Too Late Mr SINCLAIR のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

I still made his coffee every morning. Even after everything. Even when he stopped coming to drink it.I knew something was wrong before I could name it. It wasn’t loud or obvious—no slammed doors, no raised voices, no single moment you could circle in red and say, “there, that’s where it all cracked”. It was quieter and crueler. It was the slow retreat of his hand in the mornings, the way my name now sat carefully between his teeth like something fragile he no longer wanted to hold. It was two people who once filled every room learning, instead, how to move around each other without touching.I noticed every shift in my husband's behavior towards me, but I said nothing.Our baby Luca was balanced on my hip when Dominic finally emerged from the bedroom. Four months old, warm and solid, one tiny fist twisted into my hoodie like he already knew the world was unsteady. I stood at the kitchen counter, his coffee poured and steaming, mine already cooling in my hands.He stepped out in t

My husband came home at eleven forty-seven.I know the exact time because I was expecting him for 2 hours. Luca heavy and warm against my chest, telling myself I wasn’t waiting. I was waiting.The front door clicked—soft, practiced. Keys. Shoes. The careful quiet of a man trying not to disturb the life he still technically lived in. Luca’s tiny fist stayed wrapped around my finger even as his mouth slowed, eyes fluttering shut. I didn’t move. I just sat in the dim glow and listened to Dominic’s footsteps approach down the hall.They slowed right outside the nursery door.He pushed it open and stood framed in the doorway.Shirt untucked, tie hanging loose, still in yesterday’s clothes at midnight. The kind of tiredness that stayed perfectly composed. Our eyes met for half a second. Then his gaze drifted down.Not the old way—not hunger, not tenderness. Just a quick, involuntary flicker across my body before he caught himself and locked it away. It hit me like a stone dropped down a

I did not sleep at all that night, not for one single minute, as those three messages continued to sit inside my chest like shards of glass. My baby finally cried out and gave me a reason to get up and move through the motions of another day.I got through the morning on pure autopilot, sustained only by my fierce love for my baby and the particular stubbornness of a woman who quietly decided that today would not be the day she allowed herself to fall apart completely.But somewhere between the six o’clock feeding and the nine o’clock nap, something inside me shifted in a way that felt both inevitable and terrifying. I was not yet ready to face the reality of Celeste or to pull on that dangerous thread and watch the rest of my life unravel, but the growing distance between us—the long weeks of careful politeness and a husband who moved through our shared home as though I was a stranger, that was something I believed I could still do something about if I tried.After my baby slept,

"Nice to meet you," I said.The words tasted like ash. I stood frozen in my own entrance hall, Luca warm and heavy against my chest, a stranger’s expensive suitcase planted at my feet like it already belonged. I smiled anyway—the tight, automatic smile women learn when their mind is racing and their heart is trying not to scream. Celeste smiled back, warm and perfectly calibrated, the smile of someone who already mapped out every move. Maybe she had. I was still trying to catch up.Dominic showed her the east wing himself. I stayed behind in the kitchen, gripping the counter as their footsteps faded down the hallway—his low voice explaining something unnecessary, her soft, easy laugh drifting back. Not polite, not guest-like. Comfortable. The kind of laugh that comes from shared history, from inside jokes I wasn’t part of.I put the kettle on with hands that weren’t quite steady. I told myself it was nothing. I made one cup of tea. Not two.The first three days were almost tolerabl

I drove home from Nina's with the photograph burned behind my eyes. Celeste. Richard Holt. Eighteen months ago. That comfortable, familiar lean between them that didn't look like a first meeting. It looked like two people who already shared secrets nobody else was supposed to know about.I sat in the underground car park for a long time, engine off, Luca breathing softly in the back, and I thought.Every direct approach had failed. Confronting Dominic got me “insecure”. Asking about Celeste got me rehearsed answers. Reaching across the table got me nothing at all.Direct was the wrong tool. I got Luca out of the car seat, took the lift up, opened the front door, and smiled.Celeste was in the kitchen using my good ceramic teapot—the one I bought at a market years ago, the one I kept for myself. She looked up when I came in.“You were out early,” she said.“Just a walk.” I set my bag down, moved to the counter, completely unbothered. “Good morning?”She tilted her head. Just slightly