Chapter 8
AVA
K ieron Ashford.
Standing there with paint smudged all over his hands from whatever art project he'd been doing with Poppy.
My best friend from university, the one who made lectures bearable and essays less soul-crushing.
We bonded over our shared love of literature and spent too many late nights cramming together.
We were inseparable—the kind of friendship that made everyone assume there was more to it.
He moved back to England after graduation to pursue writing.
Our friendship survived the distance, though his visits became fewer as both our careers took off.
But Kieron came back for our wedding. He showed up with a signed first edition, then returned to England.
He built his life there, writing bestselling novels that took off globally.
He still has that British accent that makes everything sound smarter, sending me postcards from his travels and limited-edition copies of his books.
Poppy adores him—probably because he tells stories better than anyone, spinning tales like magic just for her on his rare visits.
He doesn't move from his spot against the wall, gesturing to his hands with a rueful smile.
I didn’t realize how much I missed him until this exact moment.
"Ah, Ava. I'd hug you, but unless you want fat thumbprints on your shirt, I better hold off," he says, his voice carrying for Poppy's benefit more than mine.
I don't care. I don't care about anything except the fact that he's here . My feet move before my brain catches up, and suddenly I'm crossing the kitchen in a blur, tears already streaming down my face. I crash into him, wrapping my arms around his middle, burying my face against his chest.
"You're here," I manage, my voice breaking. "You're actually here." Relief claws at my throat like it might drag me to my knees.
His arms fold around me after a moment of surprise, one hand hovering carefully away from my clothes, the other pressing firmly against my back.
"Hey," he murmurs against my hair, voice soft. "It's okay. I've got you."
Oh my god, Kieron is here.
I pull back just enough to look at him, aware I'm a complete mess—red-faced, tears everywhere, probably getting snot on his shirt.
"How are you holding up?" he asks quietly.
I just shrug because words feel like too much.
He sighs. "That bad, eh?"
I wipe my face, trying to pull myself together. Everyone's watching us—I can feel their eyes. I take a shaky breath, forcing my shoulders back, my chin up. Just like my aunt taught me.
"I'm fine," I say, the lie so practiced it almost sounds true. "Really."
Kieron's eyes search mine, but he doesn't call me out on my obvious lie. Instead, he grins at Poppy who's staring at us wide-eyed.
"Well, I promised this little monster we'd get ice cream, so..." He turns toward the sink, starting to wash his hands.
I follow, helping Poppy wash hers beside him, grateful for the mundane task to ground me.
"I hope this washes out," I grumble, nudging her playfully, desperate for normal conversation.
Poppy's eyes go wide with glee. "Mommy will kick your ass, Uncle Kieron!"
Laughter ripples through the room, and I try not to scold her too harshly. Of course, she said it. She has Roman’s fire—reckless, unfiltered, impossible not to love.
Even when it breaks your heart.
Almost like he reads my mind, Kieron nudges me.
"I brought my manuscript for you," he states with mock-seriousness. "Special treat."
"Really?" I gasp, drying Poppy's hands.
She scampers off to find Scott, leaving us alone for a beat.
Kieron glances around, then looks at me with sharp sincerity. "I'm so fucking sorry, Ava. What a dick he is."
The tears come quickly, blurring my vision as he pulls me into his arms. I breathe him in—fresh soap and something simply Kieron—and let myself rest against his chest. It feels safe here, uncomplicated.
Of course, he doesn't push. He never has. Kieron's always known when to talk—and when to just let me breathe.
"Let's get the princess her ice cream, and then we can talk, yeah?"
I nod, and we part just as Amanda appears, effortlessly radiant in jeans and bare feet. She sweeps me into a hug, the scent of her perfume hitting me like home.
"I'm so sorry about Roman," she murmurs against my ear. "Scott was ready to kill him last week."
I wince as she squeezes my hands, her eyes warm and worried.
"He doesn't deserve you," she adds firmly.
"Thanks," I reply quietly. "And thank you for taking care of Poppy..."
"Stop! We love her. She loves it here—down by the lake, chasing ducks and getting muddy. She's thriving."
Scott strolls in behind her, offering a crooked grin as he wraps an arm around Amanda.
I can tell he's holding back for my sake.
"So, Kieron," I ask casually, "how long has he been here?"
"He showed up today," Scott replies, rubbing the back of his neck. "Poppy lost her mind. Shannon got hold of him, and he dropped everything. He flew in from London the same day."
I freeze, staring at Scott with wide eyes. "He flew from London?" My voice catches as I turn to Kieron.
Kieron looks embarrassed, glancing down at his shoes. "It's not a big deal."
But it is. It's everything.
I cross the room again, this time more slowly, deliberately, my hands shaking slightly as I reach for him. "Thank you," I whisper, the words entirely inadequate for what I'm feeling.
He wraps me in another hug, this one longer, tighter. "You'd do the same," he responds simply.
When I pull back, wiping my eyes, I can see everyone watching us with a mixture of sympathy and something else I can't quite name.
"Anyway, it’s ice cream time," I remark, smiling faintly as I wave goodbye. I slip outside into the sun.
I climb into Kieron’s truck beside Poppy, who's already listing her demands.
"Mint. With chocolate chips. Obviously."
Kieron salutes her. "Such power, for someone so tiny."
The ride to town is filled with music and ridiculous singing. I let the wind whip through my hair and allow myself, for the first time in days, to breathe.
When we reach the local ice cream shop, Poppy pulls us out of the car like she's on a mission. Minutes later, she's happily stabbing her spoon into a sundae the size of her head, YouTube playing on my phone.
I've got caramel drizzle. Kieron goes for classic vanilla.
He leans back in his chair, licking a bit of ice cream off his knuckle. "So. How are you, really?"
I glance at Poppy, who's thoroughly distracted. "How do you think? I'm not even thirty and apparently already too old to keep my husband interested."
Kieron's brow furrows. "You know this isn't about you, right? This is him. His ego. His choices."
"Yeah, I know," I mutter, staring at the melting ice cream in my cup. "Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
He hesitates. "Did you read the stories?"
I shake my head. "I saw some headlines…"
His expression turns grim. "She did an interview. One of the trashier sites ran it like it was gospel."
My stomach turns, but I keep my expression even. "So it's as bad as I imagined."
He nods once. "Worse."
I look out the window, pressing my lips together.
"I'll say this once, Ava," he comments softly. "He doesn't deserve you. Or her. Not even close. You’re being really brave.”
"I don't feel brave." I look over at Poppy, happily oblivious. "I just keep thinking about how I grew up without a dad. And then without my mom. How I promised myself I'd never let Poppy experience that kind of loss."
I blink quickly, swallowing hard. He doesn't need to say anything else.
He's right.
And that's what makes this so hard. Because Roman isn't gone—he's just different now. The man I married, the one I trusted with everything, has transformed into someone I barely recognize. But he'll always be in our lives—He will always be Poppy's dad.
I watch my daughter laughing at something on the screen, chocolate smeared across her cheek, completely unaware of how her whole world has shifted.
How do I explain to her that Daddy still loves her, even if he broke Mommy's heart?
I look back at Kieron, whose eyes haven't left my face.
"I'm not ready to face him yet," I admit. "But I know I'll have to. For her."
He nods, understanding without needing more words. That's always been our way.