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the first thing he asked was if he'd woken her. Selah stared at him for a moment before something small and sad tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No, not really…" she admitted.

The answer felt insignificant compared to everything else hanging in the room. She watched him sitting there in his spot on the couch, shoulders tense, looking simultaneously familiar and strangely out of place. For a second she remained standing, uncertainty rooting her to the floor. Then, before she could overthink it, she crossed the room and lowered herself onto the cushion beside him. Not too close. Not far away either. The space between them felt measured in inches and months all at once.

"It's not like I'm missing much by being awake anyway." Her fingers toyed absently with the sleeve of her robe. That much was true. Most nights she slept lightly now. Some nights she barely slept at all. The silence settled again, quieter this time, and Selah found herself studying him from the corner of her eye. The stubble. The exhaustion. The way he kept rubbing at his jaw when something was bothering him.

The way he looked like he hadn't been taking care of himself. A familiar ache bloomed in her chest. "You know," she said softly, "this is still your home too, Dorian." Her gaze lifted fully to his then. "I mean it isn't as if anything is written in stone yet." There was no accusation in it. No anger. Just truth. And maybe a little hope.

Her throat tightened. "Dorian..." The sound of his name came out quieter than she'd intended. Her eyes searched his face. "Are you alright?" A pause. Then, because she'd spent months wishing he would finally let her in instead of shutting another door between them, she asked the question she thought he had really come here to answer. "Did something happen tonight?"

[Dorian Innes]

It seemed like Selah was going to remain standing, and then — Dorian let out a breath as she crossed the room and sat down beside him. Not too close, but close enough. For a moment, all he could think about was reaching for her, letting her settle against him with her head on his chest while he ran a hand through her hair. Instead, he stayed perfectly still, his knuckles whitening where his hands rested as he forced himself not to move.

At her offhand mention of not sleeping much, Dorian stole a glance at her. He had noticed at the ball, but hearing it spoken made it settle differently. For a brief moment, something pained flickered in his eyes before he looked away again. It was easier that way. Looking at her made it harder to ignore what he already knew, and harder still to separate it from himself. His attention stayed fixed somewhere ahead instead and he said nothing in response.

Silence settled between them. Dorian could tell she was watching him, even without looking; just from the small shift in how she was positioned beside him, attention clearly on him without needing to say it. Perhaps it was because he knew her so well, or perhaps it was training, but either way, he didn’t meet her gaze. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her again; each second she sat beside him, Dorian felt his restraint thinning, his control harder to maintain.

Selah spoke again, telling him it was still his home and that nothing was written in stone yet, and Dorian gave no indication that he'd heard her. His expression remained blank, unreadable. Only the words themselves lingered, turning over in his mind. Yet. The single word caught and refused to leave. Was she trying to tell him there was still a choice to be made? Trying to open the conversation he had avoided for months? Or was she simply offering him a place to stay, a kindness without expectations attached to it? Dorian sat with it for a long moment, face still, eyes unfocused ahead, before giving a small, delayed nod that didn’t commit to anything beyond acknowledgement.

When she asked if he was alright, Dorian didn’t answer, holding back the automatic response that he was fine when neither of them would have believed it. When she followed with whether something had happened tonight, Dorian finally reacted. “No, no—tonight was business as usual,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion, but steady, as if to make clear there was nothing in that regard she needed to worry about. Something had happened at Hogwarts, certainly, but it wasn’t his story to tell, and none of it was the reason he had Apparated onto her doorstep in the middle of the night.

Dorian shifted on the couch, then scrubbed a hand back through his hair and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at the floor. His hand moved without him really thinking about it, fingers brushing briefly at his wedding band before stilling there. After a moment, he looked at Selah, properly looked, for the first time since she’d sat down.
It wasn’t a long look. He didn’t let it become one. But for a moment, the distance in his expression faltered before he forced it back into place. It held only for a fraction of a second, then he dropped his gaze again just as quickly, jaw tightening as if the act of looking had cost him something.

“But I’m—” His voice cracked. Deep and rough as it always was, but breaking suddenly into something close to a sob before he could stop it. The sound startled him more than anything else, like it didn’t belong to him at all. He cut himself off immediately, as if stopping the words could undo it.

