35. Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-five
Celeste
The house is quiet.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind of quiet I used to know.
Not the kind that meant someone was angry. Or someone was stomping around the house, slamming doors. Or the kind where the air felt tight and sharp, like one wrong word could set something off.
Not the quiet that meant someone was about to break something.
Or that I was about to say the wrong thing and pay for it.
This quiet is different.
Soft.
Safe.
The kind of quiet that wraps around the house like a blanket instead of a warning sign.
The lamps in the living room are dim, casting warm golden light over the couch and the hardwood floors. The dishwasher hums faintly in the kitchen, and somewhere outside, a late-night car drives past, tires whispering along the road.
It’s peaceful.
And for the first time in what feels like years, that word doesn’t feel foreign.
Rowen is asleep down the hall in his room, curled into Tate’s side like he belongs there.
Which he does.
The image is still fresh in my mind from when I peeked in earlier. Rowen wrapped up in his dinosaur blanket, one small arm thrown across Tate’s chest, his face relaxed in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
The pediatrician said he’d need a few days to fully recover from the hospital stay, that his body had been through a lot and might take time to regulate again.
But his numbers were already stabilizing.
Better than anyone expected.
His body is bouncing back faster than the doctors predicted.
Because he finally wasn’t living in survival mode.
Because we weren’t either.
I’m sitting on the couch with my feet tucked under me, absently tracing the seam of one of the throw pillows while the quiet stretches around the house.
My mind drifts in that strange way it does after a crisis finally passes, half relief, half disbelief that it’s actually over.
That we’re actually here.
Then I hear a door open softly down the hall.
A moment later, it closes with a gentle click.
My heart lifts before I even see him.
Tate walks into the room, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s tired but trying not to show it.
The moment I see him, something warm and light floods my chest.
Relief.
Love.
Home.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low so he doesn’t wake Rowen.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
He crosses the room in a few easy steps and drops down beside me on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight.
Without hesitation, without even thinking about it, his arm slides around me and pulls me into his chest.
Like it’s instinct now.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like this is where I’ve always belonged.
I melt into him immediately, my cheek pressing against his hoodie as his warmth wraps around me.
For a minute, neither of us says anything.
We just breathe.
The steady rise and fall of his chest under my cheek is grounding in a way I can’t quite explain. His hand slides gently into my hair, fingers brushing the back of my neck in slow, absent strokes that make my shoulders relax without me even realizing it.
“You should be sleeping,” he says softly after a moment.
“So should you.”
He lets out a quiet huff of amusement.
“Ro was having a hard time going back to sleep after I had to wake him for a snack.”
My chest tightens instantly, and I lift my head. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Tate reassures me quickly, pressing a soft kiss into my hair.
I relax slightly, but the worry still lingers.
“What did he say?”
Tate’s arm tightens around me as he leans his head back against the couch.
“Just wanted to make sure we were still here.”
God.
That sentence alone nearly breaks me.
My throat tightens, and I stare down at my hands for a second, blinking hard.
“I hate that he went through all that,” I whisper.
The words feel small compared to everything Rowen endured. Compared to the fear that used to live in his little body, as if it were normal.
Tate shifts beside me, gently pulling back so he can see my face.
“Hey.”
His thumb brushes softly under my eye, catching a tear I didn’t realize had escaped.
“None of that was your fault.”
I still struggle to believe that.
Some days more than others.
Years of being told everything was my fault don’t just disappear overnight.
But I’m trying.
Because Tate believes it.
Because his parents believe it.
Because the lawyer we met with yesterday, the one who actually knew Tate’s parents, made it very clear that Brett signing away his parental rights changes everything.
Not just legally, either. The way she explained it, once he signs those papers, the entire situation shifts.
Custody, guardianship, adoption, every possibility starts looking different. Cleaner. Simpler. Final.
I don’t know exactly why Brett decided to walk away after making it such a big fuss about fighting for him in the first place.
For weeks, it felt like that was the only thing he cared about, like he’d go down swinging before he let anyone take Tate from him.
So hearing that he’d signed the paperwork didn’t make sense at first. It still doesn’t, not completely.
Maybe it was the meeting with the lawyer. Maybe hearing someone who actually knew Tate’s parents talk about what they would have wanted made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.
Or maybe it was something simpler than that.
Maybe seeing Ro with Tate did it.
The way Tate gravitates toward Ro without even thinking about it. The way Ro doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess himself, when Tate reaches for him or starts talking about something random or asks a hundred questions in a row. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe Brett saw the same thing everyone else has been pretending not to notice.
That Tate already fits with us.
And maybe, for the first time, it finally clicked for him that trying to take Ro away from Tate or Tate away from Ro wasn’t really fighting for him at all.
It was just holding on.
