Chapter Fifteen #2
Someone had made her feel like she wasn’t good enough, like her life was a failure, like she’d ended up somewhere she didn’t belong.
And I wanted to find this Tracy person and make her understand exactly how wrong she was.
I wanted to tell Cate that she was brilliant and talented and the best thing that had happened to my household in years.
I wanted to cross every professional boundary I’d carefully maintained and pull her into my arms and tell her she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
But I couldn’t.
Could I?
The professional distance I’d been maintaining suddenly felt less like protection and more like cowardice.
She was hurting, and I was hiding behind rules and boundaries and the excuse of propriety.
I thought about the dinner she’d made. The skill, the care, the way she’d transformed simple ingredients into something extraordinary.
I thought about the way she was with Megan—patient, creative, genuinely invested in my daughter’s happiness.
I thought about the way she looked in the candlelight, the sounds she made, the electricity between us that neither of us could deny.
And I thought about her face this morning—sad, subdued, trying so hard to pretend everything was fine.
Fuck the boundaries.
Fuck the professional distance.
Fuck the careful control I’d been clinging to.
She needed someone, and I was going to be that someone.
Even if I had no idea how.
Even if it meant risking everything I’d been trying to protect.
I looked at the clock. Four-fifteen PM. I could leave early, get home before my usual time, and catch her before she left for the day.
Talk to her.
Actually talk to her, not the careful professional exchanges we’d been having since last week.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, ignoring the surprised looks from my colleagues as I passed.
For once, I wasn’t going to overthink this.
The drive home was faster than usual. I’d broken several traffic laws and didn’t particularly care.
My mind was already running through scenarios, contingencies, ways to approach this without making it worse.
Without crossing lines I couldn’t uncross.
Without revealing exactly how much I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her she was worth infinitely more than whatever that bitch Tracy had said.
I pulled into the driveway at four thirty-two PM.
The house was quiet when I entered. Too quiet. No sounds of Megan’s usual chaos, no clattering from the kitchen, no evidence of the controlled chaos that typically defined late afternoon in my home.
I found them in the living room.
Megan was sprawled on the couch, eyes fixed on the television where some animated show played with bright, cheerful colors and obnoxious sound effects. She was still in her school uniform, her hair slightly mussed from the day.
Cate was beside her, ostensibly watching the same program.
She wasn’t. Her body was angled toward the screen, but her eyes were fixed on the window. On the trees outside, the fading afternoon light, anything but the cartoon playing in front of her. Her hands were folded in her lap, her posture slack in a way I’d never seen before.
She looked hollow. Like someone had reached inside her and extracted something essential, leaving behind only the shell.
The protective instinct that had been building all day crystallized into something sharp and dangerous.
I wanted to find Tracy. I wanted to make her understand the damage she’d done. I wanted to—
“Dad!”
Megan’s head snapped toward me, her entire face transforming. She scrambled off the couch, abandoning the cartoon without hesitation.
“You’re home early!”
“I am,” I said, catching her as she launched herself at me. I lifted her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, my eyes still on Cate.
She’d turned at the sound of Megan’s voice. Her expression shifted—surprise, then something that looked like concern, then a careful attempt at normalcy.
“Dr. Lyon,” she said, standing up. “I didn’t expect—”
“I know,” I said. I set Megan down, keeping one hand on her shoulder. “I left early. I have something I’d like to discuss with you both.”
Cate’s eyes widened slightly. Worried, probably. Thinking I was about to fire her again, or complain about something, or—
“I got tickets to the carnival,” I said, my voice carefully controlled. Professional. The tone I used when delivering diagnoses. “It’s in town this weekend. I thought it would be good for Megan to attend.”
Megan’s head whipped toward me. “Really? Dad, really?”
“Really.”
“Can we go on the Ferris wheel? And the bumper cars? And—”
“We’ll see,” I replied. “But I’ll need help. The crowds can be difficult to navigate with a child. I was hoping you would be willing to help, Cate.”
It was a transparent excuse. A thin veneer of professionalism over what was actually a lifeline.
Come with us. Let me help you. Let me remind you that you’re worth something.
Cate’s expression shifted—confusion, then understanding, then something that looked like it might be gratitude before she carefully locked it down.
“I don’t want to intrude,” she breathed.
“You wouldn’t be intruding,” I said. “Megan clearly needs supervision, and I could use the help.”
It was a lie. A calculated, deliberate lie. I could manage Megan at a carnival without help. I’d managed her through far more challenging situations.
But I needed Cate to come. Needed to get her out of this house, away from whatever dark thoughts were clearly consuming her. Needed to do something—anything—to pull her back from the edge she seemed to be teetering on.
“Please, Cate?” Megan tugged on her sleeve, her excitement barely contained. “Please please please? It’ll be so much fun!”
Megan was bouncing now, literally bouncing, her entire body vibrating with the kind of uncomplicated joy that only children could manage. She was jumping up and down, her school uniform rumpled, her hair flying.
“We can get cotton candy! And play games! And you can win me a prize!”
Cate’s eyes softened as she looked at my daughter. I watched the conflict play out across her face—the desire to say no, to maintain distance, to not impose herself on our family outing.
And the inability to resist Megan’s enthusiasm.
“I don’t know,” she said, but her voice had changed. Warmed slightly.
“Come on,” Megan pleaded. “Please? You’re the best at games. You have the best ideas.”
That was objectively untrue. Cate’s strategy at games was chaotic and impulsive and frequently resulted in spectacular failures.
But Megan loved her for it.
I watched Cate’s resistance crumble.
“Okay,” she said finally, and Megan shrieked with delight, launching herself at Cate in a hug that nearly knocked her backward on the couch.
Cate’s arms came up automatically, holding my daughter close. And for just a moment—a brief, unguarded moment—I saw her close her eyes and breathe in, like Megan’s embrace was the first good thing that had happened to her in days.
Which, given what Fitz had told me, was probably accurate.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
She looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine over Megan’s shoulder. There was something vulnerable there, something raw and uncertain.
“For what?” she asked.
For existing. For being here. For letting me help you even though I have no idea what I’m doing.
“For being willing to help,” I said instead. “Saturday afternoon. I’ll arrange for us to leave at one o’clock.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Megan was still chattering, already planning which games she wanted to play, what prizes she wanted to win, whether the Ferris wheel would be scary or fun.
But I was watching Cate.
Watching the way she was holding my daughter, the way her expression had shifted from hollow to something approaching present.
It wasn’t a solution. One carnival wouldn’t fix whatever Tracy had broken.
But it was a start.
It was me, finally, doing something other than maintaining distance and pretending I didn’t care. It was me, crossing a line I’d drawn and deciding that her well-being mattered more than my carefully constructed professional boundaries.
It was me, taking a risk.
And as I watched her smile—a real smile this time, not the careful facade she’d been maintaining—I decided it was worth it.
Whatever consequences came next, whatever complications arose from this decision, it was worth it.
Because she deserved to smile like that.
And I was going to make sure she did.