A pause.

“Selah… do you want something written in stone?” he asked quietly, returning to her earlier words because the alternative was harder to say out loud.

[Selah Innes]

The question settled between them. Not because she didn't understand it. Because she did. Selah's gaze dropped immediately to where his hand rested against his wedding band. The sight of it made something ache in her chest. He still wore it. After everything. After months. He still wore it. Then again so did she.

For a moment she couldn't find her voice. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant ticking of the clock and the sound of her own heartbeat thudding painfully against her ribs. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "No." The answer came easily.

Too easily. Selah looked down at her own hands folded in her lap, "I don't." Her thumb rubbed absently across the gold band she wore, a habit she'd never quite managed to break. A faint laugh escaped her, though there wasn't much humor in it. "If I'm being honest, I thought agreeing to the separation would do the opposite."

Her throat tightened. "I thought maybe if you had some space you'd figure things out. That you'd cool off and eventually..." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "Talk." Actually talk. Not fight. Not pretend everything was fine afterward. Not keep circling the same hurt until it swallowed them both.

Her eyes lifted back to him. "I didn't agree because I wanted our marriage to end…" The words were steady despite how much they hurt, "...I agreed because I didn't know what else to do." There it was. The truth she'd never really said out loud. Selah studied his profile for a moment before continuing. "I spent months wondering if you'd already made your decision."

Her voice softened. "Wondering if one day I'd just come home to papers." The thought still stung. She swallowed. "But that is not what I want, Dorian." It never was and Selah was hard pressed to keep the knot in her own throat at bay. The distinction mattered. Her gaze lingered on him, taking in the exhaustion he wore like a second skin. The sadness. The fear.

The man she loved. "I want my husband back." The admission came quietly. No anger. No accusations. Just honesty. A small pause followed.Then, more gently, "But only if he wants to come back and be my husband." Her eyes searched his face. For the first time since opening the door, Selah shifted slightly closer. Not enough to touch him, not yet even though she desperately wanted too. She missed him but close enough that the distance felt less impossible. "Why are you here, Dorian?"

[Dorian Innes]

Relief came first, quiet enough that Dorian almost didn’t recognize it. Selah didn’t want a divorce; she hadn’t spent the last few months waiting for the marriage to end any more than he had. The knot that had lived in his chest for months eased, only to tighten again almost immediately when she said she wanted her husband back.

She thought she wanted him back, but she didn’t know everything. She remembered the man he’d been before he left, and even then he hadn’t been a good husband. Closed off. Defensive. Quicker to argue than to listen. Better at pretending everything was fine than admitting when it wasn’t. Leaving hadn’t changed any of that. If anything, Dorian was worse now, and the thought of telling her made him feel physically sick. She was sitting beside him asking for that man back. Would she still want him once she knew who he had become?

A long breath escaped him as Dorian leaned back against the couch, letting his head rest there for a moment and closing his eyes as he took in everything she had said. He was tired in a way that sat deep in his bones. Tired of night shifts and sleepless nights, of secrets that seemed to grow heavier with every passing day, of standing at every turn and seeing only paths that ended in loss, with him hurting the woman sitting beside him, and hurting himself.

When Selah asked why he was there, Dorian’s first instinct was still there, immediate and familiar, to snap back that she had just told him it was still his home. The kind of answer that turned a question into an argument and let him step away from what was actually being asked. For a moment, he simply stayed like that, leaning back, eyes closed, as if too tired to decide whether to follow it or not. Then it passed. Whether that meant he was changing his ways or simply too worn down to fall back into old habits, he couldn’t have said.

Dorian finally opened his eyes and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, shoulders settling into something more present, more deliberate. His gaze found hers. “I’m here because…” His voice was quiet, roughened by exhaustion. He swallowed once. “After seeing you at the dance tonight… I couldn’t stay away any longer.” It was the truth, even if it wasn’t quite the answer she’d been asking for.

The clock broke the silence, its deep chime carrying through the house. Once. Twice. Two o’clock. A weekday. Dorian’s eyes lifted toward it before returning to Selah. She would have work in a few hours, and so would he. They could sit here until sunrise and it still wouldn’t be enough time to unravel the months - years, if he was being honest. He let out another long, weary breath.

