11. Ivy
IVY
T he back door closed behind me with the softest click, and I pressed my spine against the cool wood, my heart still thundering from what had transpired beneath the apple tree.
Duncan's touch lingered on my skin, his whispered words echoing in my mind.
The house felt different now—charged with secrets and possibility, as if the very air had shifted to accommodate this new reality between us.
I slipped off my shoes and padded barefoot across the kitchen tiles, each step deliberate and quiet.
The familiar space looked foreign through the lens of what had just happened.
The same countertops where I'd eaten breakfast that morning, the same refrigerator humming its steady rhythm, but everything felt transformed. I was transformed.
My reflection caught in the darkened window above the sink, and I paused to study the woman staring back at me.
My hair was mussed despite my attempts to smooth it, my lips still swollen from Duncan's kisses.
There was a wildness in my eyes I hadn't seen in years—not since before the children, before the careful construction of my controlled, predictable life in Bar Harbor.
The triplets' room beckoned first. I eased open their door and found them sprawled across their beds in the aftermath of bath time, hair still damp against their pillows.
Sammy had kicked off his covers entirely, one small arm flung over his eyes.
Chrissy clutched her stuffed elephant, and Elena had somehow managed to turn herself completely sideways.
Their breathing was deep and even, the sound of pure exhaustion after a day of endless energy.
I adjusted Sammy's blanket and kissed each of their foreheads, inhaling that clean, innocent scent that belonged only to sleeping children. They had no idea how complicated their world was about to become. The thought made my chest tighten with a familiar mix of protectiveness and guilt.
These three perfect beings were the result of one night of passion, one moment when I'd thrown caution to the wind and followed my heart instead of my head.
Looking at them now, I couldn't bring myself to regret that choice, even if it had led to years of secrecy and isolation.
They were worth every sacrifice, every lonely night, every moment of uncertainty.
But now Duncan was back in my life, and everything felt precarious again. What would happen when he learned about them? Would he want to be part of their lives, or would the responsibility send him running? The questions circled endlessly in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.
"There you are." Lauren's voice was barely above a whisper as she appeared in the hallway, her purse slung over her shoulder. "I was starting to wonder if you'd been abducted by aliens."
"Sorry, I needed some air." I smoothed my hair self-consciously, trying to look normal.
She reached up and plucked something from behind my ear—a small green leaf. Her eyebrows rose as she held it between her fingers, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Interesting kind of air."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Lauren?—"
"Hey, I'm not judging." She dropped the leaf into her palm and closed her fist around it. "But you're going to call me tomorrow with details, right? Because that glow on your face is telling a story, and I want to hear every word."
I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through me at her teasing. "We'll see."
"Uh-huh." She squeezed my shoulder as she passed. "Just be careful, Ivy. You've got more to lose now than you did before."
The reminder sobered me instantly. She was right, of course.
The stakes were higher now—not just my heart on the line, but three little hearts that depended on me for everything.
In Maine, I'd built a life that was safe, predictable, insulated from the kind of chaos that had driven me away from Boston in the first place.
But safety came at a cost. It meant keeping everyone at arm's length, never fully trusting anyone with the whole truth of who I was.
Part of me wondered if I'd been hiding not just from Duncan and my parents, but from myself.
From the woman who had once been brave enough to take risks, to follow her desires even when they led to dangerous territory.
That woman felt foreign to me now, buried beneath years of careful responsibility and measured choices.
After Lauren left, I made my way down the hallway toward my parents' room. The door stood ajar, spilling a wedge of lamplight across the hardwood floor. I knocked softly before pushing it open.
Mom was propped against a mountain of pillows, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a paperback romance novel open in her lap. The chemo had stolen the luster from her hair and carved hollows beneath her cheekbones, but her eyes remained sharp and knowing.
"Come in, sweetheart." She patted the edge of the bed, and I settled beside her carefully, mindful of how fragile she seemed. "Did you enjoy your walk?"
