For Appearances Only - Part 9
Featuring - Joe Anoa’i & Victoria Monet as Milan Carter.
Themes: Clarification, A Scuffle, Bonding, a Lovely Shower 18+, a Major Shift & Loss/Miscarriage. 18+.
Words: 3K.
Milan carried that silence into the laundry room, the smaller of the two tucked away at the far end of the house. She liked it better here — the hum of the dryer, the faint scent of fabric softener, no eyes on her. Folding towels into sharp rectangles gave her something to control when everything else felt too big.
She didn’t hear Joe come in until the weight of his hand grazed the small of her back. He’d learned not to stomp, not after the way she’d looked at him like she might leave altogether. This time he came softer.
“We back on the same page?” he asked, low, like the answer could break him.
Milan’s hands didn’t stop moving. She smoothed the edges of a towel, stacked it neatly, and let the quiet stretch until it made his throat work. Then she said, “As long as you never do that again.”
Joe exhaled, almost a laugh. “Fair.”
When she turned to face him, her arms were crossed but her eyes steady. “If we’re really doing this—making this house our home, making this marriage real—then we need peace. And that means Gia. She can’t keep walking into your house like she still lives here. We all need to sit down. You, me, her. The boys, too.”
His jaw set, but he nodded. “Wednesday night. I’ll make it happen.”
By Wednesday evening, the house smelled like home. Milan had been in the kitchen since late afternoon, seasoning salmon with honey and balsamic, roasting broccolini until the edges curled crisp. Joe mashed sweet potatoes with cinnamon and butter, his big hands surprisingly gentle with the whisk. They moved around each other like they’d been doing it for years, not months — bumping hips, trading utensils, silent shorthand flowing between them.
The table glowed with low candles. Burgundy napkins, polished silverware, glasses of water at the kids’ places, and a bottle of red breathing for the adults. Milan adjusted one last fork and stepped back, taking in the picture they’d made together.
The doorbell rang at six sharp.
Joe opened it himself. The boys barreled past Gia, straight into his arms, their laughter bouncing through the hall as he crouched down and pulled them both in tight. He kissed the top of each head before setting them down, grinning when Milan greeted them with a soft warmth that didn’t feel forced.
Gia followed, sunglasses on though the sun was gone. Her perfume hit before she said a word. “Smells good,” she remarked, gaze sweeping over the candles like she was evaluating the setup.
Joe’s reply was flat. “Clarity.”
Dinner started smooth. The boys filled the air with stories about math tests and soccer practice, Milan nodding with patient smiles, Joe throwing in the occasional question that made them beam. Gia sat at the head of the table like she’d claimed it herself, sipping water with a straw, her voice dripping with maternal sweetness whenever the boys asked her something.
But when dessert plates were carried into the den and the boys settled in front of the TV, the table grew heavy.
Joe leaned forward, elbows pressing into the wood, his voice low but edged. “Gia, I’ll say this once. I’m marrying Milan. She’s going to be in our sons lives every day. The drop-ins stop. The threats stop. The guilt trips stop. You don’t get to keep walking in here like this is your life.”
Gia’s laugh was sharp, ugly against the candlelight. “You always talk big when she’s sitting at your side. Don’t forget who carried this load when you were working two jobs. Don’t forget how quick I can remind a judge of that. Child support doesn’t just vanish, Joe.”
His jaw tightened, and Milan felt the tension ripple through him. She touched his arm lightly, her voice steady. “Let me.”
He didn’t like it, but he rose anyway, gathering plates. The sound of running water and clinking dishes filled the silence he left behind and went to bond with the boys shortly after.
Milan stood slowly, making sure Joe and the boys weren’t close by, her chair scraping the floor just enough to make Gia’s eyes flick up. She moved closer, the heels of her steps deliberate. “Cut the act,” she said quietly. “You know damn well Joe has never once denied his kids. All he wants is what’s best for them. But you can’t let go. You still want to walk in here like it’s 2015 and you’re the woman of this house. Newsflash—you’re not his anymore.”