“It’s late,” he said quietly. “And this… this isn’t something we fix in one conversation. Coming here doesn’t mean I’ve figured anything out. I wasn’t a good husband before I left, Selah.” His eyes dropped briefly to the ring on his finger. “I don’t think I’m a better one now.” A muscle tightened in his jaw as he continued. “There are things you don’t know yet. Things I have to tell you.” He swallowed, the admission sitting heavily in his throat. “And I don’t know what happens after you hear them.”

[Selah Innes]

The room seemed to shrink around them. She heard everything he said. That seeing her tonight had brought him here. That he hadn't figured everything out. That he hadn't been a good husband. She wanted to argue with that last part. To tell him he wasn't giving himself enough credit. That yes, they'd struggled, they'd fought, but there had been so much good too. The words never came. Because then he said there were things she didn't know. Things he had to tell her. Things that might change everything.

Selah felt her stomach drop. Her fingers instinctively curled tighter around the sleeve of her robe as a thousand possibilities crashed through her mind all at once. Had he gotten himself into trouble? Was he sick? Had something happened at work? Or…

The thought arrived uninvited. Brutal. Her chest tightened so sharply she almost couldn't breathe. Months apart. Months of loneliness. Months where she'd lain awake in their bed wondering if he was warm enough, if he'd eaten, if he was sleeping any better than she was. Months where she'd never once looked at another man because, separated or not, she was still his wife. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

No.

She didn't know why her mind had gone there. Maybe because she couldn't imagine what else could possibly make him believe she wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe because fear had a way of filling silence with monsters. She swallowed hard, forcing herself back into the room. Back to him. Dorian looked exhausted. Not guilty. Not defensive. Terrified.

Slowly, almost cautiously, Selah reached across the small distance between them and rested her hand over his where it still lay near his wedding band. She gave him every chance to pull away. When he didn't, her thumb brushed lightly across his knuckles. "You've been carrying this by yourself." It wasn't really a question. She could see it. Hear it. Feel it in the way every word seemed to cost him something.

Her own voice was quieter now. "You don't have to protect me from the truth." Even as she said it, her heart hammered so violently she wondered if he could hear it. Because she wasn't sure she believed herself. Not completely. She was frightened. More frightened than she'd been in months. Her eyes searched his, desperately trying to find some answer before he gave one. "Dorian..."

She drew a slow, unsteady breath. "Whatever it is..." Another pause. "...just tell me… please don't let me imagine something worse." It was the closest she could come to admitting where her mind had gone without forcing words into his mouth. Without accusing him. Without asking the question she was suddenly terrified to hear answered. "I'd rather hear it from you."

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian waited. The silence stretched between them, painful, but deserved. How many times had Selah been left waiting for him to answer, waiting for him to say what he was actually thinking instead of shutting down? If she needed this moment before hearing the truth, he owed her that much.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Dorian forced himself to look at her. He watched the emotions move across her features, the confusion and dread and the desperate attempt to understand what could possibly be so terrible that he believed she might not want him anymore. His chest tightened painfully seeing the woman he loved prepare herself for something that would hurt her because of him.

Then she reached for him. Her hand settled gently over his where it rested near his wedding band, giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Instead, a quiet sound escaped him, something caught between a breath and a sob, before he could stop it. Dorian wanted to turn his hand over and hold hers, to hold onto the fact that Selah was still choosing to be close to him even knowing there was something coming. But she shouldn’t be the one comforting him—not with what he was about to tell her, not when he was the reason she was bracing herself for pain. So he stayed still, letting her hand remain over his, caught between needing the comfort and feeling like he had no right to accept it.

For a moment, Dorian just looked at their hands before forcing himself to think about where to begin. The truth went back years, maybe even longer, and there was no honest way to explain everything without starting there. But that was not what she needed from him right now. She needed to know the thing he believed might make her look at him differently.

