33. Ivy
IVY
T he morning after the trial dawns pale and quiet, the kind of softness that feels borrowed from some other life.
No headlines. No phone calls. Just the hush of a city not yet awake and the faint creak of floorboards as Ethan moves around the apartment like he’s trying not to wake me.
The sheets are warm and tangled around my waist, and I stay still, eyes half-closed, not ready to let go of the feeling blooming low in my chest. Safety.
That’s what it is. Fragile and unfamiliar, but real.
Sunlight spills across the duvet in slanted gold, catching on the glass of water he left on my nightstand and turning it into something that shimmers.
I shift beneath the covers, stretch my fingers, and smile when I hear the clink of dishes in the kitchen.
He’s humming. Not a full tune, not loud, but enough that I can hear it from here.
Ethan doesn’t hum. Not unless something in him is loose and easy, and it makes something catch at the base of my throat.
I close my eyes again, not to sleep, but to hold the moment before it changes.
When the bedroom door eases open a few minutes later, I don’t pretend anymore.
I sit up slowly, brushing hair from my face, and what I see makes my heart ache in the sweetest way.
Ethan. Barefoot, shirt soft with age, sleeves pushed back from forearms that carry a tray holding two plates, two mugs, and the unmistakable scents of cinnamon and butter.
His hair is still wet from the shower. There’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw. He looks like home.
“I brought peace offerings,” he says softly, setting the tray on the bed and bending to kiss my forehead. “French toast. Extra maple. And no questions until you’ve had at least two bites.”
I blink up at him, my chest already full to the point of bursting. “You made this?”
He shrugs as he sits beside me, balancing the tray between us. “It was either this or a victory parade.”
I pick up the fork with both hands and let the first bite melt on my tongue, buttery and warm, sweetened with something that isn’t just syrup. I hum without meaning to, and he laughs under his breath.
“God, that’s good,” I say, reaching for one of the mugs. It’s peppermint tea. He remembered.
We eat slowly, knees bumping, his thigh brushing mine as the city rises around us in low bursts of traffic and birdsong. He waits until the plates are nearly clean before saying anything else, and when he finally does, it’s gentle but sure.
“He’s not getting out, Ivy.”
I glance over, the steam from my mug curling between us. “They told you that already?”
Ethan nods. “Elena texted last night. They’re charging him with everything. The fraud, the trial violations, the harassment, the witness intimidation. All of it. He’s not getting a deal.”
I exhale through my nose, not with relief, but with the kind of release that comes after weeks of tension held beneath the skin. “And the other women?”
“They’re protected now. One of them asked to meet you, when you’re ready.”
I nod slowly, throat tight. “I’d like that.”
We sit for a while longer, letting the stillness settle over us.
It isn’t silence, exactly. It’s the hum of something just beginning to root, the kind of quiet that feels earned.
I think about saying it. That I love him.
That I’m not going anywhere. That after everything, he’s the one I choose.
I think about it so long that it begins to rise up in my chest like a tide.
But before I can speak, he does.
“There’s something else,” he says, and just like that, the moment shifts. He doesn’t look at me right away, just gathers the empty plates, sets them aside, and stares down at the tray like it might give him the words.
“What is it?” I ask, voice light, trying not to imagine the worst.
He runs a hand through his hair, jaw working for a second before he answers. “Claire’s back in Valleria.”
I go still.
“And,” he continues, quieter now, “she texted me last night. Said she’d like to meet for coffee. Catch up.”
Claire’s name lands like something delicate but sharp, a glass needle to the skin.
She’s the ex Cassie spoke about, the one who cheated on him before their wedding.
She’s the one who led to his issues, and I went ahead and made them worse.
An insidious anger plants itself in my chest as I wonder whether he still has feelings for her, whether he wants to see her because he’s… otherwise invested.
“And you said?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, even as a strange coldness begins to bloom beneath my ribs.
Ethan hesitates. “I said I’d think about it.”
I turn slightly, searching his face. “Do you want to go?”
His fingers flex on the edge of the tray. “I don’t know. Part of me thinks… maybe it’d be good. Closure. We never really got that.”
It sounds like such a clean word for something so messy.
“And what if she wants more than closure?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. I just want to end it properly. So it’s not something still hanging over me.”
I want to say no. I want to tell him she doesn’t deserve another second of his time. But I can’t do that. Not without becoming the thing I fought so hard to escape. I can’t trap him, even with my fear. Even with my love.
“If you think it’ll help, then go,” I say softly, folding my hands in my lap to hide the tremble.
He watches me for a long moment, like he’s trying to read between the words. Like he knows this hurts and doesn’t know how to stop it.
“Ivy…”
“No,” I say gently. “It’s okay. I get it. Just… be careful with your heart. It’s already been broken once.”
His eyes soften. He reaches for my hand, lifts it to his lips, presses a kiss to the back of it with a kind of reverence that makes my throat close.
“I’m not going back,” he says. “Whatever she says, whatever happens, I’m not going back.”
