Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
KATE
Ihold myself together until I get home.
That becomes the goal somewhere between leaving Lukas by the lake and pulling into my street. Not understanding what just happened or working out how to survive it, just getting through the next ten minutes without breaking down in front of strangers.
By the time I park outside the house, my chest feels hollowed out.
The engine ticks quietly as it cools, and I sit there staring through the windscreen at nothing for a long moment, my hands still wrapped around the steering wheel.
It feels horribly familiar. Not the heartbreak itself, but the shape of it.
The numbness settling in first before the pain properly catches up. The strange quiet that follows after your life changes, and the rest of the world keeps moving anyway.
I remember sitting in this exact same driveway years ago after calling Daniel’s phone for the twentieth time, realising with sick certainty that he was not coming home.
Back then, the grief had arrived violently. Sharp, panicked, and desperate. This feels different. It’s quieter and feels older. As if I already know what heartbreak does to a person.
The front door opens before I can force myself out of the car properly. Hudson appears in the doorway wearing joggers and one of his oversized hoodies, concern already written all over his face the second he sees me. “Mum?”
I blink quickly, pushing the door open. “Hey.”
He doesn’t move from the doorway as I walk toward him. His eyes scan my face carefully, too observantly. The older he gets, the harder it is to hide things from him.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say automatically.
The lie barely leaves my mouth before I regret it.
Hudson’s expression closes. “Right.”
Guilt twists painfully in my stomach.
I step inside, shutting the door behind me carefully before slipping my shoes off more slowly than necessary, mostly because I need the extra few seconds to compose myself.
The house feels safe and warm, and I hate that too, because Lukas had started fitting here so naturally.
Hearing his laughter echo around the kitchen and the way he leaned against the counters like he already lived here.
The way Hudson had started looking for him automatically whenever hockey came up.
I swallow hard against the ache climbing into my throat.
“Mum.” Hudson’s voice softens slightly this time, and when I finally look at him, he looks more worried than angry.
“I’m okay,” I tell him quietly.
He stares at me for a second too long. “You’re crying.”
I instinctively lift a hand to my face and realise my cheeks are wet. I didn’t even notice it happen. “Oh.” My voice comes out thin. “Right.”
Hudson shifts awkwardly where he stands, like he wants to help but does not know how. He’s too young to carry this too.
I straighten, forcing myself to breathe properly. “It’s adult stuff, sweetheart.”
“That usually means bad stuff.”
A laugh escapes me unexpectedly, shaky and broken around the edges. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
I can almost see him trying to decide whether to push harder or back off. Eventually, he asks, “Did you break up?”
Its directness catches me off guard, and I hesitate, which becomes the answer.
His face changes instantly, not with confusion or surprise but with anger. “Oh.”
I lean back against the kitchen counter, suddenly exhausted all over again. “Hudson,”
“Why?” The question comes out sharp enough that I blink.
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s not an answer.”
God, this is exactly what I was afraid of from the beginning. Not just me getting hurt, but him too.
“I don’t think Lukas wanted this either,” I say carefully.
Hudson lets out a disbelieving scoff. “Then why do it?”
Because life is cruel sometimes, and loving someone does not always mean you get to keep them. But none of those answers feel fair to put on a fourteen-year-old boy already carrying too much disappointment where men are concerned.
So instead I say, “Because things changed.”
Hudson folds his arms tightly across his chest. “Because of that kid?”
I wince at the wording. “Félix.”
“Whatever.”
There’s hurt underneath the attitude. I hear it immediately. “He just found out he has a son, Hudson.”
“And?”
The bluntness of it startles me. “And that’s a huge thing.”
Hudson shakes his head, jaw tightening. “So he just leaves?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s not what this is.”
“Feels like it.”
The words land with devastating precision because that is exactly what this feels like. Abandonment. Again.
I move carefully around the kitchen island toward him. “Hey.” My voice softens instinctively. “This isn’t about you.”
“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me.”
I stop in front of him, my chest aching so badly I can barely breathe around it.
“When your dad left,” I say quietly, “I promised myself nobody would ever make you feel abandoned again.”
Anger flickers across Hudson’s face at that. “Then why did you let him act like this?” he asks, and his voice cracks slightly on the last word.
That one nearly takes my knees out from under me. Because I do not have a good answer. I thought I was being careful. I thought keeping things slow and steady would protect us.
But Lukas had slipped into our lives beautifully, and before I realised how much space he’d taken up.
I think about the way Hudson laughed with him at the lake. The way Lukas remembered tiny details about school and routines and favourite football players without ever making a performance out of it. It felt real.
“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” I admit.
Hudson looks away first, scrubbing aggressively at the back of his neck before muttering, “Yeah. Well.” Then he turns and heads toward the stairs.
“Hudson.” He pauses halfway up without looking back at me. “I know you’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
The lie sounds immediate and defensive. I lean tiredly against the banister. “You are.”
Finally, he looks back at me, and the emotion in his face hits me harder than anything else today because underneath the frustration, he looks hurt, and so young.
“He shouldn’t have acted like family.” The words slice cleanly through me. Because that’s exactly what Lukas became. In all the ways that matter most.
And standing there looking at my son with tears burning behind my eyes, I realise I have absolutely no answer for him at all.