”We can sit here all night and talk through it, if that’s what you want,” he began quietly. ”I’ll do that. But it still won’t be enough time.” His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles before stilling again. ”I can get some time off over Christmas...” He didn’t tell her that he had actually volunteered to work through the holidays because the thought of being alone had felt unbearable. But the castle would be quieter then, and he could find a way to get out of his commitment. ”But tomorrow… and the next day… it will be difficult to get away.” The students would be out of classes, moving through the castle without the usual structure and supervision of their professors. Then there was the Hogwarts Express, making sure they got safely back to London. Responsibilities he couldn’t simply ignore. ”But I would do it. If that’s what you need, I’ll find a way.” He didn’t know how. He didn’t know what arrangements he would have to make or what he would have to sacrifice. But none of that felt as important as sitting here with her.

Dorian held her gaze, forcing himself not to retreat into the silence he had spent months hiding behind. ”I need to start at the beginning for any of this to… make sense. But I’m not going to make you sit here wondering what it is I have to tell you. I’ll tell you now. And whatever questions you have, I’ll answer them.”

He fell quiet again, and for a moment his mind went to all the things he could say. The loneliness. The drinking. The way he had been falling apart long before that night. All of it was true. All of it mattered. But none of it changed the fact that he had made a choice. He wasn’t going to lead with the reasons, not when they could so easily sound like an attempt to make what happened easier to forgive. If Selah wanted to know why, he would tell her. He wouldn’t hide anything from her. But he would not offer an explanation before giving her the truth.

”While we were apart…” He began, his voice tight, but he did not look away. “I was with someone. I kissed her, we kissed. I stopped it before…” He paused, the familiar phrase catching in his throat. Before it got too far. But that wasn’t true; it had already gone too far. Being that close to someone else had already crossed a line. ”I stopped it,” he corrected quietly. ”But it happened.” His fingers tightened slightly beneath hers, bracing himself for the moment she pulled away, his expression breaking in a way he could no longer hide. ”I’m so sorry, Selah. I am so, so sorry.”

[Selah Innes]

For a moment, Selah forgot how to breathe. The words reached her ears. They simply refused to make sense.

I was with someone. I kissed her.

Everything else dissolved into a dull roar somewhere beyond the walls of the house. Her hand instinctively withdrew from his. Not because she wanted to punish him. Because it felt as though she'd touched something that had suddenly become too hot to bear. The movement was small. Barely a few inches.

She folded both hands tightly together in her lap instead, fingers lacing so firmly together they almost hurt. The sting behind her eyes came without warning. She blinked once. Twice. No. Not here. Not yet. Her breathing had become shallow enough that she forced herself to inhale slowly through her nose before letting it back out again.

She could fall apart later. She would probably fall apart later. But not while he was finally doing the one thing she'd begged him to do for years. Tell her the truth. Silence settled between them. Long enough that the ticking clock became deafening. When Selah finally spoke, her voice was remarkably even. Quieter than before.

"Dorian..." She paused, gathering the words carefully. "I want you to think..." Another breath. "Really think..." Only then did she lift her eyes back to his. "...about what I'm about to ask you before you answer." There was no accusation in her expression.

No anger. Only an aching seriousness. "Whatever your first instinct is... whatever answer immediately comes to mind..." She gave a small shake of her head. "...that isn't the answer I'm asking for." She let the words settle between them. She knew him. Knew how quickly he'd defend himself.

How easily he'd answer the surface of a question while never touching what lay underneath it. Not this time. This time she wanted him to stop. To think. To really think. Only then did she ask, her voice barely above a whisper. "...Why did you stop it?" Nothing more.

She didn't ask who the woman was. She didn't ask how long it had lasted. She didn't ask whether he had feelings for her. She didn't even ask whether he'd thought about her while it happened. Instead, Selah simply held his gaze. Waiting. Because somewhere inside that answer she thought was the answer to so many other questions they'd both been avoiding.

[Dorian Innes]

Selah didn't raise her voice. She didn't tell him to get out, or throw her ring at him. She didn't even cry. To anyone else, she might have looked composed, remarkably so, given what he had just confessed, but Dorian had known her for too long and loved her for too many years not to see what lay beneath that careful control.

