Chapter 28 Nate
twenty-eight
nate
The coffee shop on Broad Street was deliberately neutral…
not somewhere I'd been with Tasha, not anywhere that held memories.
Just a generic space with exposed brick walls and the aggressive smell of espresso.
I'd arrived fifteen minutes early, partly out of military habit and partly because I needed time to steady myself.
Tasha sat beside me, her hand resting on my thigh under the table. Not possessive, just... present. A reminder that I wasn't doing this alone.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
"Define okay."
"Fair point." She squeezed my leg gently. "Remember, we're just listening today. No commitments."
I nodded, but we both knew it was much more complicated than that.
The door chimed, and there she was.
Sarah looked... different. Not dramatically so, but in a thousand small ways that added up to someone I barely recognized.
Her hair was shorter, styled in a way that probably cost more than our monthly grocery budget.
Designer jeans, soft cashmere sweater, subtle jewelry that whispered money.
She'd gained maybe twenty pounds, but it suited her.
She looked healthy, settled. Successful.
She spotted us immediately, and something flickered across her face when she saw Tasha. Just for a second, then it was replaced by a careful smile.
"Nate." She approached our table with studied casualness. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Sarah." I stood—automatic courtesy drilled in by years of military service—but didn't offer my hand. "This is Tasha Williams."
"Of course." Sarah's smile never wavered as she extended her hand to Tasha. "I've heard wonderful things."
Tasha shook her hand briefly, professionally. "I'm sure you have."
If Sarah caught the edge in Tasha's voice, she didn't show it. She settled into the chair across from us, movements careful and deliberate. Everything about her seemed rehearsed.
"Can I get you something?" I asked, defaulting to politeness.
"Just water, thanks. I've already had too much caffeine today." She laughed, light and self-deprecating. "Nervous energy."
I went to the counter, grateful for the brief escape. When I returned with her water, Sarah was studying Tasha with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"So," Sarah said, wrapping her hands around the glass. "I imagine you have questions."
"Just one," Tasha said evenly. "Why now?"
Sarah's eyes flicked to me, then back to Tasha. "Because I'm finally in a place where I can be the mother Paige deserves. I know that might be hard to believe—"
"You're right," Tasha cut in. "It is hard to believe."
"Tasha." My voice carried a gentle warning, but Sarah held up a hand.
"No, it's okay. She's protective of you both.
I respect that." Sarah took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had a vulnerable quality that seemed almost genuine.
"I was working at a coffee shop, taking random community college classes with no direction.
I was drowning, and I knew--I knew--I was going to damage that beautiful little girl if I stayed. "
She looked directly at me then. "Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done. But staying would have been selfish."
"And coming back now isn't?" Tasha asked.
"Maybe it is," Sarah admitted, and the honesty of it caught me off guard. "But I've done the work. Three years of therapy. Getting my degree. Building a career. I needed to become someone worthy of being in Paige's life."
"She needed you when she was three months old," I said quietly. "Not eleven years later."
"I know." Her voice cracked slightly. "God, Nate, I know. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about what I missed. First words, first steps, first day of school. But I can't change the past. All I can do is try to be better going forward."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a small photo album. "My therapist suggested this. Said it might help you understand."
I didn't want to look, but my hands were already reaching for it.
The first page showed Sarah in the cap and gown of a college graduation.
The next, her at what looked like a marketing conference, giving a presentation.
A house with a sold sign. Professional headshots.
Certificates of completion from various therapy programs.
"It's like a resume," Tasha said, her tone neutral but her meaning clear.
Sarah flushed slightly. "I know how it looks. But I wanted you to see that I'm stable. That I can provide for Paige."
"Paige doesn't need providing for," I said, closing the album. "She has everything she needs."
"Materially, yes. But what about emotionally? Doesn't she deserve to know her mother?"
"She deserves stability," Tasha said. "She deserves to not have her life disrupted by someone who—"
"I'm not trying to disrupt anything," Sarah interrupted, and for the first time, she sounded genuinely distressed.
"That's the last thing I want. My therapist says forced relationships never work.
I don't want to traumatize Paige. I just..
. I want a chance to know her. To let her know me.
And if it's not working, if she's uncomfortable or unhappy, I'll step back. "
The words were exactly what someone in my position would want to hear. Too exact.
"What does 'step back' mean to you?" Tasha asked.
Sarah blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"You say you'll step back if it's not working. What does that look like? Do you disappear for another eleven years? Do you maintain some kind of distant contact? What?"