And maybe Brett realized that holding on would hurt Rowen more than letting go.
Rowen is protected now.
Protected legally.
Protected physically.
Protected emotionally.
For the first time in years…
We can breathe.
Tate leans back into the couch, gently pulling me with him so I’m half laying against his chest, my legs stretched across the cushions while his arm stays wrapped securely around my waist.
“You know what my mom said today?” he asks after a moment.
“What?” I murmur.
“She wants us to move into the lake house we have down in the Cape for the summer.”
I blink up at him, my brain taking a second to catch up.
“What?”
He chuckles softly at my reaction, the sound rumbling through his chest under my cheek.
“They barely use it anymore. They only bought it because they knew I wanted to go to school out here, so they would have their own place to stay at when they would visit,” he explains. “Big yard. Way more space than here. Close to the beach.”
My mind immediately starts spinning.
A lake house.
The Cape.
Summer air, ocean water, and space for Rowen to run around without fear.
A life that doesn’t revolve around surviving Brett.
A life where we wake up in the morning, and the biggest problem is deciding what to make for breakfast.
“You’d want that?” I ask quietly.
Tate looks down at me like I just asked the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.
“Cel,” he says gently.
His voice is so soft it makes my chest ache.
“I want whatever life gives you and Ro peace.”
My throat tightens instantly.
The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming in the best way.
“You’d really… move everything for us?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He reaches up and cups my face in both hands, guiding my eyes back to his.
Like the answer should already be obvious.
Like there was never another option.
“You two are my everything.”
God.
I kiss him before I can start crying again.
The kiss is slow.
Soft.
Full of all the things we almost lost.
When we pull apart, Tate doesn’t move far.
His hands stay on my waist, like he’s not quite ready to let go, like letting go might somehow undo everything we just fought through. His forehead rests gently against mine, our breaths still uneven, mixing in the small space between us.
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then he exhales softly.
“I talked to the lawyer again today,” he says.
The words are quiet, but they land heavily.
My stomach flips instantly, nerves twisting tight in my chest. Lawyers still make my pulse spike after everything with Brett.
“And?” I ask carefully.
Tate’s thumb brushes back and forth against my hip, a nervous movement I don’t think he even realizes he’s making.
“He said if we want to start the process…” Tate pauses, like he’s choosing the next words with extreme care. “I can adopt Rowen.”
The room goes completely still.
For a second, I’m not sure I heard him right.
My heart slams hard against my ribs, the sound loud in my ears.
“Adopt him?” I breathe.
Tate nods, but I can see the uncertainty flicker across his face now, like he’s suddenly worried he pushed too far.
“Only if you want that,” he adds quickly. “No pressure. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. “I already feel like he’s mine.”
That does it.
The tears come instantly, blurring my vision until Tate’s face becomes soft around the edges.
Because he says it so simply.
Like it isn’t the most life-changing thing anyone has ever offered me.
Like loving Rowen was never a question.
“He is,” I whisper.
Tate’s breath catches, sharp and quiet between us.
I take his hand before I can lose the courage, guiding it upward until his palm rests flat against my chest, right over the frantic beat of my heart.
“You’ve been more of a father to him in six months than Brett ever was in five years.”
My voice shakes on the words, thick with everything I’ve been carrying for so long, the fear, the relief, the overwhelming love sitting heavy in my chest.
Emotion flashes across Tate’s face so fast it nearly breaks me.
Hope.
Disbelief.
Something dangerously close to tears.
“So yes,” I whisper.
His brows knit slightly, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.
“Yes, what?”
My fingers tighten around his.
“Yes…” My voice wobbles, but I don’t look away. “I want that.”
I swallow hard, my chest so full it almost hurts.
“I want you to be his dad.”
Tate pulls me into his arms so fast we nearly fall off the couch.
He’s laughing and breathing like he just ran a marathon.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Language,” I tease weakly.
He kisses my temple.
“Sorry. Holy—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
He grins.
Then his expression softens.
“You realize that means you’re stuck with me forever now.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Pretty sure I decided that the night you stood in a hospital hallway and told my ex you were more of a father than he’d ever be.”
Tate groans. “God, I really said that.”
“You did.” I let out a soft giggle.
“Was it hot?”
I laugh louder. “Extremely. Soooo hot.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me again.
“Good,” he says. “Because I meant every word.”
We can hear Rowen shift in his room.
We both look toward the hallway automatically.
Protective.
Instinctive.
Family.
Tate laces our fingers together.
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “we start the paperwork.”
“And after that?”
He smiles softly.
“After that… we build the rest of our life.”
For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t scare me.
It feels like hope.
And upstairs, our son sleeps peacefully for the first time in weeks.
Finally safe.
Finally loved.
Finally home.