He saw it in the way her hands withdrew and folded tightly together in her lap, in the deliberate rhythm of her breathing, in the way she held herself just a little too rigidly, as though relaxing even slightly might be enough for everything she was holding back to finally break through. Selah was holding on by a thread.

He could have handled anger, shouting, and accusations. But this quiet, fragile composure hurt more, because it meant she was forcing herself to stay present through something that was breaking her heart, still trying to understand him even when he was the one who had caused her pain.

Selah's hand leaving his stung more than Dorian expected, even though he had been bracing himself for that moment from the second the words had left his mouth. His first instinct was to pull his own hand back as well, to make it seem as though they had both let go at the same time, because that was what he had always done—turn moments of rejection into something mutual, something he could pretend he had chosen before it had been taken from him. It was easier to tell himself he had stepped away than to admit someone else had.

But he didn't move. His hand remained where it was, open and still on his lap, not reaching for her and not asking her to comfort him after what he had just done, but not retreating either. If Selah chose to close that distance again, the opportunity would still be there.

Dorian had expected questions the moment he confessed. Who was she? When did it happen? Where had it happened? Why did he do it? Did he have feelings for her? Had he wanted to leave Selah for someone else? He had spent weeks imagining every possible version of this conversation, preparing himself for the anger and the hurt and the difficult questions he knew he deserved to answer.

Instead, Selah asked him something else entirely. She asked why he had stopped.

Dorian sat with the question for a long moment, searching himself as honestly as he could, refusing to reach for the explanations that might make what he had done easier to understand. There were reasons. There were circumstances. There were things he could tell her about where his mind had been and how far he had fallen. But none of those things changed what happened.

When he finally looked back at her, there was no hesitation left. "Because she wasn't you." The words were quiet, but they did not waver. "I didn't suddenly realize what I was doing was wrong," he clarified, his throat tightening as he forced himself to continue. "I knew it was wrong before it ever happened. I knew it was wrong while it was happening." His gaze never left hers. "I stopped because she wasn't who I wanted. I wanted you. I only want you."

[Selah Innes]

The words hit her harder than the confession ever had.

I only want you.

Something inside her finally gave way. A shaky breath escaped before she could stop it, and suddenly holding everything together felt impossible. Her eyes closed. Just for a moment. When they opened again, they shimmered with tears she'd spent months refusing to let anyone see. "You don't get to say that..." she whispered. There was no venom in it. No accusation. Only heartbreak.

"You don't get to say that like it's always been true." A tear slipped free despite her best efforts. She brushed it away impatiently, another taking its place before she could stop it. "For months..." Her voice wavered. "...for months you made me believe the exact opposite." She laughed once. It was a broken sound.

"I kept trying to figure out what I'd done." Her gaze dropped to her wedding ring. "What I could've said differently. What I should've done differently…" Her words cracked and it took her a moment to find her voice again beyond the knot in her throat. "What was so wrong with me that my husband walked out and never looked back." Her fingers curled tightly together.

"And I couldn't find an answer." She swallowed hard, forcing the knot in her throat back down as best she could, while the tears still slipped down her cheeks. "I just kept coming back to one conclusion." Her voice was barely audible. "...that you didn't want me anymore." Silence settled again. Not an angry silence. A grieving one.

"When Zǔfù died..." The words caught. That day haunted her because it still hurt worse than just about anything she'd ever felt. Her grandfather had always been the only one who ever cared about her, who ever supported her and loved her. And suddenly looking through the paper with her coffee one morning and there it was in the obituaries. They hadn't even bothered to tell her in person and she'd missed his memorial and funeral service. She looked away.

"I found out because I saw it in the newspaper." Her throat tightened painfully. "They didn't even let me say goodbye." More tears slipped down her cheeks. "I called you." She remembered every second. Every ring. Every ounce of hope. "I called because..." Her voice cracked harder and she had to swallow before she could continue. "...because I'd just found out my grandfather had died and I needed my husband." Her breathing faltered. "And before I could even explain..." She looked back at him. "...you told me to stop."

"'We're separated.'"

She repeated the words exactly as she'd heard them. Quietly. Because she'd heard them enough times in her own head already. "I don't think you ever knew what that did to me." She drew another slow breath trying once more to rein it in and failing. "Our anniversary..." A sad smile touched her lips for only a second. "I went to the Leaky. I sat there for hours. Told myself maybe you'd remember. Maybe you'd walk through the door. Maybe we'd just... talk."

