Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Popeye
Trudy closed the journal and held it in her lap as I stared at the ceiling.
Christina’s words still echoed in my head, each one a knife twisting deeper.
She apologized. After all the lies, the running, the secrets that had cost me twenty years with my daughter, she apologized for not trusting me enough.
For deciding what I could handle instead of giving me the chance to prove I could handle anything if it meant keeping her and Grace safe.
And the worst part? She was right.
I felt Trudy shift beside me, her hand finding mine in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. We were still tangled together, skin to skin, and I realized I needed this. Needed her warmth, her presence, her realness to anchor me as everything inside me twisted and churned.
I didn’t know if I would have understood back then.
Didn’t know if I would have been strong enough or smart enough or selfless enough to let her do what she needed to do to survive.
I’d been a different man in those days—harder, angrier, more concerned with loyalty to the club than with understanding the impossible choices women like Christina had to make just to keep breathing.
Would I have tried to fix it with my fists? Probably. Would I have made it worse? Maybe. Would I have lost them both anyway because I couldn’t accept that some battles can’t be won with violence? Yeah. Probably that too.
The anger was still there, simmering under my ribs like hot coals. Anger that she’d taken Grace from me. Anger that she’d lied for so long. Anger that she’d carried all that darkness alone instead of trusting me to help shoulder the weight.
But underneath the anger was something else. Something that felt too much like grief.
Because Christina was gone. Had been gone for years.
And I’d never get the chance to tell her I understood now.
Never get to say I was sorry too—for not being the kind of man she could trust with the truth.
For being part of a world that had broken her so thoroughly she couldn’t see any way out except to run.
“I’m fine,” I said, even though we both knew it was bullshit.
“You’re not,” Trudy said quietly. “And that’s okay.”
I let out a harsh breath, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to feel right now.”
“What do you feel?”
“Everything.” The word came out rough, scraped raw. “I’m angry. I’m sad. I feel fucking guilty as hell. I’m confused. I’m—” I stopped, shaking my head. “I don’t even know anymore.”
Trudy was quiet for a moment, then she said, “That sounds about right.”
I looked at her. “What?”
“You loved her,” Trudy said simply. “She was the mother of your child. She kept your daughter from you for twenty years. She survived things no one should have to survive. She made choices you’ll never fully understand.
And now she’s gone and you can’t ask her why.
” She paused. “Of course you feel everything. How could you not?”
Something in my chest cracked. “I’m supposed to be over this by now. She’s been dead for years. I’ve got Grace back. I’ve got you. I should be able to let this go.”
“Says who?” Trudy’s voice was gentle but firm. “Who decided there’s a timeline for grief? Who said you’re not allowed to be angry and sad and confused all at the same time?”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense, Stephen.
It just has to be true.” She shifted slightly, turning to face me more fully.
“You’re allowed to be angry at her for taking Grace.
You’re allowed to grieve for the woman she was before everything broke her.
You’re allowed to feel guilty that you weren’t there when she needed you.
All of it. At the same time. None of it cancels out the rest.”
I stared down at my hands. Rough, scarred, capable of violence. The same hands that had held Grace when she was a baby. The same hands that had touched Christina with something close to reverence back when I thought I knew who she was.
“I don’t know if I ever really loved her,” I admitted, the words tasting like ash. “Not the way I should have. Not the way she deserved.”
Trudy didn’t flinch. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I didn’t see her.” I looked up, meeting Trudy’s eyes.
“I saw what I wanted to see. A woman who needed protecting. A woman who’d give me a family.
A woman who wouldn’t challenge me or push back or make me question the life I was living.
” I shook my head. “I didn’t see the darkness she was carrying.
Didn’t see how much she was sacrificing just to survive.
I was too busy playing the hero to realize she didn’t need a hero.
She needed a partner. Someone who’d stand beside her instead of in front of her. ”
“And you think that means you didn’t love her?”
“I think it means I loved the idea of her more than I loved the reality of who she was.”
Trudy was quiet for a long moment, then she said, “Maybe. Or maybe you loved her the best way you knew how at the time. And maybe that wasn’t enough, but it was still real.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her she was wrong, that I’d failed Christina in every way that mattered. But the words wouldn’t come.
“You’re not the same man you were thirty years ago,” Trudy continued.
“You’ve changed. Grown. Learned things about yourself and the world that you didn’t know back then.
And maybe if you’d known then what you know now, things would have been different.
But you can’t go back and fix it. All you can do is accept that you did the best you could with what you had. ”
“She deserved better.”
“Maybe. But she also made her own choices. She chose to run. She chose to keep secrets. She chose to protect Grace the only way she knew how, even if it meant losing you in the process.” Trudy reached over, taking my hand in hers.
“You don’t get to carry all the blame for how things turned out.
She had agency too. She made decisions. Some of them were survival.
Some of them were fear. But they were hers. ”
I looked down at our joined hands. Trudy’s fingers were smaller than mine, softer, but there was strength in her grip. Strength I’d come to rely on more than I’d ever thought possible.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, the words barely above a whisper.
