winterwitch72

[winterwitch72]

TOXIC LOVE

Rafe x Maddy

Rafe Cameron was never meant to be a dad—not in the traditional sense. He was chaos, wrapped in sunburnt skin and daddy issues, living in the ruins of the Outer Banks. Maddy Perez? She was fire and diamonds. She knew how to use her beauty like a weapon and how to mask pain with eyeliner. Together, they were a storm no one could survive. But somehow, they kept coming back to each other.

It started like all bad love stories do—with lust, lies, and just enough love to ruin them both.

Maddy was only 21, but she already had the look of someone who’d lived three lives. Her Instagram still painted her as the dream girl—perfect makeup, sunsets, and smiles—but behind the scenes, she was in the middle of a war zone. Rafe, 25 and still holding onto that wild-boy reputation like a trophy, was both the love of her life and the reason she sometimes locked herself in the bathroom crying.

They lived in a beach house that was too nice for how broken their lives were. The walls had seen things—fights, screaming matches, passionate reconciliations. And through all of it, their kids, Alex, 5, and Eva, 2, watched with wide, confused eyes.

Alex had Rafe’s jaw and Maddy’s eyes. He was sharp, quick to learn, and always watching. Too aware for a kid his age. Eva was still babbling words, soft curls bouncing as she ran through the house with sticky fingers and juice boxes. Maddy swore that little girl could sense tension like a dog could smell fear—whenever Rafe’s voice started rising, Eva would cry, even before the yelling started.

Maddy was pregnant again. Almost 5 months. She hadn’t meant for it to happen—another baby in the middle of all this mess—but the test came back positive on a morning she’d woken up with a black eye she swore was from slipping in the shower. Rafe had cried when she told him. Held her belly. Promised to be better. Promised to change.

That was a Tuesday. By Thursday, he was gone all night, and came back reeking of weed, sweat, and guilt.

They’d have moments where it felt real. Like when they took the kids to the boardwalk, and Rafe bought cotton candy for Alex and let Eva ride on his shoulders, or when Maddy sat on the porch with her swollen belly, and Rafe played his guitar like he did back before everything went to shit. For those few hours, they were a family. Flawed. But still a family.

But the darkness always came back. Rafe’s temper. Maddy’s jealousy. The cheating, the accusations, the slamming doors. He would scream, she would cry, and sometimes, she screamed louder. They fought like they were trying to destroy each other, and maybe they were.

One night, after the kids were asleep, Maddy sat in the nursery, staring at the sonogram picture taped to the wall. A girl. Another little girl. She pressed a hand to her stomach and whispered, “Please don’t end up like me.” Her voice cracked.

Rafe stood in the doorway, bruised knuckles, red-rimmed eyes, holding a stuffed animal he picked up at some gas station. He walked in, quietly, and knelt beside her. “I’m trying, Mads,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond.

Because love wasn’t the problem. They had enough love to drown in.

It was everything else that made them toxic. The past, the trauma, the rage.

But they kept holding on. For the kids. For the moments. For the version of each other they wished they could be.

They were a beautiful disaster—raising children in a house built on broken glass.

And no one knew how it would end.