Gia smirked, twirling her straw between two fingers. “He owes me. You weren’t here when he was working two jobs, when I was holding everything together. You’re just another diamond on his roster, sweetheart. I’ll always be—”
The words cut short when Milan shoved her shoulder, sharp enough to make Gia stumble against the wall. Her eyes widened, fury snapping back quick, her hand twitching like she wanted to slap. Milan didn’t wait. She popped her once, clean and decisive, before leaning in close.
“Don’t you ever walk into this house like you own it again,” she said, her voice calm, almost gentle in its steel. “Respect him. Respect this family. Next time? You won’t get a warning.”
Gia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She straightened, smoothed her blouse, and called for the boys in a clipped tone, her voice brittle under the gloss.
Milan walked to the kitchen, rinsed her hands under cool water, and headed upstairs without another word.
Later, Joe found her sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his oversized tees, her earrings set neatly on the nightstand. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So,” he said slowly. “How’d it go?”
She made a face, lips pressed tight. “Well… I had to pop her.”
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it, but it faded as quickly as it came. “Milan…”
“She runs her mouth too much,” she said simply, turning toward him with unbothered eyes. “Somebody had to shut it down.”
He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. “Not exactly how I wanted it handled.”
“No,” Milan agreed, pulling the blanket over her legs. “But it was the way she understood.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick, but not hostile. When Joe finally crossed the room and pulled her into his chest, the silence that followed was different than before. It didn’t feel like glass taped together.
It felt like theirs.
Weeks passed and the mansion softened.
There were no more unexpected visits from Gia. No more shouting matches. No more icy silences or territorial stares. Instead, there were slices of stillness — the quiet kind Milan had craved for years. She started planning again. Not just mentally scrolling Pinterest in the dark, but really planning her dream wedding.
Fabric swatches were fanned out on the breakfast table beside half-sipped tea. Milan kept a notebook with messy sketches — silhouettes she’d always dreamed of, necklines she’d admired from afar. Sometimes Joe would walk past and tap one with a calloused finger, saying, “That one looks like you.”
She didn’t admit it out loud, but for once… she believed him.
Late one afternoon, Milan was in the home gym, stretching slow and intentional, hair piled in a bun, muscles warm under black leggings and a sports bra. Her phone was somewhere nearby playing music on low. She had just leaned into a hip opener when she heard his footsteps behind her.
Joe stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, wearing sweats low on his hips and that faint smirk that told her she was about to be pulled into something.
“Meet me in the living room,” he said. “Don’t ask questions.”
“Don’t ask questions?” she asked, lifting a brow as she rolled up from the mat.
He didn’t answer — just winked and walked off.
When she arrived, Joe was already standing tall in the middle of the room with both of his boys flanking him on either side. Milan blinked, trying not to laugh when the youngest stood a little taller and puffed out his chest.
They looked like little soldiers, and without thinking, she joined their line — standing upright, arms at her side, expression serious.
Joe gave them all a once-over, lips twitching. “Y’all look ridiculous. Sit down.”
They all collapsed onto the couch in a heap of laughter.
Once the room settled, Joe’s voice shifted — firm, grounded. “It’s official. I’m back on the road tomorrow. So we’re laying down ground rules. And they’re non-negotiable.”
Both boys straightened again.
“Number one — you listen to Milan. She speaks, you hear it the first time. Number two — be nice to Milan. Number three — remember to respect women. Period. That starts in this house. That starts with how you talk, how you clean up after yourselves, how you move. And number four — when your mom comes to get you, she’s to be met at the door. She’s not coming inside. No more uninvited walk-ins.”
The youngest son looked up at him, thoughtful. “Even if it’s raining?”
Joe grunted. “She got an umbrella. Next question.”
They all nodded. No arguments. No back talk. Milan sat quietly, watching the way Joe stood solid like a man who meant it — who wasn’t about to let things slide.
She liked that version of him. The one who handled shit with his chest.
Later that night, after dinner and dessert, Joe was in the bedroom packing up his duffel bag while Milan stepped into the shower. It was her favorite one — the massive one, all black marble with the rainfall head and built-in bench. The kind of shower that whispered indulgence.
