Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
KATE
The alarm drags me awake at six-thirty, and for a few seconds I lie still beneath the duvet, staring at the pale grey light filtering through the curtains as my brain tries to catch up with the realisation that another week has begun, whether I’m emotionally prepared for it or not.
Then the reality of it all settles in. The weight of everything presses down on my chest before my feet even touch the floor.
I close my eyes briefly and inhale slowly, forcing myself upright anyway because Hudson still needs breakfast, a clean school uniform, and someone to remember he has PE today. Life doesn’t pause because my heart feels battered and bruised.
That’s the problem with being a parent. You still have to function properly even when you’re falling apart quietly inside your own head.
The house is cold as I descend the stairs. Wrapping my cardigan tighter around me as the kettle boils, I turn up the heating. Outside, there’s the kind of miserable Northern drizzle that seems determined to seep into your bones. It feels as though my life is reflected in that sad drizzle.
Usually, I like mornings. Routine calms me. Coffee. Toast. Hudson stomping downstairs half-awake and dramatic about school. It keeps life manageable, but today everything feels heavier.
I reach automatically for my phone while the coffee brews and immediately wish I hadn’t.
There’s nothing from Lukas overnight. Not that there should be. Although a quick, good morning text would have been nice. His priorities are obvious now.
As they should be.
The worst thing is, I understand every second of it, including why his attention has shifted and why Félix has to come first. I understand it so well that there’s nowhere for me to put the hurt.
Footsteps thud overhead before Hudson appears in the kitchen doorway wearing joggers and one sock, hair sticking up in twelve different directions.
“Mum,” he says accusingly, “why is school every day?”
I chuckle despite the sadness that is now part of my make up. “Because apparently society enjoys suffering.”
“Rude.”
“You’ll survive.”
He squints suspiciously at me while grabbing cereal from the cupboard. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, but I’m fourteen. It’s part of my brand.” Another laugh escapes me before I can stop it. For a moment, things feel normal. Then Hudson asks casually, “Have you heard from Lukas?”
My stomach drops straight to the floor. I keep my back turned while pouring coffee because I need the extra second to compose my face. “A little.”
“Is everything okay?”
The question is careful. That’s what breaks my heart lately. Hudson has become cautious with emotions in ways children shouldn’t have to be.
“We don’t know yet,” I answer honestly.
He nods slowly, staring down into his cereal bowl. “Right.”
I want to fix this for him. That instinct is immediate and overwhelming.
I want to promise that nobody is leaving, nobody is getting hurt, and that everything will work out neatly in the end.
But I can’t. Because I don’t know how Lukas is going to juggle this new commitment along with hockey, never mind where we fit into that equation.
And I hate myself a little for even thinking of it that way, because Félix is his child. This isn’t a moral dilemma. Of course, he’s choosing his son. I just didn’t realise how much space Lukas had already carved out in my life until the possibility of losing him started to feel real.
The school run passes in a blur of raincoats, traffic and exhausted parents clutching takeaway coffees outside the gates. Mentally, I’m somewhere else entirely. Everywhere I look reminds me of him.
A little boy in a Panthers’ hoodie is holding his dad’s hand near the crossing. A French song was playing quietly in the café when I stopped for coffee on the way.
Even the stupid cinnamon pastries behind the counter because Lukas bought one for Hudson last week after training, and acted personally offended when I stole a bite of it.
I am losing my mind.
By lunchtime, I’ve reread the same email four times without absorbing a single word. My concentration keeps drifting toward my phone, sitting face down beside my keyboard.
No messages.
No updates.
Nothing.
Emma texts at lunchtime.
Emma: Have you eaten today, or are you surviving entirely on emotional damage?
A startled laugh slips out of me quietly enough that nobody notices.
Kate: Does coffee count?
Emma: Absolutely not.
Kate: I’m functioning.
Emma: That wasn’t the question.
My throat tightens. Because all I’ve really done for years is function. Push through. Keep moving. Make sure Hudson is okay first and deal with everything else later.
Lukas slipped through all those carefully built walls without me noticing. I never intended for this to matter so much.
That thought follows me all afternoon.
By the time I finish work, the rain has stopped, leaving the pavements slick and shining beneath the weak winter sunlight. Hudson climbs into the car with his usual dramatic sigh.
“I think maths is a form of psychological warfare.”
“You say that every Monday.”
“Because every Monday it remains true.”
For the first time in days, I laugh loudly as I pull away from the kerb.
