Chapter 14 #2
A neighbor's Christmas lights cast soft red and green patterns against her windows. Inside, it's warm— cinnamon and pine, that candle she always burns. June's curled on the couch in sweats and an oversized sweater, laptop open, printouts scattered everywhere.
She looks up when I come in, eyes exhausted. "I don't know what to do."
I sit beside her, close enough that our knees touch. "About?"
"Everything." She gestures at the papers—profit margins, equipment quotes, staffing proposals. "Riley's right. I need to expand. But what if I can't handle it? What if I take out a loan and it all falls apart?"
I take her hand, lacing our fingers together. "What does your gut say?"
She hesitates, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth. "That I've worked too hard to stop now. But Adam... what if I fail?"
"What if you don't?" I squeeze her hand. "What if this is exactly your moment? What if you're supposed to be scared because it matters?"
Her voice shakes. "With everything else going on—"
"Those things will pass," I say firmly. "Sarah's not going to win. But your business? That's yours. Build it. Don't let fear steal this from you."
She looks at me, hope flickering in her tired eyes. "You really believe in me that much?"
"More than you believe in yourself." I pull her closer. "It's honestly frustrating."
She laughs—vulnerable, leaning into me, head on my shoulder.
I feel her decision settle. Quiet but solid.
She's going to do it. She's going to expand. She's letting herself dream bigger.
And I'm so goddamn proud I could burst.
"Okay," she whispers. "Okay. I'll do it."
I kiss the top of her head. "That's my girl."
***
Tuesday and Wednesday slide by in a blur—cold, bright mornings and evenings strung with twinkle lights. The whole town's gearing up for Christmas, wreaths on every door, inflatable Santas popping up on lawns. But inside me, time feels stalled.
Michael called. The custody hearing is three weeks out. The date sits in my mind like a stone, heavy and unavoidable.
Like watching storm clouds build on the horizon while trying to savor the sunlight anyway.
June's dialed in, laser-focused on the expansion.
She's making calls to banks, reviewing lease papers for the space next door, scribbling notes in margins, cross-checking cost forecasts.
I swing by when I can—dropping off coffee, offering moral support.
I see her nerves in the way she triple-checks numbers, rubs her temples, glances at her phone like she's bracing for another shoe to drop.
I want her to win. I need her to win.
But there's a part of me bracing for something to go wrong. Sarah looms in my mind like a shadow at the door, waiting.
***
Wednesday night, Emma and I head to June's place. Emma's clutching coloring books and a handful of bakery stickers she's been hoarding, already chattering about gingerbread houses and the holiday songs she's learning at school.
We settle in—Emma sprawling across the living room rug with her markers, June making hot chocolate in the kitchen, the house warm and safe.
Then my phone rings.
Michael Drummond's name flashes on the screen.
I go tense immediately. June catches my expression from the kitchen doorway, hot chocolate forgotten.
I glance at Emma—still humming to herself, completely absorbed in her coloring—and nod toward the kitchen as I make my way there. Closing the door quietly before answering on speaker.
"Hi, Michael."
His tone is confident, almost relaxed. "Adam. Just wanted to touch base before the hearing. We've got a strong case. Sarah's harassment works significantly in our favor."
My heart pounds. "What about the surveillance photos?" I glance at June, who's gripping the counter.
"Those cut both ways," Michael says. "Yes, they show you and June together. But they prove illegal surveillance. The judge will care far more about privacy violations and stalking behavior than about you having a girlfriend. Adults are allowed to date, Adam. You haven't done anything wrong."
I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "So that's not automatically a problem?"
"Not even close. Unless your relationship directly harms Emma—which clearly it doesn't—you're well within your rights. We'll be prepared for anything Sarah throws at us. Custody cases aren't about punishing parents for moving on with their lives."
Hope stirs in my chest, fragile and bright. "Thank you, Michael."
After we hang up, the tension in the room shifts. Not gone—but lighter.
June's shoulders drop half an inch. Color returns to her face.
"He sounded confident," she says quietly.
"He did."
Through the door, we hear Emma singing off-key—something about snowmen and jingle bells.
June looks at me, hope and fear warring in her eyes. "Three weeks."
"Three weeks," I echo.
"What if—"
I step closer, framing her face in both hands. "No what-ifs. We trust Michael. We trust the process. And we trust that Emma's happy and healthy and thriving—with us."
"With us," she repeats, like testing the words.
"Yeah. Us."