Chapter 08
things have changed
Cecily
Colin walks in just as we’re setting the table. He passes through the kitchen with a brief greeting, promising to take a quick shower before joining us.
We start without him.
When he finally sits down, he feels… elsewhere. He answers Alicia’s gentle questions, asks politely about our day, but gives little beyond that. His body is here, but his mind is miles away… and I can feel the distance from across the table.
The rest of dinner unfolds beneath a veil of uneasy silence.
Ethan is still disappointed in his father, speaking to him only when absolutely necessary these past few days.
What neither of them seems to realize is that the root of this distance is the very thing they share, that same stubborn, aching likeness that binds them together more tightly than either would ever admit.
After dinner, Ethan heads out to the movies with friends.
Alicia—sleepy from an afternoon of sunlit chatter and laughter by the pool with her friends—kisses us both goodnight.
She disappears upstairs with that gentle smile of hers, drowsiness clinging to her lashes, leaving the house suddenly quieter than before.
Colin stays with me in the kitchen while I clean and put away the leftovers.
But the silence between us feels thick, almost touchable, as if the words have seeped through the cracks in the floorboards and fled the room entirely.
I wonder if one of the mergers he mentioned last week has fallen apart. Or if he’s already crafting some new, audacious move. But that doesn’t fit. If it were work, he’d still be at the office. Or pacing with his phone in hand, neck-deep in emails and numbers.
Not here.
Helping me clean the kitchen. Something he rarely does.
When I close the dishwasher, I lift my eyes and find him standing by the window, hands braced on the counter, staring at something far beyond the darkness outside.
“Colin.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
He turns immediately, a smile curving his mouth as if he’s been right here with me the whole time. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ever truly been distracted at all… or if this is simply work weighing on him again.
I return the smile.
“I didn’t see you come in last night. Did you get home very late?”
“Why do you ask?”
His brow knits, the faintest edge of suspicion beneath the words.
I shrug lightly, unsure why he’s been so defensive lately.
“I was awake past midnight, and you weren’t home yet. I didn’t hear you come to bed either. Or leave in the morning.”
A tired smile tugs at his lips as he steps toward me and draws me into his arms.
“I think it was a little after one. Honestly, I didn’t even look at the time. I just wanted to get home after a long day and fall asleep with my beautiful wife.”
He tightens his embrace, pressing me close. I slip my arms around his waist, letting myself rest in the familiar solidity of him. He kisses my forehead softly, murmurs something about needing to check a few emails before bed, and then he pulls away.
I watch him leave the kitchen.
It’s only in the silence he leaves behind that the realization finally settles.
He never once mentioned leaving for work before I wake.
By Cecily Sterling, USA Today
The sense of accomplishment that washes over me every time I type those words never dulls. I read, reread, read once more, and only then do I finally hit send to my editor.
As I scroll back through my email thread with Lewis, a wave of nostalgia catches me off guard. I didn’t expect it, but suddenly I’m right back at the beginning of all this.
I started a blog in college. At first it was little more than a diary, a place to chronicle my first steps at NYU. The rush of independence, the crush of new faces, the small, thrilling freedoms of being on my own.
But as the blog grew, so did my voice. I began writing about everything unfolding around me, sharing fragments of my days, snippets of conversations, and later, the little trips I took with my parents and friends.
Travel was always my favorite part, and I think that showed, because those posts were the ones everyone read, the ones people commented on and emailed me about. They were the entries where I felt the most alive.
Almost without thinking, I type the link into my browser and log in.
A Small World.
Even after all these years, I still smile at the name I chose over two decades ago. It’s embarrassingly cliché… but endearingly so.
When I met Colin, I was working at a bookstore and saving every dollar I could for a long-dreamed-of backpacking trip across Europe. I had every detail mapped out. The itineraries, the quiet corners untouched by tourists, the hidden cafes locals whispered about if you earned their trust.
That trip had consumed me for over a year.
But then… Colin happened.
I had been standing on the ladder, reshelving books and dusting the upper shelves, when a deep, commanding voice rose behind me.
“Do you have any books on gardening? Preferably a classic or a rare edition, it’s for my mom.”
My foot slipped on the step as I turned, and for a breathless second I felt myself tipping backward. I squeezed my eyes shut, already bracing for the fall…
But it never came.
Strong hands caught me by the waist, steadying me against a solid chest.
I opened my eyes, summoning what little courage I had, and met his gaze.
He was breathtaking.
His hair was a bright, sunlit blond. Piercing gray eyes held me captive beneath darker, sharply defined brows. A straight nose, a firm mouth, a jawline chiseled with almost careless perfection. His whole face carried an air of confidence he made no effort to hide.
“Your eyes.”
His voice, low, hoarse, pulled me back into myself.
My lips were parted, and I shut them at once, swallowing. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve never seen eyes like yours.” There was something almost reverent in the way he said it.
“Blue?” I replied, awkward and off-balance. “They’re not that rare.”
But he just stared, unmoving, his gaze locked with mine as if everything else had fallen away. My hands had curled around his shoulders without permission, and his jaw tightened in response. Suddenly, the nearness of him became too much.
“Would you mind putting me down?” I managed, my voice unsteady.
