Chapter 32
Gwen
Maggie had no business looking that happy with a boot strapped to her ankle and a pair of crutches tucked under her arms, but somehow she did.
The music blasted out of the rented speakers — something loud and joyfully ridiculous — and Maggie was in the middle of the dance floor, swinging her crutches like extended legs.
She used them as props for dramatic can-can kicks, then twirling one like a baton, earning a circle of laughter and cheers around her.
Gwen couldn’t stop laughing. Not just because Maggie looked like some kind of injured yet genius choreographer, but because it was so her. Messy, dramatic, refusing to let anything — not even a swollen ankle — keep her out of the spotlight.
She told herself she was imagining it, the tiny shift between them.
The way Maggie’s gaze had softened when Gwen had tucked her into bed the night before, the way she’d let her hand linger on Gwen’s arm when Gwen fussed over her boot earlier.
She kept replaying the ceremony in her head too, waiting for a moment that hadn’t come.
Maggie always cried at weddings. Always.
Gwen had almost hoped that this time, Maggie would slide her hand into hers like she had at every other wedding they’d been to together.
This time, Maggie hadn’t. And Gwen had sat there, waiting, fingers brushing her knee, feeling like she’d been left holding an empty space.
The song ended, and Gwen’s throat felt too tight. She pushed herself up from the table and headed toward the pop-up bar tucked in the corner of the tent.
Izzy and Lillian were already propped against the portable bar, half leaning, half holding it up, while the volunteer bartender — a bored-looking cousin with a bow tie askew — poured vodka sodas like he regretted volunteering in the first place.
Izzy was explaining something, her hand carving arcs through the air as she talked, Lillian tilting her head with that easy, slow smile she always had, like she was in on the joke before it landed.
They both turned when Gwen approached.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Surprise Guest of Honor,” Izzy said, her voice singsong, eyes glittering in a way that was about two glasses of wine past mischief.
Lillian’s grin widened. “How’s Reconnection 2.0 going?”
Gwen felt her shoulders tense. “Uh, what do you mean?”
Izzy raised her glass like she was toasting, her tone shifting from playful to pointed. “We’re all just waiting for you to go get your girl.”
Her words cut through the music and chatter, straight to the bone. “Haven’t I already been doing that?”
Lillian nodded, sipping her drink. “You can’t wait for her to make the next move. Sometimes you just have to say what you mean.”
Gwen laughed under her breath, low and dry, but the sound didn’t carry conviction. “You two rehearsed this, didn’t you?”
Izzy arched a brow. “We’re very good at interventions.”
And just like that, Gwen felt the weight of it pressing against her chest — the choice she’d been circling for months, the words she’d swallowed every time Maggie looked at her with hurt or fire or both.
For once, she didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t argue, didn’t dodge. She just nodded, slowly, as if to herself.
Gwen found her near the edge of the crowd, Maggie’s head tipped back, laughing at something Danica had just said.
It would’ve been easier if she hadn’t looked so alive in that moment, if Gwen could’ve told herself she was doing this for efficiency’s sake.
No, she had to push through the knot in her throat anyway.
She leaned in, voice pitched low so only Maggie could hear. “Something’s wrong with the lights on the dock. Can I get your help?”
Maggie blinked at her, caught between suspicion and curiosity. “The lights?”
“Yes.” Gwen didn’t give her time to question it, just started making her way to the edge of the tent. Maggie was slow as she followed, still frowning.
Outside the tent, the air was cooler, threaded with the sharp tang of the lake. The strings of bulbs Maggie had insisted on draped neatly from post to post, glowing without a single flicker. Perfect, of course. Gwen had known they would be.
Maggie stopped short. “They look fine to me.”
“Hmm, weird. I could have sworn…” Gwen let her voice trail off as she continued down the dock like she was inspecting each bulb.
There was nothing wrong with the lights, of course. Gwen just needed an excuse — any excuse — to get Maggie away from the noise and the crowd.
