30. Duncan
DUNCAN
I pulled the retirement paperwork from the center of my desk and opened the bottom drawer. The pages disappeared into the darkness with a soft whisper, and I pushed the drawer closed with more force than necessary, which satisfied me in a way I hadn't expected.
The knock on my office door came exactly at nine, as I knew it would. Nick's punctuality had always been one of his strengths as chairman of the board. Today, it felt more like a countdown.
"Come in."
He entered with his usual confident stride, coffee in hand, already scanning my desk for the signed documents. His eyes found the empty space where the paperwork had been, and his expression shifted from expectation to concern.
"Where are the retirement papers?"
"I'm not signing them." I leaned back in my chair, meeting his gaze directly. "Not today. Maybe not ever."
Nick's face transformed. The careful neutrality he wore in boardrooms disappeared, replaced by something harder and more personal. He set his coffee down on my desk with enough force to make the liquid slosh against the lid.
"What do you mean, maybe not ever?"
"I mean exactly what I said. I'm reconsidering."
"Reconsidering." He repeated the word as if it tasted bitter. "Duncan, we've been planning this transition for months. The board is ready. I've been preparing to take over as CEO."
"I know what you've been preparing for."
"Then what's changed?" But even as he asked, I could see he already knew. His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair. "This is about her, isn't it? About Ivy."
I didn't deny it. There was no point in pretending this decision existed in a vacuum, separate from the woman who had walked back into my life and turned everything upside down.
"It's about a lot of things."
"A lot of things." Nick laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Right. A lot of things that all happen to revolve around a woman who kept your children secret for three years."
The words hit their mark, but I refused to flinch. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" He moved closer to my desk, his voice dropping to the tone he used when he was about to make his most cutting arguments.
"You've been planning this exit for two years, Duncan.
Two years of talking about how burned out you are, how you want something different, how this company has taken everything from you and I spent that whole time asking you to reconsider.
Now suddenly you're having second thoughts because she's back? "
"I'm having second thoughts because I realized I was running away."
"Running away from what?"
"From everything that mattered." I stood up, needing to move, needing to match his energy. "From responsibility. From the people who depend on me. From the possibility of building something real."
Nick's expression hardened further. "You think selling the company isn't real? You think the plans we made aren't real?"
"I think I was making those plans for the wrong reasons."
"And what reasons are those?"
"Fear." The admission came out more easily than I expected. "Fear of staying in one place long enough to get hurt again. Fear of trusting someone enough to let them close. Fear of being the kind of man who runs when things get complicated."
"So instead you're going to be the kind of man who makes impulsive decisions for a woman who already proved she can't be trusted?"
His accusation was spiteful, something I'd never seen him be. I felt my temper rise, but I kept my voice level. "This isn't impulsive. And it's not just about Ivy."
"Then what is it about?"
"It's about what kind of man I want to be. The kind who stays. The kind who builds something that lasts instead of walking away when it gets difficult."
Nick stared at me for a long moment, his breathing controlled but his anger visible in the set of his shoulders. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."
"It's not just your mistake, Duncan. It affects all of us. The board, the employees, the investors who were counting on this transition."
"The company will thrive no matter what choice I make. You know that as well as I do."
"That's not the point." He picked up his coffee, gripping it tighter than necessary. "The point is that you're letting emotion cloud your judgment. Again."
The reference to my past mistakes wasn't subtle, but I didn't take the bait. "Maybe emotion is exactly what my judgment has been missing."
Nick shook his head, disappointment replacing anger in his expression. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"I do."
He turned toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, I hope it works out for you. But I'm not going to pretend this doesn't change things between us."
After he left, I sat in my office for another hour, staring out the window at the city below. The conversation had gone exactly as I'd expected, but it still left me drained. Nick had been a good friend, and losing that friendship would be a consequence I'd have to live with.
But for the first time in years, I felt certain about my choice.
By six o'clock, I was standing in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator while the sounds of the triplets playing drifted in from the living room. Ivy sat at the counter, watching me work, her chin resting on her hand.