For a few minutes, he talks normally about school. A science project. Somebody getting isolation for throwing a glue stick. Ordinary things.
Then the conversation quiets, and I glance at him briefly. He’s staring out of the window now, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek.
“What’s wrong?” I ask gently.
Hudson shrugs without looking at me. “Nothing.”
“That’s usually a lie.”
A small huff of laughter leaves him, but it disappears quickly. The silence stretches long enough that I think he’s decided not to say whatever’s bothering him. Then quietly he says, “Do you think he still likes us?”
My hands tighten around the steering wheel so suddenly that it almost hurts. For a second, pain cracks inside my chest. I glance toward him quickly, but he’s still staring out of the window like he’s afraid to look directly at me while asking. And I understand exactly how attached he’s become too.
I swallow hard before answering carefully. “I think Lukas cares about us very much.”
“But?”
“He’s dealing with something really big right now,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Finding out you have a child changes everything.”
Hudson nods, but he still looks unhappy. “I just mean…” He hesitates. “He hasn’t really texted much.”
I exhale slowly through the ache building in my throat. “I know.”
The truth is, I’ve noticed every delayed reply, too. Every conversation cut short because Félix needed something. Every apology, threaded through Lukas’ messages.
And none of it is wrong. Nobody is behaving badly. Life is simply rearranging itself around this enormous new reality, and I can already feel myself being moved further from the centre of it.
Hudson finally looks at me then, eyes too perceptive and old. “Are you okay?”
I nearly laugh at that because what a ridiculous question. No, I’m not. Not even remotely. But he’s watching me carefully, waiting to see if I’ll tell the truth. So, I give him a version of it. “I’m trying to be.”
He nods as though he understands more than I want him to.
By nine-thirty, Hudson has finally gone upstairs, and the house settles into quiet. I curl up on the sofa with my laptop open on my knees, pretending to watch television while my phone rests beside me like some dangerous weapon.
Lukas and I were supposed to have dinner tomorrow. But everything between us feels uncertain now. Fragile in a way it wasn’t before. I stare blankly at the television while memories keep surfacing anyway.
His hand brushing mine beside the lake. The way he looked at Hudson like he genuinely enjoyed being around him. The softness in his voice when he said bonsoir against my mouth that night in my kitchen.
I press the heels of my hands briefly against my eyes. This is exactly why I was cautious at first. Because once you let someone become part of your life, losing them feels impossible to survive gracefully.
My phone buzzes unexpectedly against the cushion beside me, and every part of me reacts instantly.
Lukas. I stare at his name for a second before opening the message.
Lukas: I am so sorry, mon coeur. Félix is sick, and Camille has an exhibition event tonight. I need to stay with him. Can we move tomorrow?
I read it twice. Then a third time. Mon coeur.
My heart. Tears sting unexpectedly behind my eyes, and I hate that they do.
Because this is reasonable. A sick child comes first. Any decent parent would make the same choice.
And Lukas is already proving exactly what kind of father he intends to be. Present and reliable.
Everything Daniel stopped being.
The comparison arrives before I can stop it and leaves something aching deep in my chest. I type and delete three different responses before finally settling on the truth.
Kate: Of course. Stay with him. I hope he’s okay.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
Lukas: Fever. Nothing serious, I think. He wanted me to sit beside him while he slept.
I close my eyes briefly, and the image forms in my head. Lukas sitting beside a tiny bed, one large hand rubbing soothing circles against Félix’s back while tiredness drags at him. Something inside me softens and breaks simultaneously. Because I love that he’s doing that.
And because I realise there may not be room for me in his life anymore, while he figures out how to become somebody’s father.
Another message appears.
Lukas: I didn’t want you to think I was cancelling because I do not want to see you.
My throat tightens as I stare at the words for a very long time before locking my phone without replying.
I’m not angry, and it’s not that I don’t care, but for the first time since all of this happened, something settles quietly and clearly inside me. I need to step back.
Maybe not forever, but enough to let him find his footing without feeling torn between us and everything else demanding pieces of him.
Lukas deserves the chance to throw himself fully into being Félix’s father. And Hudson deserves protection from another situation that might disappear just as quickly as it arrived.
I sit there alone in the dim light of the living room long after midnight, listening to the quiet hum of the house around me while my chest aches with the understanding of what I need to do.
I fell for him anyway. That’s the tragedy of it. It wasn’t reckless or foolish; it was slow and careful. And now I have to loosen my grip on something I’m not even sure I got to keep long enough to call mine.