By the time they reached the end of the dock, Maggie’s crutches and boot clicking in tandem on the warped wooden planks, the chill had settled in for the night.
The string lights twined along the poles glowed soft, golden, reflected in the black ripple of the water.
Someone had scattered jars of flowers out there earlier, dahlias that bobbed gently when the boards shifted beneath their feet.
Gwen steadied Maggie with a hand on her elbow, guiding her to the small covered portion at the very end. A wooden bench waited, draped in a plaid blanket. The music from the reception floated faintly over the water — something low and romantic now, muffled by distance.
Gwen turned, pulse stuttering, and asked, “Would you like to dance?”
Maggie blinked at her, then gestured down to the crutches leaning against the bench. “I can sway at best.”
“Right.” Gwen’s mouth curved in a smile that was more tender than amused. “Then we’ll sway.”
Maggie eased herself onto the bench instead, patting the space beside her. “Or we could sit and pretend. Same effect, less chance of me face-planting into the lake.”
Gwen grinned and sat. The wood creaked under their combined weight. Out beyond the glow of the lights, the lake stretched into darkness, endless and still.
“Wasn’t today perfect?” Maggie asked after a moment, her voice quiet, almost reverent.
Gwen swallowed, staring at the shimmer of light on water. “Almost.”
Maggie tilted her head, studying her. “Almost?”
Gwen’s throat went dry. She twisted her watch on her wrist, the familiar ritual grounding her, and then forced the words out. “Listen. I have something to tell you.”
Maggie’s expression sharpened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I quit my job,” Gwen said. Then amended, “Kind of. I think.”
The words tumbled into the night air, heavy and light all at once.
Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”
“I… turned down the Principal Architect promotion.” Gwen inhaled slowly, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I asked for a leave of absence instead. Indefinite. I don’t know if they’ll take me back.”
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the water lapping against the dock. Gwen forced herself to keep going, the way she’d rehearsed in her head on the flight, in the car, pacing in the airport terminal. Maggie just watched her, face half in shadow.
“I’ve spent years building everything around work.
And I told myself it was for us — for stability, for the house, for the kids, for you.
But the truth is, it was for me. For my pride.
For the part of me that thought being indispensable meant being loved.
” She finally turned, meeting Maggie’s wide, startled eyes.
“And it cost me everything. It cost me you.”
Maggie blinked at her, eyes wide, lips parted like she was about to speak but the words didn’t come. For once, Maggie, who always had a quip, a deflection, a half joke at the ready, was speechless.
Gwen pressed her palms against her thighs, willing herself not to look away. The string lights above them hummed faintly, casting Maggie’s face in warm shadow, and something in Gwen broke open.
“I can’t keep doing it the way I was,” she said, the words tumbling now, raw and unedited.
“I kept telling myself I was sacrificing for us, but it wasn’t a sacrifice.
It was avoidance. I made my work the excuse for every time I wasn’t there for you.
Every time you needed me and I thought another late night at the office mattered more. ”
Maggie’s throat worked, but still, no words.
Gwen twisted her watch again, the one Maggie had given her, the metal digging into her skin.
“When Melinda looked at me in that meeting, I realized she wasn’t my friend.
She never had been. You were. You’re the only one who’s ever been.
And I let you carry everything alone while I buried myself in blueprints and told myself that was love.
That terrifies me. I don’t want to live for my work. I want to live life with you.”
Her voice caught, but she forced it steady. “I don’t want a corner office or a title. I want mornings with the kids. I want you to call me in the middle of the day just because. I want to sit on a dock with you and not feel like I’m stealing time from something else.”
She exhaled, long and shaky, and finally looked directly at her. “I love you, Maggie. I always have. And if there’s still a chance for us, even the smallest one, I want to come home. Not to the house. To you.”
The lake was so still it felt like it was holding its breath with them. Gwen’s heart pounded, waiting for Maggie to say something, anything. Waiting to find out if she’d just given everything up for nothing.