Her smile disappeared. "You never came." Another silence. "I kept waiting: for a letter, for you to call, for you to come home." Selah felt like she was barely breathing between words but they wouldn't stop coming. "For... anything." Her shoulders trembled despite every effort to steady them. "And every day that passed..." She forced herself to pause for a moment, trying to breath more unconsciously, wiping away tears that still hadn't stopped.

"...this house got quieter. It got emptier." The days and nights had bled into one another, if it hadn't been for going to work she'd have lost track of time entirely. The kids had kept her sane, helping the ones who needed her. But coming home to the empty house hurt a little more each time she did. "I started talking to Cailleach because there wasn't anyone else here." A watery laugh escaped her.

"I even considered taking the offer of a job in America, thought if you didn't want me anymore what did it matter where I was." Not because she wanted to. Because nothing here felt alive anymore. She looked at him then, tears streaking down her cheeks unchecked. Really looked at him, for the first time letting him see what his choices had cost her; physically, emotionally and mentally.

"So when you tell me..." Her voice broke again. "...that you only wanted me..." She shook her head slowly. "I believe that's what you feel now. I do." A long pause as she tried her level best to reel her emotions back in. "But Dorian..." Saying his name hurt, after so many nights of crying it into her pillow.

More tears rolled freely now. "...you have to understand...for months...you made me mourn someone who was still alive." She wasn't looking at the man who had kissed another woman anymore. She was looking at the man she'd loved through a war. The man she'd built a home with. The man she'd never stopped waiting for. "I never stopped loving you."

Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I just stopped believing you loved me back."

[Dorian Innes]

Dorian tried not to interrupt her, though fuck, it took more effort than he thought he had left in him. His jaw ached from the way he held it clenched, the muscle jumping every time another sentence landed, while his hands stayed planted on his knees with such force that his knuckles had long since turned white.

More than once he felt words rise instinctively into his throat—an apology, a denial, some desperate attempt to tell her she was wrong—but he forced every one of them back down. Selah had spent so long trying to make him understand what she was feeling, trying to reach him while he shut her out, and now that she was finally telling him exactly what his silence had cost her, he couldn't take that moment from her.

But when she told him she had found out about her grandfather's death in the newspaper, the words struck somewhere deeper. This wasn't about the damage he had done to their marriage. It was about the fact that, in one of the worst moments of her life, Selah had reached for her husband, and he had turned her away. Until then, Dorian had thought about their separation as though it had existed in isolation, never stopping to consider that life had kept happening while he was gone. She had suffered, needed him, reached for him, and he had known nothing about it. How much had he missed?

For a moment, Dorian closed his eyes, a slow, unsteady breath escaping him. For the first time since she had begun speaking, he couldn't stay completely silent. "Selah..." His voice was rough. "I'm so sorry about your grandfather." His eyes dropped briefly, his hand tightening against his knee. "I'm sorry you had to find out that way. I'm sorry you had to go through that by yourself."

He wanted to tell her that if he had known, he would have been there, that she never should have had to face something like that without him. But those words rang hollow. Dorian hadn't been there. He hadn't even given her the chance to tell him what had happened. Swallowing hard, he forced himself back into silence and let her continue.

The next memory she shared hit him just as hard. She had sat alone in the Leaky Cauldron on their anniversary, waiting for him to come, and something inside him twisted painfully. He could picture her sitting there, still hoping he would walk through the door, while he already knew something she didn't—that days earlier he had betrayed her. It wasn't that he hadn't known he was hurting her; he had. But hearing the moments themselves—the times she had been waiting, hoping, reaching for him while he continued to keep his distance—made him finally understand the depth of what his choices had taken from her.

His chest tightened with every word, every instinct telling him to reach for her and apologize for every moment she had faced alone. But he stayed silent, letting her finish, because she had spent so long trying to reach him, and he owed her the chance to finally be heard. By the time she fell silent, there was nothing left for him to misunderstand. She had come to believe that her husband had stopped choosing her, and the fact that his actions had made her feel that way was something he could no longer ignore.

