The Neighbor

Chapter 63***

The house is quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the evening settling in. Tommy and Billy are finally asleep, unaware of the storm that had raged earlier, the danger that came far too close to tearing everything apart. You've done your best to shield them from the truth covering the bruises on your neck with careful strokes of makeup, giving them reassuring smiles, pretending everything was fine.

But it isn't.

From where you stand in the doorway of Wanda's home office, Isabella cradled gently in your arms, you watch her with a heavy heart. She's at her desk, the soft evening light casting shadows across her face, making her look both impossibly strong and heartbreakingly fragile. Her fingers rake through her hair, her jaw clenched while she rakes through her auburn hair.

In front of her, a thick folder lies on the desk reports, evidence, every scrap of information shield has gathered in the hours since the battle. Wanda slams her hand down on it, the force of it making the wood creak, her frustration boiling over as she leans forward, both palms pressed flat against the desk.

She hasn't said much since you got home. The medics cleared you—just bruising around your neck, nothing broken, nothing too serious—but the relief you expected to feel is nowhere to be found. Not when Wanda is like this.

You shift your weight slightly, Isabella's tiny hand gripping your shirt as she sleeps, completely unaware of the tension in the air. The soft movement draws Wanda's attention, and she glances up from the folder, her eyes meeting yours for the first time in what feels like hours.

She looks tired—-more than tired, actually. Exhausted. Haunted. Her usually vibrant eyes are shadowed with worry, her features tight with barely contained emotion. The storm from earlier hasn't entirely left her, and you can see it in the way her hands tremble, still resting on the desk.

For a moment, there's silence between you, the weight of everything that happened hanging in the air. You shift slightly, leaning against the doorframe, the cool wood grounding you.

"They're asleep," you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet. "Tommy and Billy. They didn't notice anything." You gesture vaguely toward your neck. "The makeup worked."

Wanda's gaze lingers on you—on the bruises you've tried to hide, the pain you've been quietly carrying and her expression tightens. Her hands slowly fall from the desk, curling into fists at her sides. The guilt is written all over her face.

"I couldn't protect you," she says quietly, her voice low and thick with emotion. Her eyes flicker back to the folder for a second, as if it holds all the answers she's been desperately searching for. "I should've... I should've stopped him sooner."

You shake your head gently, shifting Isabella in your arms as you take a step closer to her. "You saved me, love," you whisper, your voice soft but firm. "You saved all of us."

But it doesn't seem to be enough. Wanda's hand comes up to her hair again, fingers threading through it in agitation as she turns away, pacing slightly. "I let him get too close," she mutters, almost to herself. "I let him put his hands on you... I could've lost you." Her voice cracks, and for a moment, you see the fierce facade break, revealing the depth of her fear.

"Wanda..." You say her name softly, but she doesn't meet your eyes. Her mind is somewhere else, still trapped in the battle, still reliving the moment Vision's hand closed around your throat.

Isabella stirs slightly in your arms, her tiny fist flexing as she snuggles closer to you. The sight of her so peaceful, so untouched by the violence of the day, brings a sense of calm one you want to share with Wanda. But she's locked in her own storm, her hand shaking as she rakes it through her hair again.