The glass was already fogged when the door slid open again.
She was rinsing off body wash when she felt it — the shift in temperature, his heat pressing in. Joe stepped inside like the steam belonged to him. He didn’t say a word. Just cornered her back against the slick tile, one hand on her hip, the other dragging over her throat as his mouth landed on her jaw.
“You’re really leaving me with your boys,” she said, breath hitching as water rushed over them both.
“They love you,” he murmured. “But you? You need to be handled before I go.”
He didn’t give her time to respond. His lips were hot, wet, hungry — tongue sliding between hers with no patience. His hands were everywhere, cupping her ass, palming her breasts, dragging her body up until her legs locked around his waist.
When he slid inside her, she moaned so loud it echoed off the marble. The water was hot, but not as hot as the stretch of him inside her, the pace he set, the way he pinned her to the wall and fucked her deep — slow, filthy strokes that made her thighs tremble.
He turned her around, bent her over the bench, and gripped her hips like he owned her body. He didn’t hold back — the sound of their skin slapping beneath the water, her name leaving his mouth in a low groan every time she clenched around him.
He came once but didn’t stop. Instead, he pushed her back onto the bench and knelt between her legs, eating her out like he was memorizing her taste. By the time he climbed back on top of her, his cum dripping between her thighs, her eyes had rolled back and her legs were numb.
“Look at me,” he growled, when he slipped inside her again. “This is mine.”
She could barely breathe. “Then don’t leave.”
“Too late, baby. But I’ll be thinking about this shower every night I’m gone.”
He came again, deep inside her, cock pulsing as her body took every drop.
By the time he helped her out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and breathless, her legs could barely hold her. He kissed her shoulder like he hadn’t just ruined her against stone.
The next morning was quiet. Joe kissed the boys goodbye, ruffled their hair, gave them both the same warning: “Don’t give her hell.”
When he turned to Milan, there was no speech — just a long look, his hand brushing the small of her back, a kiss that told her he’d be back soon. Then he was gone.
Milan adjusted to the new rhythm. Joe FaceTimed every night — late calls where his voice was low, shirt off, his eyes drinking her in through the screen. The boys would say hi, show him their video game wins or argue over snacks while he just laughed.
And slowly, Milan started to bond with them. They weren’t hers — not really — but they didn’t feel like strangers either. They asked her things. They followed her into the kitchen when she cooked. She learned which one liked grapes cold and which one couldn’t stand cartoons after 8pm.
It was working. Until it wasn’t.
Three weeks later, Milan came downstairs around noon in a robe and silk scarf, expecting to make a smoothie and light a candle. Instead, she stopped at the base of the stairs, blinking hard.
The living room looked like an explosion.
Cushions on the floor. Snack wrappers everywhere. Game controllers tangled in cords. Empty juice boxes. Hot takis everywhere. One boy had a hoodie tied around his head like a ninja mask, yelling at the screen while the other kicked over an empty juice box.
Milan stood there, arms folded. “Clean it. All of it. And I have to restock the fridge and pantry, because y’all have eaten everything.”
Neither boy looked up.
“I said clean up,” she repeated, voice sharper now. “This is not how we live.”
Still, nothing. Just a shrug from the older one and a quick mumbled, “Okay…” from the other.
Milan’s eyes narrowed. “Okay what?”
Crickets.
She let out a long, slow breath, biting the inside of her cheek. “Alright. Y’all wanna act brand new? Fine.” She changed her clothes as quick as she could, grabbed her keys and called security. “I’m headed to the store. Watch them. Don’t let them leave that room.”
An hour later, she returned, two heavy bags in her arms, the rest carried by security behind her. She pushed the door open expecting… maybe a little improvement.
But no.
Same mess. Same wrappers. Same loud game on the screen.
Her foot hit something hard.
She never saw the skateboard.
The bags dropped immediately after the fall. Her back hit the floor with a sickening smack, followed by the sharp crack of her hip against cold marble.
Everything spilled.
