29. Ivy
IVY
M om waved from the doorway, her hospital gown too big for her frame as they wheeled her back for the test. She'd lost weight since the treatments started, and the loose fabric made her look fragile. "Wish me luck," she called.
"You don't need luck," I called back. "You've got this." My heart went with her, but I stayed planted on a bench next to my father, who'd been edgy and stern all morning.
The doors closed behind her, and the waiting began again. Dad put his phone away and leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. I could feel him preparing to speak, gathering his thoughts the way he did before important business meetings.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he began. "About being scared."
I stopped picking at my sweater. "Dad?—"
"Let me finish." His voice was calm, controlled. "I understand why you ran. I don't agree with it, but I understand it."
"I was barely twenty years old when I left. I thought I knew everything." I remember standing on that train platform with a duffel bag slung over my shoulder and too much pride in my chest, convinced I was headed toward freedom, not fallout.
"You were my daughter. My responsibility."
"I was an adult."
"Barely." He rubbed his temples, and for the first time in weeks, he looked tired. "I failed you. I should have seen what was happening. Should have protected you better."
"I didn't need protecting. I needed understanding." I crossed my arms over my chest, the fabric of my sweater bunching as I tried to hold myself together, grounding my voice before it cracked.
"Duncan was thirty-nine, Ivy. He had a decade of experience you didn't have. He knew better."
Heat rose in my chest. "I made the first move. I came on to him." I turned my head slowly, meeting his eyes with a tight jaw and a narrowed stare.
Dad’s fingers twitched on the armrest before curling into a fist, his jaw working through the urge to interrupt. "That doesn't make it right."
"It doesn't make it wrong either."
Dad's jaw tightened. "You had barely started college. You had your whole life ahead of you."
"I still do."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've spent the last four years hiding from the consequences of one night."
"I was trying to protect everyone."
Dad let out a short breath, shifting in his seat, his knee bouncing once before he stilled it with his hand. The restraint looked practiced, like he'd been holding back for years and didn’t know how to let go now. "From what?"
"From this." I gestured between us. "From the fighting and the judgment and the way you're looking at me right now."
Dad stood too, his height imposing even in the cramped waiting room. "How am I looking at you?"
"Like I'm a stranger. Like I'm someone you don't recognize."
"Maybe I don't." His voice was quiet, but the words hit deep. "The daughter I raised would have trusted me with the truth. She would have come to me for help."
"The daughter you raised was terrified of disappointing you."
"So you decided to lie instead?"
"I decided to handle it myself."
"By running away?" he asked, and I didn't miss the hurt tone of voice he used.
"Dad…" I whispered, but before I could answer, the doors opened again, and the technician emerged, her smile even brighter than before.
"Great news," she announced, clapping her hands. . "No clear signs of spread. The tumors are responding beautifully to treatment."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly that I felt lightheaded. Mom appeared behind the technician, her face radiant with joy and tears streaming down her cheeks.
"The best possible outcome," the technician continued. "Dr. Morrison will want to see you next week to discuss the next phase of treatment, but this is exactly what we were hoping for."
Dad was on his feet immediately, pulling Mom into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs. "I was so scared," she whispered. "I was so scared it had spread."
"It's okay," Dad murmured, his own voice thick. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're going to be fine."
I stood there watching them, feeling like an intruder in their moment of relief. The fight we'd been having suddenly seemed petty, insignificant compared to the news we'd just received. Mom was going to be okay. The treatment was working. We had reason to hope.
"Come here," Mom said, reaching for me with one arm while keeping the other wrapped around Dad. "Come here, baby."
I joined their embrace, feeling the warmth of their arms around me, the solid reality of their love. For a moment, the tension between Dad and me disappeared, replaced by gratitude and relief.
"Let's go home," Mom said, wiping her eyes. "I want to see my grandchildren."
The drive back to the house was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than before. Mom dozed in the passenger seat, emotionally drained from the morning's stress and the relief of good news. Dad navigated the familiar streets of Boston, his hands steady on the wheel.
"I want to apologize," I said softly, not wanting to wake Mom.
Dad's eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. "For what?"
"For lying. For keeping the children from you. For making you worry about me when you should have been focusing on Mom."
"I worried about you because I love you."
"I know. But I made it harder than it had to be."
"Yes, you did." He paused at a red light. "But I understand why."
"Do you?"
"I think so. You were scared of disappointing me. Scared of being judged. Scared of losing control of your life."
"All of the above," I grumbled, and I winced at how ungrateful that sounded. He was being kind for the first time since this started.
"I'm sorry I made you feel that way."
"Dad—"
"I did, though. I know I did. I pushed you to be perfect, to make the right choices, to never mess up. And when you finally did mess up, you were too scared to tell me about it."
The light turned green, and we drove in contemplative quiet for several blocks. Mom stirred in her seat, murmuring in her sleep.
"Duncan's a good man," Dad said eventually. "I don't agree with what happened four years ago, but I can see that he cares about you. About the children."
"He does," I sighed, staring out the window. Dad was coming around, just like Duncan said he would, but there were miles of road ahead of us that still needed to be covered to make up for all the time lost.
Dad parked in the drive and I helped him get Mom settled before leaving.
The drive to Duncan's house gave me time to think, to process the morning's events.
The good news about Mom's scan had lifted a weight from my shoulders, but the conversation with Dad had left me feeling raw and exposed.
He was right about me still running, still protecting myself from the possibility of pain.
But what if I stopped running? What if I let myself believe that this time could be different?
