Chapter Thirty-Five
Katrina
I didn’t sleep.
How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Derek’s face as he walked out the door. Heard his voice saying I love you both. Felt the weight of everything I’d learned crushing down on me until I couldn’t breathe.
By the time the sun started to rise, I’d given up trying. I made coffee and sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, my hands wrapped around the mug for warmth I couldn’t seem to find, thinking about everything that had been thrown at me in the last twenty-four hours.
The knock came just after seven.
Three sharp raps that made my heart jump into my throat.
I knew who it was before I even stood up. Knew it in the way my body tensed and my pulse quickened. I walked to the door slowly, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
Through the peephole, I could see him.
Derek stood on my porch, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched against the morning chill. He looked like he hadn’t slept either. His hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.
I pressed my palm against the door, feeling the solid wood between us.
Don’t open it, I told myself. Don’t let him in.
But my hand was already moving to the deadbolt.
I opened the door just wide enough to see him clearly, keeping the chain lock engaged.
“Kat.” His voice was rough, raw. Like he’d been screaming or crying or both.
“What are you doing here?” I asked quietly.
“I’m showing up.” He lifted his chin, meeting my eyes with an intensity that made my chest ache. “Every day. I’m going to show up every day and prove to you who I am now. Not who I was. The man I’ve become. The man I’m still learning to be.”
My throat tightened. “Derek—”
“I’m not asking you to let me in,” he interrupted gently. “Not today. Not until you’re ready. I’m just asking you to let me show you. Let me prove it.”
I wanted to say yes. Wanted to throw open the door and pull him inside and tell him I believed him, that I trusted him, that I was ready.
But I couldn’t.
Because Frankie’s words kept echoing in my head: You always say people deserve second chances. So why doesn’t Derek get one?
And beneath that, Haizley’s voice from our conversation weeks ago: What are you really afraid of, Kat?
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Not yet.”
Derek nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said simply. “And the day after that. And the day after that. For as long as it takes.”
He turned and walked down the porch steps without waiting for a response.
I watched him climb into his truck, watched him sit there for a moment with his hands on the steering wheel, his head bowed. Then the engine started, and he drove away.
I closed the door and locked it, my hands shaking.
What am I doing?
Over the next four days, Derek showed up at seven o’clock sharp.
Each morning, I opened the door with the chain lock still engaged, and each morning he found an excuse to talk to me with an offer of something small to fix—the flickering porch light, the dripping bathroom faucet.
He never pushed. Never demanded entry. Just offered to help and accepted my refusal with quiet grace.
Frankie noticed, of course. She watched me soften incrementally, saw me stop slamming the door quite so quickly. “He’s showing up,” she said over her cereal on the fifth morning, smiling into her bowl. “Just like he said he would.”
She was right. And that terrified me.
By the seventh day, I couldn’t ignore the dripping faucet anymore—or the voice in my head telling me I was using Derek’s past as a shield against my own fear. I grabbed my phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of it.
“Haizley? It’s Kat. Can I make an appointment?”
Haizley’s office was in her living room—a comfortable couch against one wall with a matching chair across from it, a small side table between them holding tissues. I sat across from her, my hands twisted together in my lap.
“Derek’s been showing up at my house every morning,” I said. “He says he’s proving who he is now.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Terrified,” I admitted. “Confused. Hopeful. All of it at once.”
Haizley nodded. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
“That I’m wrong about him. That I’ll let him in and he’ll hurt Frankie.”
“Do you actually believe Derek would hurt Frankie?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word wouldn’t come. Despite everything I’d heard from Sam, from Zero, that wasn’t the man I knew.
“No,” I whispered.
“Then what are you really afraid of?”
I looked down at my hands. “That he’ll hurt me.”
“Kat.” Haizley leaned forward. “Are you actually afraid Derek will hurt you? Or are you afraid he won’t, and that you’ll have to admit you were wrong about him?”
The question hit me like a slap.
“Do you think you might be using Derek’s past as a way to protect yourself?” Haizley pressed gently. “A way to avoid being vulnerable again? Avoid risking your heart?”
Tears burned my eyes as I thought about her question. “What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?” Haizley countered. “What if Derek has changed? What if you’re so afraid of being hurt that you push away the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
I pressed my hands to my face.
“You’ve built walls to protect yourself and Frankie,” Haizley continued. “That’s survival. But at some point, those walls stop protecting you and start trapping you. Derek isn’t asking you to tear down all your walls at once. He’s just asking you to open the door.”
I didn’t have an answer.
On day ten, a little over a week after everything came crashing down around me, the knock came again at seven. This time, I was waiting. I was already standing at the door, my hand on the deadbolt.
I’d been standing there for ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to do what I knew I needed to do.
Open the door.
Let him in.
Trust yourself.
I took a deep breath and slid the chain lock free.
Then I opened the door.