And that finally got their attention.
Both boys dropped their controllers, eyes wide, frozen in place as Milan lay on the floor — stunned, breath knocked from her chest.
For the first time in weeks, they actually looked scared.
And for the first time ever, Milan wasn’t sure if she was going to cry… or lose it completely.
The house turned still in the way homes do when something real happens. When there’s a shift no one expected. When the air feels too thick to breathe and nothing moves except time.
Security handled everything.
The mess in the living room was gone within minutes — wiped, vacuumed, sanitized. Milan’s bags were carried to the kitchen. The boys were pulled aside gently but firmly, told to sit, told not to speak. When the ambulance came, Milan couldn’t even respond. She was cradling her lower back, barely conscious, her breathing shallow and strained.
She didn’t even cry. She just blinked up at the ceiling, trying not to fade completely.
The guards rode with her.
The other two stayed behind and handed the boys off to their mother without incident.
There were no games. No second chances.
The hospital intake sheet read fall from impact / lower lumbar trauma. They kept her for scans. For internal bleeding. For observation.
Joe got the call mid-day. The kind of call that made his chest tighten before the voice on the other end even said a name.
The kind of call that stops everything.
He didn’t even remember what he’d been doing when his phone rang. Just that by the time it was over, he’d already packed, already booked the flight, already told them he didn’t give a fuck what city they were in next — he was leaving.
He didn’t land until well after dark.
But when he walked into that hospital?
You felt it.
The air changed.
The front desk nurse looked up. His name didn’t need to be spoken. One of the guards was already waiting, leading him down a hallway, explaining in hushed tones that Milan was stable but in pain — that she’d fallen hard on her back, that she hadn’t been responsive at first, that she’d passed out trying to stand again.
Joe didn’t say a word.
Not yet.
He just moved like a man on autopilot, jaw locked, fists clenched.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
This never happened.
His boys weren’t like this. He’d raised them better. They knew better. His home wasn’t supposed to be where someone he loved got hurt — not while he was gone, not while he had laid down rules, not when he trusted everybody to follow through.
He walked into the room and found her pale.
Still.
Hooked up to fluids.
She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t fully here either. Her eyes were glassy. The room was cold.
He moved to her side and brushed the hair from her face, his voice rough when he said her name.
She winced.
The pain was everywhere — her lower back, her ribs, the tenderness in her abdomen that made her shiver even under the blanket.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a breathy, “Hey.”
Joe leaned down, kissed her forehead, and tried not to let her feel how hard his body was shaking.
The door clicked open behind them.
A doctor stepped in. Clipboard in hand, voice gentle but clear.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Joe nodded.
He followed the man into the hallway. The walls looked too white.
“Mr. Anoa’i… I want to start by saying she’s stable. She’s alert. But the impact of the fall caused more damage than we initially realized.”
Joe didn’t blink.
“She suffered internal bleeding. We’ve been managing that, but during the ultrasound, we discovered that your fiancée had been in the early stages of pregnancy.”
Silence.
The kind that doesn’t make sense at first.
The kind that doesn’t register.
Joe’s lips parted. “What?”
“She didn’t know yet, based on her labs. Very early. But the fall… caused a miscarriage.”
The doctor kept talking. Something about recovery. About needing a care team. About physical therapy, about rest, about pain management. About the emotional toll of all of it — how long it could take.
But Joe didn’t hear most of it.
He was still stuck back on that word.
Miscarriage.
The same woman he had made love to in the shower, pressed up against the tile, filling her over and over until her body shook — that same woman was now lying in a hospital bed, empty, broken, hurting from something she hadn’t even known she had.
And he hadn’t been there.
He hadn’t been there.
The pain in his chest was a slow, dull bruise. A rage he couldn’t aim at anyone. His sons hadn’t meant for this to happen. It was a mistake. An accident. Milan hadn’t known. Nobody had.
And yet…
How could an accident result in this?
_______
AUTHORS NOTE: I missed you all. 🥹 Had to fight depression. Something told me to keep writing.
I am better than how I was. 💘