The question was innocent enough, but the slight emphasis on the word "walk" told me she knew exactly what I'd been doing. My mother had always possessed an uncanny ability to read between the lines.
"It was… peaceful," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. The moments after, wrapped in Duncan's arms beneath the stars, had been the most peaceful I'd felt in years.
"Good." She closed her book and set it on the nightstand. "You looked tense at dinner. I was worried."
"I'm fine, Mom. How are you feeling? Any nausea tonight?"
She waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing I can't handle. But we're not talking about me right now." Her gaze grew serious, maternal in a way that made me feel sixteen again. "Ivy, you know I saw him arrive earlier. Duncan."
My stomach dropped. "Mom?—"
"I'm not judging you, honey. But I am concerned." She reached for my hand, her fingers cool and thin. "Whatever happened between you two years ago, whatever sent you running to Maine… it's still there, isn't it? That pull between you."
I couldn't lie to her, not when she was looking at me with such gentle understanding. "Yes."
"And you're scared."
"Terrified," I whispered.
"Of him? Or of yourself?"
The question resonated inside me, making me think for a moment before answering. "Both. All of it. I can't afford to make the same mistakes again."
"Who says it would be a mistake?" Her thumb traced across my knuckles. "Sometimes the things we're most afraid of are the ones worth fighting for."
"But what if it falls apart? What if he leaves? What if Dad finds out and?—"
"Ivy." Her voice was firm but kind. "You can't live your life in what-ifs.
Trust me, I know. When I was first diagnosed, all I could think about were the what-ifs.
What if the treatment doesn't work? What if I don't see grandchildren?
What if your father has to face the rest of his life alone?
" She squeezed my hand. "But you know what I realized?
The what-ifs were stealing the time I had right now. The moments that mattered."
Tears pricked at my eyes. "I don't want to hurt anyone."
"The only way you'll hurt people is by hiding behind your fear. By choosing shame over honesty." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Follow your heart, sweetheart. Even if it's messy. Even if it's complicated. You deserve to be happy."
A coughing fit seized her then, harsh and rattling. I helped her sit up straighter, rubbing circles on her back until it passed. The sound was worse tonight, more violent than usual. When she finally caught her breath, I could see the exhaustion etched in every line of her face.
"Here, let me get you some water." I reached for the glass on her nightstand, helping her take small sips.
Her hands shook slightly as she gripped the glass, and I had to resist the urge to hold it for her entirely.
Mom had always been fiercely independent, and even now, weakened by treatment, she insisted on maintaining whatever autonomy she could.
"Thank you, sweetheart." Her voice was hoarse, but she managed a weak smile. "I hate that you have to see me like this."
"Don't." I smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "You're still the strongest person I know. Being sick doesn't change that."
"I don't feel strong," she whispered. "I feel like I'm disappearing a little more each day."
The admission broke my heart. "You're not disappearing. You're fighting. And we're all fighting with you."
"You should rest," I said, tucking the blankets around her.
"Stay until I fall asleep?"
I nodded, settling back against the headboard. Within minutes, her breathing had deepened and evened out. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, my heart heavy with love and fear in equal measure. She was the strongest person I knew, but cancer was a thief that respected no one's strength.
When I finally slipped from the room, I found Dad waiting in the hallway.
He stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed, his face etched with fatigue and something darker.
The sight of him there, looking so lost and vulnerable, made my heart ache.
This was the man who had always seemed invincible to me, who had built an empire from nothing and commanded respect in every room he entered.
Now he looked like a frightened child, overwhelmed by circumstances beyond his control.
"How is she?" His voice was rough, as if he'd been holding back tears for hours.
"Sleeping now. The coughing seemed to ease up after she had some water."
He nodded but didn't move. In the dim light, he looked older than his years, worn down by weeks of hospital visits and sleepless nights. I could see the toll this was taking on him—the way his shoulders sagged, the deep lines around his eyes that hadn't been there six months ago.
"Dad, you should get some rest too. You won't be any good to her if you collapse from exhaustion."