I used my key to let myself into Duncan's house, expecting to find chaos. Three toddlers could destroy a room in minutes, and I'd left them with Duncan for nearly four hours. Instead, I found an almost peaceful quiet.
The living room looked lived-in but not destroyed. Toys were scattered across the carpet, but not in the hurricane pattern I'd expected. Picture books lay open on the coffee table, and sippy cups sat on coasters. It looked like a home where children were welcome, where their presence was embraced.
Then I saw them.
Duncan lay on his back on the hardwood floor, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach.
Sammy was curled against his left side, his small body tucked perfectly into the curve of his arm.
His thumb was in his mouth, and his favorite stuffed elephant was clutched against his chest. Chrissy had claimed his broad chest as her personal pillow, her dark hair spread across his shirt, her small fist tangled in the fabric.
Elena sat on the couch nearby, her favorite book about princesses open in her lap, though she'd fallen asleep with her head tipped back against the cushions.
They looked natural together, like they'd always belonged to each other.
The sight of Duncan resting peacefully with our children made my throat tighten with emotion.
This was what I'd been afraid of, what I'd been running from—the possibility that they might love him, that he might love them, that everything might fall apart and leave all of us broken. But maybe my fear had been misplaced.
I moved carefully across the room, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. Elena was closest, so I lifted her first, her small body warm and heavy with sleep. She mumbled something unintelligible but didn't wake as I carried her upstairs to the guest room Duncan had set up for them.
Chrissy came next, her grip on Duncan's shirt reluctant to release. I pried her fingers loose gently, whispering soothing words as I lifted her. She settled against my shoulder with a soft sigh, and I carried her upstairs to join her sister.
Sammy was the most challenging, his small body perfectly molded to Duncan's side. He mumbled in protest when I tried to lift him, his thumb falling from his mouth. "Daddy," he whispered, the word so soft I almost missed it.
My heart stopped. He'd never called anyone daddy before. I'd been his entire world for three years, and he'd never expressed interest in fathers or wondered about the absence of one in his life. But now, after one morning with Duncan, he was claiming him with that single, sleepy word.
I carried him upstairs, my hands trembling slightly. The word echoed in my mind as I tucked him into bed next to his sisters. Such a simple word, but it changed everything.
When I returned to the living room, Duncan was sitting up, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled from small bodies and grasping hands. He looked younger somehow, more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.
"How long was I out?" he asked, running a hand through his dark hair.
"Long enough for them to use you as a personal jungle gym." I settled onto the couch where Elena had been sleeping, tucking my legs under me. "They're not usually so trusting with new people."
"Maybe they know." He shifted to face me, his blue eyes serious. "How did the scan go?"
"Good. Better than good. No signs of spread. The tumors are responding well to treatment."
"Ivy, that's incredible news."
"It is." I picked at the hem of my sweater, the same navy blue thread I'd been worrying in the hospital waiting room. "I fought with Dad again."
"About me."
"About us. About the choices I made four years ago. About the lies I've been telling."
Duncan moved to the couch, careful to leave space between us but close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his body. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. "What did he say?"
"That I've been running from the consequences of my choices. That I was too scared to come home and face what I'd done." I stared at the floor, the words tasting like metal in my mouth. I met his eyes. "He wasn't wrong."
"You were protecting yourself. Protecting them." Duncan's voice softened as he turned to face me more fully, one hand resting on the couch cushion between us.
"Was I? Or was I just being a coward?" I lifted my head, searching his face for something I couldn’t name.
"You were twenty years old, pregnant, and terrified. You did what you thought was best." He spoke carefully like he was trying not to hurt me.
"Did I? Because looking back, I'm not sure I made any of the right choices." My throat tightened, but I forced the words out anyway.
Duncan was quiet for a long moment, his hands folded in his lap. He shifted, eyes distant, then looked straight at me. "I've been thinking about that night. About what happened between us."
"Duncan—" I reached out, but my hand froze halfway to his.
"I knew it was wrong. I knew I was crossing a line I'd promised your father I'd never cross. But I did it anyway." He ran a hand down his face, like scrubbing away the memory. He looked stricken with grief and guilt and I knew how he felt.
"I seduced you," I said, almost a whisper. My voice barely made it past the lump in my throat.
"You weren't even twenty. I was thirty-nine. I should have been stronger." He stared past me, guilt carved into every line of his face. The way his forehead wrinkled I knew I'd never talk him out of his shame.
"I wanted you to want me." I twisted my hands in my lap, suddenly ashamed of how young and naive I’d been.
"I did want you. God, Ivy, I wanted you so much it scared me." He turned toward me fully now, the pain in his eyes as raw as I’d ever seen it.
"Then why didn't you fight for me? Why didn't you come after me when I left?" My voice cracked on the last word, too full of old hurt to hide.
Duncan reached for my hand, hesitating just long enough for me to give it freely. When I did, he laced our fingers together and brought them to his lips.
"Because I was a coward," he said quietly. "Because I thought you'd be better off without me. And because I didn't know how to show you that I wanted you, that I never stopped."
I blinked, the burn behind my eyes threatening to spill over.
"Ivy, you don’t ever have to wonder again. If we’re doing this—really doing this—then I’m all in. No halfway, no second-guessing. I’m not going anywhere."
I leaned into him before I could talk myself out of it, my free hand finding the collar of his shirt as I pulled him closer. He met me halfway, his lips brushing mine with a tenderness that nearly undid me. The kiss deepened, everything we hadn’t said layered into the press of mouths and breath.
When we parted, his forehead rested against mine.
"We do this," he murmured, voice rough with emotion, "we do it right. You, me, the kids. All of it."