“Of what?”
“That I’ll do the same thing with you. That I’ll see what I want to see instead of who you really are. That I’ll fail you the way I failed her.”
Trudy squeezed my hand. “You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won’t let you.” Her voice was firm, no room for argument.
“I’m not Christina, Stephen. I’m not going to hide from you or lie to protect you or make decisions for you because I think you can’t handle the truth.
If something’s wrong, I’ll tell you. If I’m scared or angry or confused, you’ll know.
I’m not going to martyr myself to keep you comfortable. ”
I let out a rough laugh. “No. You’re definitely not.”
“Damn right.” She shifted closer, her shoulder pressing against mine.
“And you’re not the same man you were back then either.
You see me. Really see me. You push back when I’m being stubborn.
You don’t let me hide behind my walls or my sarcasm or my fear.
You make me face things I’d rather avoid.
That’s not the behavior of a man who’s going to repeat the same mistakes. ”
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that I’d learned enough, changed enough, to do better this time.
“I still love her,” I said quietly. “Even after everything. Even knowing what I know now. Part of me will always love her.”
“I know,” Trudy said. “And that’s okay too.”
I looked at her. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it? She was the mother of your child. She was part of your life for years. She shaped who you are, for better or worse.” Trudy’s expression was calm, certain.
“Loving her doesn’t mean you can’t love me.
The heart’s not a finite resource, Stephen.
You don’t run out of love just because you give some to more than one person. ”
“You’re too good for me.”
“Probably.” She smiled, just a little. “But listen, I need you to understand something. I’ve been on my own for twenty years, Stephen. Since Terry died. Twenty years of making my own decisions, standing on my own two feet. I don’t need you to rescue me or complete me or fix what’s broken.”
She shifted to face me more directly, her eyes steady and unflinching.
“I’m choosing you. Not because I’m desperate or lonely or because I think you’re going to save me. I’m choosing you because you challenge me and you don’t let me hide. That’s a choice I’m making from a place of strength, not weakness.”
She reached up and cupped my face in her hand. “So yeah. You’re stuck with me anyway. But not because you need to be. Because I want you to be.”
I pulled her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pressing my face into her hair. She smelled like vanilla and flour and something uniquely Trudy, something that grounded me when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.
“I don’t want to keep living in the past,” I said against her hair. “I don’t want to keep drowning in what I can’t change.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is, actually.” Trudy pulled back just enough to look at me. “You grieve. You feel what you need to feel. You forgive yourself for not being perfect. And then you choose to move forward. Not because the past doesn’t matter, but because the future matters more.”
I stared at her. This woman who’d let me into her life despite every reason not to. This woman who’d seen me at my worst and hadn’t run. This woman who challenged me and comforted me and made me want to be better than I’d ever been before.
“Marry me,” I said.
Trudy blinked. “What?”
“Marry me.” The words came easier the second time. “I know it’s fast. I know we’ve only known each other for a few months. But I’m seventy-two years old, Trudy. I don’t have time to waste. And I don’t want to spend another day pretending I’m not completely in love with you.”
Her eyes widened. “Stephen?—”
“I’m not asking you to say yes right now. I’m just asking you to think about it. About building a life together. About being there for Grace and the baby. About waking up next to each other every morning and going to bed together every night. About making this real. Permanent.”
Trudy was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
“You want to marry me? A stubborn, sharp-tongued widow who’s set in her ways and doesn’t take shit from anyone?”
“That’s exactly who I want to marry.”
She studied my face, searching for something. Whatever she found must have satisfied her because her expression softened. “Ask me again in a month. When you’ve finished grieving Christina and you’re sure this isn’t just you trying to fill a void.”
“It’s not?—”
“A month,” she repeated firmly. “If you still feel the same way in a month, ask me again. And I’ll give you an answer.”
It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no, either. And for now, that was enough.
“Deal,” I said.
Trudy smiled, leaning in to kiss me. It was soft and sweet and full of promise.
When she pulled back, she said, “Now come on. You need to eat something. And then we’re going to sit on the couch and watch something mindless on TV, and you’re going to let yourself just exist for a while without thinking about journals or secrets or the past.”
“Bossy.”
“You love it.”
I did. God help me, I really did.
We stood, and Trudy led me out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen. As we walked, I realized something had shifted. The weight I’d been carrying, the anger, the guilt, the confusion—it was all still there. But it didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.
Christina was gone. I couldn’t change what had happened between us. Couldn’t go back and be the man she’d needed me to be. But I could honor her memory by being the man Trudy needed now. By being the father Grace deserved. By building something good and real and lasting with the time I had left.
And maybe that was enough. Maybe that was everything.
“I love you,” I said as we reached the kitchen.
Trudy looked back at me, her eyes warm. “I know. I love you too.”
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I believed it. Believed that I deserved it. Believed that I could have this—a second chance, a new beginning, a future that wasn’t defined by the mistakes of my past.