But he’s still meeting her for coffee. And that’s enough to splinter something inside me, even if I smile and nod and pretend I’m fine. I kiss him once more before he gets up to clean the dishes. I listen to the water run in the kitchen, to the sound of plates being rinsed and stacked.
Ethan leaves just after eight. The morning sun hasn’t even fully burned through the mist that lingers outside the windows, casting the city in a pale, ghosted light.
I watch him from the couch, mug warm between my palms, steam rising in thin, curling tendrils.
He adjusts his tie in the mirror, eyes scanning his reflection, then glances back at me.
“I’ll be back after the meeting,” he says. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Okay. Drive safe.”
He hesitates, like maybe he’s going to say something else.
But instead he just crosses the room and presses a kiss to the top of my head.
I close my eyes as his lips linger, trying not to inhale too deeply, not to memorize the warmth of that touch.
Then he’s gone, coat swinging, shoes tapping softly across the tile. The door clicks shut behind him.
I finish my tea slowly, then rinse the mug and change into something casual. A soft sweater, jeans that still button if I don’t breathe too deeply. I need air. I need answers. I need Drew.
When I arrive at his apartment, Blair opens the door with her usual glow. Her eyes flick over me once and something in her face softens immediately. She steps back and waves me in.
“Drew’s in the study,” she says quietly. “Come. Let’s sit outside.”
I follow her through the sunlit kitchen and out into the patio.
The garden is blooming with early winter herbs and the last clinging petals of autumn.
The air is cool but not sharp, and the bench cushions are warm from the morning sun.
Blair hands me a blanket, and we sit in silence for a moment, the calm interrupted only by the occasional chirp of birds or the rustle of wind across the fence.
“You want to tell me why your face looks like that?” Blair finally asks, her tone light but kind.
I laugh, or try to. It comes out brittle. “That obvious?”
“You’ve got that look I had when I found out Drew kept a secret credit card to buy extra sports subscriptions.”
I shake my head, tucking the blanket tighter around my waist. “Ethan’s ex is back in town.”
Blair’s eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t speak. She waits.
“She asked to meet for coffee,” I continue. “And he said yes. Said it might be good. For closure.”
“And you’re worried he’s not just going for closure.”
“I’m worried,” I say, voice low, “that I’m not enough. That after everything, he might realize he still wants someone else. Or worse, that he’s still broken in places I can’t reach.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what I believe.”
The back door opens then, footsteps on the deck. Drew steps out, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his gaze already narrowed.
“Someone want to tell me why I just overheard my wife comforting my sister about my best friend?”
Blair winces. I freeze.
Drew crosses his arms, eyes fixed on me. “You and Ethan. Since when?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” I say quickly. “It just… did.”
He raises a brow. “You’ve been living with him.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what it was at first. And then everything with the trial happened, and Daniel, and?—”
“And now Ethan’s having coffee with Claire,” Blair cuts in gently.
Drew’s expression hardens. “Claire? Seriously?”
I press my hands together, palms tight. “I didn’t come here to be judged.”
Drew lets out a breath, sits down beside me. “Then what did you come here for?”
My voice breaks. “I think I may lose the only man who ever truly saw me. The only one who loved me completely. And I cannot bear the thought of hearing one more person tell me what I’ve done wrong this year.
I already know. Every misstep. Every silence.
Every truth I waited too long to say. I’ve carried them. I still do.”
Blair reaches over and squeezes my hand. Drew says nothing for a long moment, then shifts closer. His hand finds the back of my neck, warm and firm, and he pulls me into a hug.
“If Ethan is with you,” he says quietly, “he’s not going to have eyes for anyone else. You know that, right?”
“I thought I did.”
“You still should.”
Blair leans in. “You’re not alone in this. We’ve got your back. Always.”
Drew stands and grabs his keys from the patio table. “Let’s go. Ice cream croissants. My treat.”
I blink up at him. “It’s ten thirty in the morning.”
“And?” He grins. “We’re celebrating the end of the worst chapter of your life. And the beginning of the good part.”
So we go. Blair rides up front, Drew drives, and I sit in the back watching the city roll past, letting their chatter fill the air.
The bakery is a small, golden-windowed spot tucked between two florists, and they serve sandwiches with powdered sugar and a choice of fillings.
I choose vanilla bean and raspberry. Blair goes for chocolate hazelnut. Drew just orders one of everything.
We eat at a bench outside, and for the first time in what feels like years, I laugh until my ribs ache. There’s jam on my fingers and powdered sugar on my sweater and nothing has been fixed yet, not really, but I feel like maybe I’m strong enough now to try.
When I get home, the apartment is quiet. My coat slides off my shoulders and onto the hook. My bag lands gently on the chair. I walk to the living room, sit down slowly, and pick up my phone.
I stare at Ethan’s contact name. Then I press call.
It rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Voicemail.
His voice, recorded and brief, fills my ear. And then the tone. “Hey. It’s me. I just… I was thinking maybe we should talk. Not about anything bad. Just… maybe about trying. Really trying. You and me.”