Nick had thought the results would bring peace, but they hadn’t. It had been two days since the email confirmed what logic should have told him all along that Mason and Maire were his. His children, his blood, his legacy. Every line of the report had shouted it at him with certainty, and yet, instead of dissolving the weight that had been crushing his chest, it only seemed to have pressed harder. Because relief wasn’t the only thing the test had brought. It had also brought guilt and worry, immense worry.

The clinic had sent over the DNA test results in paper, and he had hidden them. Still unsure if he should confess what he had done to Noel. If she would somehow find it before he told her. And worse, underneath the guilt and the fear, some sliver of mistrust still lingered. Like smoke after a fire, refusing to clear, staining everything it touched.

He caught himself studying Mason’s face too often, searching for traces of himself as though the test hadn’t already proved it. He found himself watching Noel with a sharpness that startled him, was her laugh too light with others? He hated himself for it, he didn't know why he couldn't just accept what the test results had shown him, but he couldn't stop.

Noel noticed his change in attitude; of course, she did. She was far too perceptive not to.

"You’ve been strange lately," she said one evening as they cleared the dinner table. Her voice was gentle but edged with worry.

"Restless, distracted. I know you said the deadlines were getting to you before, but are you sure it's just work?" she asked.

Nick forced a smile, shaking his head.

"Of course, that's all it is", he said reassuringly.

But the lie came too quickly, too easily, and Noel had been married to him for far too long not to see that but yet she said nothing.

***

It was a Saturday morning when everything came apart. Nick had been careless. Maybe he was too tired, but he had left his laptop open in the study. The email was still on the screen. He had meant to delete it, to erase the evidence of his betrayal, but the weight of work had distracted him. He was in the garage when Noel found it.

"Nick!" Her voice carried through the house, sharper than usual, tight with something he didn’t recognise.

He froze, a coil of dread tightening in his gut. Wiping his hands on a rag, he stepped into the hallway. Noel stood at the doorway of his study, her face pale, her hand gripping the edge of the desk as though she needed it to stay upright.

"What is this?" She asked, pointing at his laptop, her voice low, trembling.

Nick’s heart dropped. Her eyes darted back to the screen, then to him.

"You… you tested the children?"

"Noel...", he started forward, but she held up a hand, stopping him cold.

"Don’t", she said sharply, her voice cracking. "Don’t you dare"

Nick swallowed hard, shame burning his throat.

"I just... I needed to be sure..."

"Sure of what?" Her voice rose slightly, the heartbreak in it cutting deeper than if she had actually shouted.

"That I’m a liar? That our children aren’t yours? That I’ve spent years deceiving you?"

Nick winced.

"It wasn’t like that. I..."

Noel laughed, bitter and sharp.

"It wasn’t like that? Nick, you took pieces of them, of our babies, and sent them away- mere samples. As if their love for you, as if my love, needed proof stamped on some piece of paper"

Nick’s mouth opened, then closed again. What could he say? That Bella’s comment had lodged in him like a splinter? That every time he looked at Mason, he heard Joe’s name? That the doubt had eaten at him until he couldn’t breathe?

"I was scared", he said finally, his voice breaking. "Scared of losing what we have. Scared that everything I’ve built, everything we’ve built, wasn’t real, scared that it was founded on lies and if it was that it would all crumble to the ground"

Noel’s eyes filled with tears, but they were hard, angry tears.

"And instead of trusting me, you chose suspicion. Instead of talking to me, you chose to betray me?!" she yelled at him.

Her words struck him like blows. He reached for her, desperately, but she stepped back.

"I have stood by you through everything, Nick. Through your long nights at the firm, through your father’s illness, through your endless drive for perfection. I have given up dreams, ambitions, parts of myself - because I believed in this family. And this is how you repay me? With a test?"

"Noel, please...", he tried to plead, but she shook her head, tears spilling over now.

"I can forgive many things, Nick. But I can’t forgive not being trusted. Not by you"

The children appeared in the hallway then, Mason’s eyes wide with confusion, Maire clutching her doll.

"Mom!" Mason called softly. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

Noel swiped at her cheeks then looked up at them, forcing a steadier voice, she spoke:

"Pack a bag, Mason, you too, Maire"

Nick’s chest seized. "Noel, don’t..."

She turned on him, fire in her gaze.