"You don't have to cook for us every night," she said, but her tone suggested she didn't really want me to stop.
"I want to." I pulled out chicken breasts and set them on the counter. "Besides, someone has to make sure you eat actual meals instead of whatever the kids leave on their plates."
She smiled at that, the first genuine smile I'd seen from her all day. "I eat."
"Goldfish crackers and apple slices don't count as dinner."
"They do when you're too tired to cook."
I looked at her then, really looked at her. The exhaustion was still there, carved into the lines around her eyes, but there was something else too. Something that looked almost like contentment.
"Are you happy?" I asked.
The question surprised her. She straightened, considering her answer. "I think I am. Or I'm getting there."
"Good."
I moved around the kitchen with an ease that surprised me.
Three weeks ago, I couldn't have imagined myself here, setting the table while Sammy colored pictures of dinosaurs and Chrissy built towers with blocks.
Elena sat in her high chair, babbling to herself as she worked on picking up pieces of cereal.
"You're different here," Ivy said.
"Different how?"
"Calmer. More… present."
I paused in my preparation of the salad, thinking about her words. "I feel different. I feel like I've been holding my breath for years, and now I can finally exhale."
She nodded, understanding passing between us without need for explanation. "I know that feeling."
"Do you regret it? Coming back?"
"No." Her answer came quickly, without hesitation. "I regret the years we lost. I regret the secrets and the running and the way I handled everything. But I don't regret being here now."
"Neither do I."
We ate dinner together, the five of us around the table that had once felt too big for just me.
Now it felt exactly right. The triplets chattered about their day, sharing stories that made no sense but delighted them anyway.
Ivy helped Elena with her sippy cup while I cut up Sammy's chicken into smaller pieces.
This was what I'd been missing. Not the boardroom victories or the strategic wins, but the simple act of being needed by people who mattered. Of being part of something bigger than myself.
After dinner, I helped get the kids ready for bed while Ivy cleaned up the kitchen.
The routine had become natural, developed over the past several days without conscious planning.
Sammy insisted I read him three stories.
Chrissy wanted me to check under her bed for monsters.
Elena fell asleep in my arms before I could even get her into her crib.
When I came back downstairs, Ivy was standing by the window, looking out at the garden. I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and she leaned back against my chest.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Everything. Nothing." She turned in my arms to face me. "I never thought I'd see you with them. Making dinner, reading bedtime stories, picking out juice cups in the grocery store."
"I never thought I'd want to be here."
"And now?"
"Now I can't imagine being anywhere else."
She reached up to touch my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "We're really doing this, aren't we? Building something new."
"We are."
"It scares me."
"It scares me too." I kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair. "But I'm done running from things that scare me."
I hugged her to my chest so tight she wriggled to get free and when she looked up at me I said, "I want to make peace with your father."
Ivy tensed in my arms. "Duncan?—"
"I know what you're going to say. I know he's angry, and I know he has every right to be. But I want to try. For the sake of the family we're building."
She pulled back to look at me, studying my face. "He's not going to make it easy."
"I don't expect him to."
"He might never forgive you."
"Then I'll have to live with that. But I have to try."
She nodded slowly, though I could see the worry in her eyes. "I'm meeting him tomorrow at the park. The one near the hospital."
"Okay."
"Do you think—" She hesitated, then started again. "Do you think you should come with me?"
The question stopped me cold. I'd been assuming I would go, that facing Bill together would be the next step in moving forward. But now, looking at Ivy's uncertain expression, I wondered if I'd been wrong.
"Do you want me to come?"
"I don't know." Her honesty was both refreshing and troubling. "Part of me does. But part of me thinks it might make things worse."
I thought about Nick's words, about the way Bill had looked at me the night he'd discovered the truth about the triplets. Everything I'd ever done seemed wrong in his eyes, and I wasn't sure my presence would help bridge that gap.
"Maybe you're right," I said, though the words felt heavy. "Maybe I should let you talk to him first."
But even as I said it, I couldn't shake the feeling that staying away might be just another form of running.