18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Claire
C laire opened the front door and was slammed by a gut-punch of disbelief, her breath catching as her gaze landed on the last person she ever wanted to see standing on her porch in Seaview Harbor. Her breath caught, a tightness coiling in her chest as if the sudden coldness in the air had pressed against her lungs. For a second, she thought she might slam the door and pretend she hadn’t seen him.
“Derek?” she asked, blinking as if her eyes had conjured him from some bitter memory.
Her ex-husband leaned against the doorframe like he belonged there, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup. “Morning, Claire. You look… coastal.”
She crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the area,” he said casually, shrugging one shoulder. “Figured I’d drop by. It’s been a while.”
Claire tilted her head, unimpressed. “You mean two years. That’s more than just ‘a while’.”
“You’ve never just been in the area either,” she replied, her voice flat. “And you’ve never shown up unannounced. Not even when it mattered.”
Derek smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well. Life gets busy.”
“Gabe’s life kept going too,” she replied. “Without you.”
Before he could answer, Jack appeared behind her, drawn by the sound of voices and the edge in her tone. His quiet steps stopped just behind her, one hand brushing gently against her back—a steadying presence, as if anchoring her in place. He leaned in slightly and whispered, "Everything okay out here?" he asked quietly, Claire’s spine eased just slightly at the touch—like a knot inside her had loosened. Jack’s presence didn’t just steady her; it reminded her she wasn’t standing alone. Claire gave a small nod, but didn't look away from Derek. "Yeah. Just... a surprise visit."
Claire stepped back to let Jack into the doorway beside her, grateful for his calm presence.
Derek’s eyes flicked to Jack and back. “Ah. So this is the reason your texts have gotten shorter.”
Claire didn’t flinch. “Jack is my neighbor. And my friend. He’s also not the reason we’re not together, in case you forgot—again.”
Jack remained silent, but his stance straightened slightly, the picture of polite but firm resolve.
“I’m not here to fight,” Derek said, raising both hands. “Just wanted to say hi to Gabe. Maybe take him for ice cream?”
Claire hesitated. “You’re two years late for ice cream, Derek.”
Gabe’s voice echoed from the living room. “Mom, can I show Jack my new Lego tower?”
Derek raised his eyebrows. “That didn’t take long.”
Claire turned to Jack with a glance that asked, Would you mind?
Jack smiled gently. “Of course. I’ll be in the den.”
Once Jack disappeared down the hallway, Derek’s charm flickered off like a light switch. Claire felt the shift immediately—her stomach tensed, her breath catching as a hundred memories surged back uninvited. This was the Derek who’d left her second-guessing everything—his voice soft one minute, cutting the next. Her shoulders drew back as if bracing for a cold wind. This was the Derek she remembered—the one who dropped the mask when he thought no one was watching.
“So this is what you want now? Mr. Calm and Collected?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You think a guy like that gets what you need? You think he can handle you? I remember when you needed more than calm words and steady hands,” his tone laced with sarcasm.
Claire straightened. “What I want is peace. And what Gabe needs is consistency. Neither of which you’ve managed to offer.”
He scoffed. “I made mistakes, Claire. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“Caring requires effort. Calls. Presence. Not unexpected drive-bys to make yourself feel better.”
Derek stared at her for a moment, and for once, he didn’t have a comeback. “So I can’t see him?”
“I’ll talk to Gabe tonight and you can call me tomorrow,” she said, her voice quieter but firm. “But you don’t get to walk in and out of his life anymore. He deserves better than that.”
He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve grown,” she corrected.
As he turned to leave, Jack returned to the foyer, as if sensing it was time. Derek looked between them again and shook his head. “Well, good luck.”
Claire closed the door gently behind him.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "That looked intense."
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yeah. Actually… I think I am.”
Jack hesitated. “If he comes back—”
“I’ll handle it,” she said. “But thank you for stepping in without stepping on me.”
He smiled. “You held your own. I just wanted to stand beside you while you did.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what had passed settling between them.
Claire finally said, “You want to help me make pancakes? Gabe will be hungry soon.”
Her shoulders dropped as the tension of the last few minutes finally began to dissolve. The steady hum of the house returned, wrapping around her like a warm blanket after a storm—Gabe's faint laughter, the scent of brewing coffee—and Claire realized how much lighter she felt with Derek gone and Jack still beside her. The invitation to make pancakes wasn’t just about breakfast; it was about reclaiming peace.
Jack grinned. “Sure, but full disclosure—I’m better at ordering breakfast than cooking it.”
“That’s okay. You can be in charge of flipping,” Claire replied, pulling a mixing bowl from the cabinet.
From the living room, Chloe called out, “Only if he doesn’t flip them onto the floor!”
Jack laughed. “Challenge accepted.”
Claire smiled, pouring flour into the bowl. “We’ll see how cocky you are when it’s time to whisk.”
“Lead the way,” Jack replied, his expression warm and steady.
As they moved around the kitchen island, Claire stole a glance at the closed front door, feeling lighter than she had in years. The past might still knock, but it didn’t have to come inside.
And Jack—steady, present Jack—had quietly drawn a line in the sand with her.
Later that morning, as she wiped syrup from Gabe’s chin and laughed at one of Chloe’s made-up jokes, Claire realized something had shifted.
Not just in her home.
In her heart.
The next time the past tried to return, she wouldn’t be shaken. She had roots now. She had love.
And she wasn’t going back.
As she stepped out onto the porch that afternoon, Claire spotted an envelope tucked under the mat.
No stamp. No return address.
Just her name, written in Derek’s handwriting—sharp, slanted, and carrying the same subtle haughtiness she’d once learned to decipher between the lines of his texts and promises. A chill crept along her spine. Whatever was inside, it wasn’t just a note. It felt like a warning, a thread she thought she'd severed, tightening again with a single stroke of ink.
Her fingers froze mid-reach. "What now?" she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing at the envelope.
She wasn’t going back—but the past might not be done with her yet.