"I fucked up," he said quietly, after a brief hesitation, the admission coming without any attempt to soften it because there wasn't another honest way to begin. "I know that. I handled every part of this wrong, and I don't want what I'm about to say to sound like I'm trying to excuse any of it, because I'm not. I made the choices I made, and I have to live with them. But..." His voice caught for just a second before he forced himself onward. "I don't think I could live with you believing that any of this happened because I stopped loving you... or because I stopped wanting you."

He paused, his gaze drifting briefly toward his hands as he thought back to the beginning, searching for the right place to start because the truth was that this had not begun with one mistake—it had been building for years. There were things he could trace back further, things he should have handled differently long before they reached this point, but if he was going to explain how they had ended up here, he needed to start with the moment everything had begun to unravel: the day he walked away.

"When I left...I was..." He rubbed absentmindedly at his jaw, searching for the words. "Fuck, Selah... you know what I was like back then. I was angry all the time, and I didn't know how not to be. Every conversation seemed to turn into an argument, every bad day somehow became your problem, and I hated myself for the way I was treating you. I honestly believed that if I walked away for a while, if I gave myself enough time to sort my head out without dragging you through it with me, then eventually I'd come home and I'd be... better."

A humourless smile flickered across his face before disappearing almost immediately. "But I didn't get better. I just kept waiting to become someone worth coming home as, and the longer I stayed away, the harder it became to admit that I wasn't there yet. Every time you reached out, every time you tried to contact me..." He shook his head, frustrated with himself, not wanting his words to sound like he was putting any of this on her.

"The truth is... somewhere along the way, I started believing that the longer I stayed away, the more you'd realize your life was better without me in it. That you didn't have to wonder what mood I'd come home in, or walk on eggshells around me anymore. Maybe you'd meet someone who treated you the way I should have, or maybe you wouldn't, but either way I thought you'd eventually realize you deserved better than what I'd given you. So every time you reached out, I became convinced it was going to end with you telling me you'd had enough."

The worst part was that he had started filtering every attempt she made to reach him through that belief. Even when Selah was kind, even when there was nothing in her words that suggested she was preparing to leave, he couldn't let himself believe that she still wanted him. He knew her well enough to know that if she ever reached the point where she was done, she wouldn't hurt him intentionally. She would be gentle. She would try to make it easier for him. And because of that, he had convinced himself that even her kindness was not proof that she was staying, but proof that she was already letting him go. "So I kept pushing you away, because somehow I thought that if I never gave you the chance to say it... then maybe it couldn't become real."

The words sat between them for a long moment before another painful realization settled over him. "I knew about the job offer in America," he admitted quietly. "I came home one night in November." His eyes closed briefly as he tried to piece together the memory. "I don't remember much of that night. I was... " He stopped, the shame of it crossing his face, but he didn't elaborate. The details weren't the part that mattered.

"When I woke up the next morning, you still weren't home, and I found the letter." His fingers tightened slightly against his knee. "I thought it was proof." When he looked back at her, there was nothing left in his expression but regret. "I thought you'd decided to move on. I thought you were leaving because you didn't want me anymore." He shook his head slowly, almost unable to believe how wrong he had been. "It never crossed my mind that you were leaving because I'd already made you believe I didn't want you." His voice dropped. "I thought I was watching you move on from me, when really... I was the reason you felt like you had to."

He drew another unsteady breath. "I should have come home then. I should have tried to stop you from taking the job. I should have fought for us." His voice grew quieter with each admission. "But I didn't, because I still believed that you deserved better than the man I'd become, and if you could have found a happier life in America, then who the hell was I to ask you to give that up for me?"

Dorian lowered his eyes for a moment, a dozen other thoughts crowding forward. Believe I'm a coward. Believe I'm selfish. Believe I'm a bastard. Believe whatever you need to believe about me, because I know I deserve it. He swallowed every one of them, but there was only one thing he couldn't leave unsaid. "So please... don't let yourself believe that any of this happened because I didn't love you... or because I didn't want you." His voice wavered despite himself. "I love you, Selah. I always have. And I always will."