33. Ivy
IVY
I curled deeper into the corner of the couch, my knees drawn up to my chest. The familiar cushions offered no comfort.
My mother's fingers moved through my hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, the same way she used to when I was small and afraid of thunderstorms. But this storm lived inside me now, and no amount of soothing could quiet it.
"Sweetheart, you need to eat," Mom whispered. Her voice carried the exhaustion of someone fighting her own battles. The chemotherapy had thinned her once-vibrant hair, and her skin held a pallor that no amount of makeup could hide. Yet here she was, trying to comfort me.
"I can't." The words scraped my throat raw.
I pressed my face against my knees, trying to disappear into myself.
The overheard conversation played on repeat in my mind—Duncan and Nick arguing about timelines and exit strategies.
He'd never mentioned leaving Boston. Never said a word about stepping away from everything. From us.
Sammy's laughter bubbled up from the living room floor where he and his sisters had built a fortress of couch cushions.
At three years old, he remained blissfully unaware of the adult chaos swirling around them.
Elena babbled to her stuffed elephant while Chrissy stacked blocks with the focused determination she'd inherited from her father.
Her father who was planning to disappear.
"You're going to make yourself sick," Lauren said from the armchair across from me.
She'd driven over the moment I'd called, leaving her own responsibilities behind without question.
Her dark eyes held the kind of fierce loyalty that had sustained me through the loneliest nights in Bar Harbor. "When did you last sleep?"
I couldn't remember. The days had blurred together since returning to Boston—hospital visits, job interviews, sleepless nights worrying about Mom's treatment, about keeping the triplets' existence secret, about seeing Duncan every day at the office.
And now this. The knowledge that he'd been planning his escape all along.
"He never told me." The admission broke from me in a whisper. "Four years I've been gone, and he never once tried to find me. Now I'm back, and he's planning to leave—just like that."
Mom's hand stilled in my hair. "What exactly did you hear?"
I lifted my head, meeting her concerned gaze. "An argument… Something about finalizing details, stepping away from the company." The memory made my chest tighten. "I thought maybe things were different than I feared all along. That he might actually want to be part of this."
The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway announced my father's approach.
He'd been pacing for the better part of an hour, his agitation growing with each pass.
When he appeared in the doorway, his face carried the thunderous expression I remembered from childhood—the one that preceded lectures about responsibility and consequences.
"This is what happens when you trust a man who has no business around decent people," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "Duncan Walsh has spent his entire adult life taking advantage of situations. Taking advantage of women."
"Dad, please." I didn't have the energy to fight him, but I couldn't let him reduce everything to his narrow worldview. "It wasn't all his fault."
"Wasn't it?" He stepped into the room, his hands clenched at his sides. "A grown man in his late thirties, manipulating a girl barely out of her teens. Using your vulnerability, your need for guidance. He knew exactly what he was doing."
Lauren shifted forward in her chair, her expression sharp. "Ivy wasn't a child, Bill. She made her own choices."
"Choices?" My father's laugh held no humor. "She was twenty years old, naive, and grieving her relationship with her family. He exploited that."
"Stop," I spat, and I pushed myself upright, my mother's hand falling away from my hair. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here."
The room fell quiet except for the triplets' gentle play. Sammy had discovered a new game, dropping blocks into a container and clapping each time they made a sound. The innocent joy in his voice made my heart ache.
"I'm not saying Duncan was blameless," I continued, my voice steadier now. "But I'm not some victim who couldn't think for herself. I wanted him. I made that choice."
My father's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, the phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the tension, making everyone freeze. My father glanced at the caller ID, and his expression darkened further.
"It's him," he said, his voice flat.
My stomach dropped. "Don't answer it."
But he was already moving, his long strides carrying him to the phone. He lifted the receiver slowly like he was moving in slow motion, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Walsh."
I couldn't hear Duncan's voice, but I watched my father's face harden with each passing second. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.
"No, she's not available," he said, his tone arctic. "And frankly, it's no longer any of your concern."
"Dad, don't?—"
He held up a hand, silencing me. "You've done enough damage. Stay away from my family."
The click of the receiver hitting the cradle seemed to echo through the room. My father turned back to us, his expression grim with satisfaction.
"He won't be calling again."
The finality in his voice broke something inside me. I covered my face with my hands, and the tears I'd been holding back finally came. They poured out in harsh, ugly sobs that shook my entire body. All the fear, exhaustion, and heartbreak I'd carried for years crashed over me at once.
"Oh, honey." Mom moved closer, her arms wrapping around me. "It's going to be okay."
But it wasn't okay. Nothing about this was okay. I'd spent years building a life without him, convincing myself I was stronger alone. Now he was back, and I'd let myself hope. I'd let myself believe that maybe we could find a way forward together.
Lauren's voice cut through my despair. "He has a right to be with his children, Bill. Whether you approve or not."
"He lost that right when he decided to run," my father shot back.
Their voices faded into background noise as I sobbed into my hands.
The conversation I'd overheard replayed in my mind —Duncan's angry tone as he screamed at Nick, Nick's revelation that Duncan wanted to "be free" and have nothing tying him down.
Nothing—like three children who were tethers to a life he no longer wanted.
"Mama?" Sammy's small voice broke through my breakdown. "Where's Daddy?"
I looked up through my tears to find all three children watching me with worried expressions. Elena clutched her elephant tighter, while Chrissy abandoned her blocks to toddle closer.
"Where'd Daddy go?" Sammy asked again, his hazel eyes—so much like his—wide with confusion.
I covered my face again, the question destroying what little composure I had left.