Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Alicia
Last night was the final performance. Three nights of The Crucible, and Stella held her own in every one.
The house feels different in the morning.
Not quieter—our house was always quiet—but lighter, as if the walls themselves have unclenched.
Sunlight filters through the bedroom windows in soft ribbons, catching on the steam rising from my mug.
The scent of chamomile curls around me, warm and soothing, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to break.
Stella’s upstairs packing for the weekend. We agreed to get away for a few days, and it’ll allow Noah to check in on his dad. I can hear her singing, something bright and melodic, the kind of tune she only falls into when her world feels steady again.
I sit on the edge of the bed and inhale slowly.
This is what peace feels like.
Familiar. Elusive. Fragile.
But present.
I wrap both hands around my mug, letting its heat seep into my fingers, grounding me.
That night still lives in flashes behind my eyes—the gun, the trembling of Jessica’s hand, Noah’s voice cutting through the chaos, the way he protected me with his body before the police arrived. But the fear doesn’t choke me anymore. It simply lingers, a memory rather than a threat.
And beneath it, something else—relief so deep it sits like an ache.
The stairs creak. Stella appears in my bedroom doorway with a duffel slung over her shoulder and a stack of folded sweaters in her arms.
“Do we need warm stuff?” she asks. “New Jersey’s colder, right?”
“Temps about the same as here. But yes. Pack warm.”
She dumps the sweaters into her bag with a dramatic sigh. Three performances in three days, and she’s still moving at full speed. I smile, stepping in to help her zip the duffel.
“How are you feeling?” I ask gently.
Stella shrugs, but it’s a thoughtful, measured shrug—one that belongs to a girl trying to sort through something difficult and figure out where to place it. “Better than the other night,” she says. “It was scary. But no one got hurt. And they took her away.”
Her voice softens on the last sentence.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry you had to see any of it.”
“I know.” She looks up at me, her eyes clear. “But Mom? You handled it. Like…you didn’t freak out. You stayed calm. That helped me stay calm too.”
The words mean more than she knows. For a moment, I’m struck by how quickly she’s growing. How much she sees. How much she understands without needing it explained.
“Come here,” I whisper.
She steps into my arms without hesitation. I hold her close, breathing in the faint scent of strawberry shampoo.
“You are so incredibly brave,” I say against her hair. “And I promise—you’re safe.”
“I know,” she murmurs.
When she pulls back, she wipes her cheeks with her sleeve like nothing happened and grabs her duffel. “Do you think Noah’s dad will like me?”
I smile. “He’ll love you.”
“And what about…Noah’s…um…other family? His stepmom?”
“Linda will adore you,” I say confidently. “She can’t wait to meet you.”
Stella brightens. Then she glances at my suitcase sitting half-packed on the closet floor. “Are you nervous?”
A soft laugh escapes me. “A little.”
The truth is, I’m not nervous about meeting his family—I already met them. I’m nervous about what this visit signifies. About walking into his childhood home not as the woman he’s protecting, but as the older single mom he’s dating.
And I’m nervous because the last time I planned a future with someone, the ground shifted beneath me.
But this feels different. Solid. Quietly certain.
I zip my suitcase, press down on the top, and take a breath that feels like a beginning.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
Noah: On my way. Coffee in hand. And I miss you already.
A warm, easy smile spreads across my face.
Stella peeks at the screen. “He loooves you,” she says, sing-song, before darting out of the room with her duffel.
I shake my head, amused.
Love.
Maybe.
But the truth—one I’ve avoided saying aloud—is that I love him too.
Because when everything shattered, I didn’t think about the case or the rumors or the custody agreement or what the neighbors would say. I thought about Noah. And how, without hesitation, I followed him.
I chose him. Instinctively.
And now, in the quiet morning light, I understand what that means.
I’m not falling for him anymore. I’m in love.
I close the last suitcase and carry it downstairs to the main floor. Through the front window, Noah’s SUV pulls into the driveway. The sight of him—broad shoulders, easy stride, coffee balanced in one hand—does something in my chest I’ve stopped trying to defend against.
He catches sight of me through the glass and his smile softens into something private.
Gentle.
Certain.
Mine.
When I open the door, cold air rushes in around us.
“You ready?” he asks, stepping closer.
I nod. “We are.”
Stella runs out to greet him, and he bends to give her a fist bump. She beams. My heart tilts.
He takes my suitcase from my hand as if it weighs nothing. “Let’s go,” he says. “We’ve got a long weekend ahead of us.”
“A good one,” I say.
He glances over, voice low. “The best one.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.
We load the car. I lock the door behind us. Stella climbs into the backseat with a muffin Gabriel brought over earlier this morning. Noah opens the passenger door for me with a quiet smile that still manages to make me feel seen.
Settled in beside him, surrounded by warmth and breath and the hum of the engine, I take one last look at the house—the place where everything fell apart and everything came back together.
Then Noah reaches for my hand.
And we drive forward.