He studied me for another long moment before lowering me slowly, my body sliding down the length of his until my feet reached the floor.
The second I was steady, I stepped back, searching for distance. His expression shifted. The raw wonder fading, replaced by something easier, confident, edged with arrogance. A smirk tugged at his mouth.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
“What?”
“For not letting you fall. You were at least five feet up. Would’ve been quite the tumble.”
“Oh…” Heat flared up my neck as I looked down. “Thank you. The shock must’ve made me forget my manners.”
His fingers brushed my chin, tipping it up with soft, irresistible pressure.
“Look at me,” he murmured, gentle, but with a command that wrapped around my spine.
“There you are.”
We held each other’s eyes, and in that suspended silence, it felt as though the entire bookstore had disappeared, leaving only us standing in that narrow aisle.
Then he released me, leaning back against the shelf with casual ease, hands slipping into his jeans pockets.
“Now… about that gardening book?”
“What book?” I blurted, before my brain caught up. “Oh… right. This way. We should have something in the other section.”
I turned down the aisle, gesturing for him to follow, but he caught my hand.
“Colin Montgomery.”
“Cecily Sterling,” I answered a beat too late.
“Colin and Cecily. Both starting with C… must be a sign from the universe.”
Heat burned through my cheeks as I quickly turned away, walking faster while his low laugh followed close behind.
The flowers blooming outside that morning had seemed to herald only the arrival of spring.
But now, looking back, I know they were announcing something else entirely… the beginning of my life anew.
Colin spent two months trying to convince me to go on a date with him. He showed up at the bookstore almost every day, always with one of my favorite drinks and a small sweet treat, as if he somehow knew exactly what would make me smile.
I hesitated, not because I didn’t want to go, but because I was afraid of how he made me feel.
I had kissed boys before, more than a few, but I had never dated seriously.
My life was built on plans and ambitions, on carefully drawn lines…
until Colin came along and stepped over every one of them without even trying.
Once I finally gave him the green light for our first date, he turned up the charm in ways that left me breathless.
On one of those early evenings together, he confessed that it had been my eyes that stopped him in his tracks the day we met… the way I’d looked at him from under my lashes, as if I could see right through him. That night, for the first time, I had been the one to kiss him.
Just over a week later, we were officially dating. Three months after that, he proposed.
He had told me, weeks earlier—after the first time we made love—that he wanted to marry me. I’d laughed and called him crazy. But when he finally asked, my heart answered before my lips ever could.
My parents were far from thrilled. I was nineteen, and Colin twenty-five. But even they couldn’t deny the force between us, the kind of truth that makes timelines irrelevant. As Colin liked to say, “When you know, you know.”
Three months later, we were married. At first, he insisted we elope, saying he couldn’t bear to wait another second to see his ring on my finger. But then he admitted he didn’t want to miss the moment he would watch me walk toward him down the aisle.
Our winter wedding was breathtaking. Soft light, crisp air, every detail perfectly ours. And our honeymoon in England felt like stepping into the dream I’d once planned for myself. All the cities I had mapped out for a backpacking trip becoming the backdrop to our first days as husband and wife.
Then came the surprise… I was pregnant with Ethan.
My mind spun: college unfinished, plans paused, my carefully laid life suddenly shifting.
But Colin’s joy was contagious. His reassurance steady.
And it was in that moment I realized that every step, every leap, every risk I’d ever taken had led me here. To this love, this family.
Smiling softly, I shake the memories from my mind and look back at my blog homepage. The last post was dated January 16, 2025, just over six months ago.
The Aspen trip I took with Ethan and Alicia never made it onto the blog; I only posted photos of the places we visited and a few recommendations.
I prefer keeping my personal life private, never exposing the kids.
Colin couldn’t join us either, Montgomery Clifford & Co.
was on the brink of a hostile takeover, and he couldn’t spare a single day away.
After receiving the USA Today proposal three years ago, the blog stopped being a priority, though I never abandoned it completely. If I write for one of the most widely read newspapers in the country, it’s because of the audience I built through A Small World.
Now, I post only occasionally. The one who keeps my blog alive, secures sponsors, and makes sure the whole thing doesn’t fall apart is my best friend from high school, Mark—an absolute tech genius. Just thinking of him makes me smile.
He’s been in San Francisco for months now, working on some ultra-secret project, and we hardly talk anymore. I reach for my phone and type a quick text.
Me: Miss you. Drop a hello sometimes so I know you’re still alive.
Less than five minutes later, his reply lights up the screen:
Mark: I’ll be there before summer ends. Tell your jealous husband he’s going to have to share you with me again.
I send a gif of a little girl sticking her tongue out and laugh, the sound carrying through the still sunroom.
As soon as I set my phone down, another message appears. I smile, expecting Mark… but my stomach drops when I see the name.
Colin: Emergency meeting with a client in Tokyo. Not sure what time I’ll get home, or if I can make it back tonight. I love you.
It’s nearly ten. I sigh, swallow the sting in my throat, and start typing.
Me: Make sure you eat and take care of yourself. I love you too.
I can’t quite explain my reaction to his text. It’s happened before, and somehow it never gets easier. With the memories still lingering warm and bright in my mind, the contrast hits harder.
It’s bittersweet… realizing just how much things have changed.