"I..." Sarah faltered for the first time. "I haven't thought that far ahead."
"Maybe you should," Tasha suggested. "Because Paige isn't an experiment. You can't just try on motherhood and return it if it doesn't fit."
Sarah's composure cracked, just for a moment. Something sharp flashed in her eyes—anger, maybe, or calculation. Then it was gone, replaced by understanding.
"You're right," she said softly. "I need to think about all possibilities." She turned to me. "Nate, I know I have no right to ask for your trust. But I'm asking anyway. Let me prove that I've changed. Let me show you that I can be good for Paige."
"How?" The word came out rougher than I intended.
"Start small. Maybe... coffee? Somewhere public, with you there. Just an hour. Let her get to know me slowly, at her pace. No pressure, no expectations."
It sounded so reasonable. So carefully considered. Everything designed to make saying no seem cruel.
"I need to think about it," I said.
"Of course." Sarah stood, leaving the photo album on the table. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
She paused at our table, looking down at us. "I know you don't believe me, but I'm grateful to you, Nate. For raising her. For being the parent I couldn't be. And Tasha..." She smiled, something sad in it. "She's lucky to have someone who'll fight for her. Even against her own mother."
Then she was gone, leaving us in the coffee shop with her carefully curated evidence of transformation.
"That was..." Tasha started, then stopped.
"Yeah."
"She's good."
"Very good."
"You want to believe her."
I scrubbed my hands over my face. "I want to believe people can change. That making a mistake at twenty-eight doesn't define you forever."
"This wasn't forgetting to pay a parking ticket, Nate. She abandoned her infant daughter."
"I know."
"Do you?" Tasha turned in her chair to face me fully. "Because she's saying all the right things, and you're sitting here looking like you're actually considering it."
"What choice do I have?" The words came out sharp with frustration. "If I say no, she files for immediate custody. Claims I'm alienating Paige. And maybe she wins, maybe she doesn't, but Paige gets dragged through court either way."
"So you're going to give her what she wants?"
"I'm going to do what's best for Paige."
"Which is?"
"I don't know!" The admission ripped out of me. "I don't know what's best. Maybe Paige does need to know her biological mother. Maybe keeping them apart is selfish. Maybe—"
"Stop." Tasha's hand found mine. "Stop spiraling. Let's think about this logically. What do we actually know?"
I forced myself to breathe. "Sarah has resources now. Money, stability, a good lawyer."
"All of which appeared very conveniently just as she decides she wants to play mom."
"She seems genuine about the therapy."
"Or she's very good at seeming genuine."
"She said she'd step back if it wasn't working."
"She also couldn't define what that meant when I pushed her on it."
I looked at Tasha, really looked at her. She seemed tired, stressed. There were shadows under her eyes I hadn't noticed before.
"You okay?" I asked. "You look exhausted."
"These back to back shifts are killing me lately," she admitted. "I used to bounce back faster. Must be the stress of all this."
"I'm sorry. I'm putting you through—"
"Don't you dare apologize." Her voice was fierce. "We're in this together, remember? I just... I see what we have, Nate. What we're building. And yeah, right now it feels like the sun went out, but it's not. It's an eclipse. Temporary. We'll get through it."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I know you. And I know Paige. And I know that what you've built together is stronger than whatever Sarah's trying to do." She squeezed my hand. "Even if you can't see it right now."
We sat there for a moment, holding hands across the table where Sarah's photo album still lay. Evidence of a life rebuilt, or a carefully constructed weapon—I couldn't tell which.
"I have to let her meet Paige," I said finally. "Once. Supervised. If I don't, she'll use it against me."
Tasha nodded slowly. "I know. I hate it, but I know."
"Will you be there?"
"Try to stop me."
"She won't like that."
"Good." Tasha's smile was sharp. "Let her not like it. Let her show her true colors when she doesn't get exactly what she wants."
"And if she doesn't? If she really has changed?"
"Then we'll deal with that too. Together." She stood, pulling me up with her. "Come on. Let's get out of here. This place reeks of manipulation and overpriced coffee."
As we left, I grabbed Sarah's photo album. Evidence, maybe. Or just props in whatever game she was playing. Either way, I'd need to study it, look for cracks in the facade.
Because Tasha was right about one thing—this was an eclipse, not an ending. I just had to have faith that the sun would come back out.
Even if I couldn't see how just yet.