Derek stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, his eyes widening slightly when he saw the door fully open.
“Kat.”
“Hi.”
We stood there in silence, the morning air cold and still between us.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “For making you wait. For not letting you in.”
“You don’t have to apologize—”
“Yes, I do.” I stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in. Please.”
Derek hesitated, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“Are you sure?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I’m trying to be.”
He stepped inside slowly, carefully, like he was afraid I’d change my mind. I closed the door behind him and locked it, my hands shaking.
“Do you want coffee?” I asked.
“Sure.”
We moved to the kitchen in silence. I poured two mugs and handed him one, then sat down at the table. Derek sat across from me, his hands wrapped around the mug, his eyes never leaving my face.
“I talked to Haizley,” I said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“She helped me see some things.” I took a sip of coffee, trying to steady my nerves. “About why I’ve been so afraid. About what I’m really protecting myself from.”
Derek waited, patient and still.
I looked down at my coffee. “I’ve been hurt before. Not just the men I trusted, but friends too. People who were supposed to protect me and Frankie. And I built walls to keep us safe. But those walls... they’re not just keeping danger out. They’re keeping everything out. Including you.”
Derek’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Or trust myself. But I want to try.”
“What does that mean?” His voice was rough, careful.
“It means I want to keep seeing Haizley,” I said. “And maybe we can talk to her together. To figure out if we can make this work.”
Derek’s eyes widened. “You want to go to therapy together?”
“Yes.” I met his gaze. “If you’re willing.”
“I’m willing,” he said immediately. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Kat. Whatever you need.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling between us.
“Can I ask you something?” Derek said finally.
“Okay.”
“When we’re ready... when you’re ready, would you go on a date with me?”
I blinked at him. “A date?”
“Yeah.” A small, tentative smile tugged at his lips. “Dinner. Maybe a movie. Something normal.”
Despite everything, I felt myself smile. “That sounds nice.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a maybe,” I said carefully. “Let’s see how therapy goes first.”
“I’ll take a maybe.” Derek’s smile widened slightly. “That’s more than I had yesterday.”
“Derek.” I reached across the table, my hand hovering over his. “I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“This doesn’t mean everything’s okay,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for keeping secrets. Or that I’m not still scared. It just means... I’m willing to try.”
“That’s all I’m asking for,” Derek said. He turned his hand over, palm up, and I slowly placed mine in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady. “I’ll prove it to you, Kat. Every single day. I’ll prove I’m worth the risk.”
I looked down at our joined hands, feeling the calluses on his palm, the strength in his grip.
“I hope so,” I whispered.
Frankie shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep. She stopped short in the doorway, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Derek and I sat at the table together, our hands linked, two cups of coffee steaming between us.
“Derek?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
He pulled his hand back slowly, but his eyes stayed on me for just a moment longer. “Hey, Curly Sue.”
“You’re here.” She looked between us, her expression shifting from surprise to cautious hope. “You’re... here. In our kitchen.”
“I am.” Derek glanced at me, uncertain. “Is that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Frankie’s face split into the brightest smile I’d seen in days. “This is the best morning ever.”
I felt something loosen in my chest. A knot of tension I’d been carrying since the moment I’d thrown him out of the house.
“Derek and I are going to see Haizley together,” I told her.
Frankie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really.” I took her hand. “We’re going to try to work through this. To see if we can make it work.”
Frankie threw her arms around me, squeezing tight. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”
I held her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the weight of her trust.
“I’m trying, baby,” I whispered. “I’m really trying.”
“I know.” She pulled back and smiled at me. “And that’s all that matters.”
Derek’s hand found mine under the table, his fingers threading through mine. I looked at him, and he looked back at me with so much hope and fear and desperate love that it made my chest ache.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me stay.”
“Thank you for showing up,” I whispered back.
Frankie watched us with a knowing smile. “So can we have pancakes?”
Derek laughed. A real laugh, warm and genuine.
I stood, squeezing Derek’s hand before letting go. “Stay for breakfast?” I asked him, moving toward the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’d like that.”
I pulled out a skillet and butter, acutely aware of Derek and Frankie at the table behind me. The morning light caught the edges of their profiles as they talked.
I whisked the eggs, butter sizzling in the pan, and watched them over my shoulder.
Derek was looking at Frankie like she hung the moon, hanging on her every word.
Frankie vibrated with excitement as she talked to him.
She was planning a future with him, asking questions about what they could do together, her face lit up with the kind of genuine happiness that only comes from finally having something you’ve desperately wanted.
A small future, maybe, but a future, nonetheless.
This was real.
This fragile, tentative, terrifying thing we were building—it was real.
And for the first time in a long time, I was choosing hope over fear.
Choosing vulnerability over safety.
Choosing to believe that maybe, just maybe, Derek was worth the risk.
And that still terrified me more than anything.
But it also felt like the first real breath I’d taken in years.