"You’ve already broken this, broken me, Nick. I won’t let you break them too"

Mason hesitated.

"Are we going somewhere?" he asked.

“Yes, we’re going to Nana and Papa’s for a while", Noel said firmly, crouching to meet his eyes.

Mason looked between his parents, sensing that something was wrong even if he didn’t understand it. He nodded slowly, leading Maire upstairs.

Nick’s hands shook as he spoke, "You can’t just take them away"

Noel laughed loudly, but it was hollow.

"Watch me", she said spitefully.

He stepped forward, desperation clawing at him.

"Noel, don’t do this. Don’t take them. Don’t leave"

"I don’t have a choice", she said, her voice breaking.

"I can’t stay in a home where I’m suspected, with a man that doesn't trust me, my children with a father that doesn't love them enough to believe they are his. They deserve better. I deserve better"

Nick’s throat tightened, words choking him. He wanted to beg, to fall to his knees, to promise he would never doubt her again. But the truth was, he already had, she knew it, and that was really all it took.

***

An hour later, the house was quiet, hollow. Nick stood in the doorway, watching Noel’s car pull out of the driveway, Mason and Maire visible through the rear window. Maire waved, small and uncertain, her doll clutched tight. Mason didn’t look back. The silence that followed was deafening. He stepped back inside, the house echoing with absence. Toys lay scattered in the living room, Mason’s workbook sat open on the coffee table, Maire’s doll blanket draped over the arm of the sofa. The traces of them were everywhere, but the life was gone.

Nick sank onto the couch, his hands covering his face. He had wanted proof to quiet his doubts, to bring peace. Instead, it had detonated the very foundation of his family. The test had told him the truth about his children, but it had also revealed another truth, one far harder to face; Trust, once fractured, could not be repaired.

That night, Nick wandered the empty halls, the house cavernous without the hum of Noel’s laughter, without Mason’s footsteps pounding down the stairs, without Maire’s little songs. He ended up in the children’s room, sitting on the edge of Mason’s bed. The sheets were still tangled from the night before, the pillow still smelled faintly of his son’s shampoo. Nick pressed his face into the pillow, grief clawing at him. He had everything, and in his fear of losing it, he had lost it anyway.

The clock ticked steadily, indifferent to his unravelling. When dawn broke, painting the sky in pale gray, Nick was still awake, sitting in the silence of the children’s room. The toys around him, the empty beds, the absence of his family pressed down on him, and for the first time in years, Nick felt truly hollow.

The house was a shell without them. Nick woke to silence that pressed against him like a weight. No clatter of dishes from Noel in the kitchen, no thud of Mason's sneakers pounding down the stairs, no soft hum of Maire singing to her doll. Only the low whir of the refrigerator and the groan of pipes in the walls kept him company.

He sat on the edge of the bed longer than he should have, staring at the indentation where Noel used to sleep. The sheets were smoothed neatly now, as though she had never been there at all. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shake the emptiness, but it clung stubbornly.

Eventually, he dressed, tying his tie with mechanical precision, and drove to the firm. If he couldn't fix home, at least he could bury himself in work. That had always been his refuge: blueprints and deadlines, clients and projects. Architecture didn't demand trust. It only demanded precision, but precision, he found, was harder to summon than before.

***

The office buzzed with Monday morning energy when he arrived. Assistants hurried between desks, voices overlapped in the open-plan space, and phones rang. Normally, the rhythm energised him, filled him with a sense of control; today, the noise grated on him wrongly.

"Morning, Mr Elba", his secretary, Laura, greeted him brightly as he stepped into the floor that housed his office. She was young, eager, and always immaculately dressed.

"Morning", Nick replied shortly, striding past her. He caught the flicker of surprise on her face. He was usually warmer, taking time to acknowledge her, even joke. Today, he couldn't summon it.

In his office, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked downtown Toronto, glass towers piercing the sky. He set his briefcase down and opened the latest designs for a high-profile project: a corporate headquarters for one of the city's wealthiest firms.

Normally, he would lose himself in the lines and angles, seeing not just the building but the story it told. Today, the lines blurred. He rubbed his temples, tried again, but the numbers swam, the proportions skewed. Mason's face intruded, Maire's laughter, and Noel's tearful eyes. He pushed the papers away, leaning back in his chair, frustration boiling.

By noon, some staff couldn't help but already start whispering. He caught them in the break room when he went to refill his coffee. Two junior architects, their voices low, stopped abruptly when he walked in. Their guilty silence told him enough, they were talking about him. Later, in the hallway, he overheard another pair of staff murmuring about how they were slipping at their deadlines, about clients growing restless. His name surfaced, followed by a pause, then lowered voices.

Nick clenched his jaw. He had built this firm from nothing, brick by brick, reputation by reputation. He was their leader, their anchor and now, in his distraction, he was becoming their liability. That afternoon, he sat in a meeting with a major client, the corporate headquarters project lead. Nick tried to present the updated designs, but his voice faltered. His mind wandered mid-sentence, images of Noel packing bags flashed unbidden. The client frowned, tapping a pen against the table, unimpressed.

"Mr Elba", the man interrupted, "these figures don't align with the original proposal. Are you sure you're on top of this?"

Nick's cheeks burned. He glanced at the papers; indeed, the calculations were off. Normally, he would have caught such a mistake instantly. Today, he hadn't.

"I'll review it immediately", Nick said, his voice tight.

The client leaned back, sceptical.

"See that you do. Lane Associates has been very eager for our business, don't make me regret staying loyal to you"

The name hit Nick like a blow. Lane Associates, Marcus Lane. Marcus had been a thorn in his side for years, slick, charming, ruthless. Where Nick was steady and precise, Marcus was flashy, courting clients with grand gestures and extravagant promises. Their rivalry had grown alongside their firms, each vying for the city's biggest projects. Nick had always prided himself on winning by merit, by design excellence, by integrity. Marcus, in his view, thrived on smoke and mirrors. Still, he had to admit: Marcus was dangerous, and now, with Nick faltering, his spies abound, there was no doubt Marcus smelled blood.

That evening, as Nick left the office, he spotted Marcus leaning casually against a black car at the curb, phone pressed to his ear. Their eyes met briefly, and Marcus smiled, a slow, knowing smile that made Nick's stomach twist. He didn't wave, didn't acknowledge him beyond that smile, but the message was clear. Marcus knew. He had heard about Nick slipping this past week from one of his many spies, and he wanted Nick to know he was waiting, circling like a vulture over carrion. Nick climbed into his car, slamming the door harder than necessary. His reflection in the rearview mirror looked older than it had a week ago, tired, hollow.

He drove home through the city lights, each glowing window reminding him of families intact, dinners shared, laughter spilling into warm rooms. His own house, when he entered it, was silent. He dropped his keys into the bowl by the door. The echo seemed louder than usual. He tried to fill the silence. He turned on the television, let the news drone in the background. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the lamplight. He reheated leftovers and ate, though he barely tasted them, but nothing drowned the emptiness.

He found himself wandering into the children's rooms again. Mason's bed was neatly made now, the room too tidy, stripped of life. Maire's dolls sat in a row on the shelf, untouched. Nick sat heavily on Mason's desk chair, staring at the blank wall.

His mind kept replaying Noel's words: "I can forgive many things, but I can't forgive not being trusted"

He wanted to tell her he trusted her now, that the test had proved what his heart should have known. But how could he say that without revealing the betrayal? And even if he could, would she believe him?

***

At the firm, the decline worsened. Deadlines continued to slip, clients grew impatient, staff avoided his gaze, whispering more openly now. He tried to correct course, tried to drown himself in work, but his focus fractured again and again. One afternoon, Laura entered his office hesitantly.

"Mr Elba, Marcus Lane's firm just called the reception desk. They asked for an updated proposal on the Greenway project. I thought... wasn't that one of ours?" she asked.

Nick's blood ran cold.

"Yes, it is", he answered tightly.

But Marcus was circling. Already, he was making moves, contacting clients, sliding into the spaces Nick had left vulnerable. Nick dismissed Laura with a curt nod, then sank back in his chair, staring out at the city. The skyline blurred, his reflection staring back at him in the glass.

He had lost his family, and now he was losing his firm. The cracks in his life were no longer hidden beneath a polished surface. They were spreading, wide and visible, threatening to bring everything down, and Marcus Lane was waiting, ready to feast on the ruin.

That night, alone again in his too-quiet house, Nick poured another glass of whiskey. He sat in the dark living room, the city lights flickering beyond the windows. The emptiness pressed in, louder than ever. For the first time, he wondered if he could hold anything together at all.