Chapter 46
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
KATE
Idon’t realise how exhausted I am until I stop waiting for something to go wrong.
It happens slowly, not in one grand moment of clarity.
There’s no sudden revelation or a speech, and there is no magical switch that suddenly flips inside my head.
It’s a gradual process, like a muscle that’s been knotted for so long but has started to loosen, and you’ve forgotten it’s not supposed to hurt.
The week after Lukas tells me he doesn’t want temporary feels different. It isn’t because everything is fixed or because my fears have disappeared; sadly, they’re still an undercurrent in my life. But I have stopped looking for reasons our relationship won’t work. Or at least I’m trying to.
The problem is that fear becomes a habit if you carry it long enough.
After Daniel left, I got used to disaster. I rebuilt my life around contingencies and backup plans. I began expecting disappointment before it happened, so it wouldn’t hurt as much when it arrived.
Except it always hurt anyway. I just got better at pretending it didn’t.
Which is why, even now, with Lukas slowly rebuilding his place in our lives, part of me keeps waiting for the catch. For the moment reality catches up with us, and he realises this is all far too complicated. Or it’s too much responsibility at his age to have so many people depending on him.
Why wouldn’t he decide he’d rather have something much easier with fewer moving pieces to negotiate?
The intrusive thought creeps in when I wake up, or my phone hasn’t buzzed in a while.
Or when he’s running late, or hockey demands more of his time.
Generally, every time life becomes inconvenient, every tiny thing feeds into that old fear.
The fear I hate to admit still exists, because I know Lukas isn’t Daniel.
But knowing and believing aren’t always the same thing.
By Friday afternoon, I’m standing in my classroom putting away equipment after the last lesson when my phone vibrates with a message from Lukas.
Lukas: Running twenty minutes late. Felix decided socks are oppressive.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Kate: Reasonable position.
Three dots appear immediately.
Lukas: I argued my case.
Kate: And?
Lukas: I lost.
I shake my head, smiling. The familiar warmth settles somewhere behind my ribs. This is the kind of interaction I spent years convincing myself I didn’t need.
My phone buzzes again.
Lukas: We are still coming.
There’s no if, or maybe, it’s not an apology wrapped in uncertainty. It’s a statement. And that tiny detail sticks with me. Because he knows, maybe not consciously, but he knows consistency matters to me. Showing up and following through on plans matters to me.
When I arrive home an hour later, Hudson is already sprawled across the sofa pretending to do homework. The emphasis being on pretending.
“How much of that maths have you actually done?”
Without looking up, he says, “Enough.”
“That’s not a number.”
“It is if you believe.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s a terrible answer.”
“Still technically an answer.”
Teenagers are exhausting, but before I can continue arguing, the doorbell rings. Hudson’s head lifts instantly, which means he’s been listening out for it.
Interesting.
I open the front door to find Lukas standing there with Félix balanced on his hip. The mini-Lukas immediately beams.
“Kate!”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
He launches himself at me with all the coordination of a guided missile, and I barely manage to catch him.
Lukas laughs. The sound does stupid things to my heart. “You encourage this.”
“I absolutely do.”
His eyes find mine, and his smile fades into something softer and for a second, neither of us says anything. Then Hudson appears behind me, and the moment shifts naturally.
That’s the thing I keep noticing lately. Everything feels easier, not perfect, just easier.
Later that evening, after takeaway, too much laughter, and a heated debate about whether dinosaurs would have been good at football, we’re all sitting in the living room.
Félix is asleep, completely unconscious across Lukas’ chest. Hudson is pretending not to watch hockey highlights with him.
And I find myself standing in the doorway looking at all three of them.
Just watching.
Lukas is absently smoothing a hand through Félix’s curls, while Hudson is asking questions about a goal.
The television casts a soft light across the room, and the scene hits me unexpectedly.
Because it looks so normal, not fragile or borrowed, but real, and my chest tightens.
Immediately, my brain ruins it. Don’t get too comfortable.
Don’t assume or trust it. The thoughts appear on reflex, as a scar etched deep inside my soul.
I hate it. God, I hate it. Because I want this so much, it terrifies me.
The fear follows me upstairs later while Lukas helps Hudson carry sleeping Félix to the spare room.
By the time I reach my bedroom, my chest feels tight and heavy, crowded with thoughts I don’t want. The dangerous ones that whisper about happiness that never lasts. They remind me that eventually something always goes wrong and people leave, even good people.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring into space, trying to talk myself out of it and remain rational.
Trying to remember everything Lukas has done over the past few weeks.
Every time he’s shown up and all the promises he’s kept.
He hasn’t once avoided a difficult conversation.
He’s put the effort in to make Hudson and me feel safe, but the fear still lingers.
Because fear isn’t logical.
A soft knock sounds at my bedroom door, and I glance up to see Lukas leaning against the frame.
“Hey.” His eyes narrow slightly, immediately noticing that I’m spiralling. “What happened?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Neither of us believes that. Lukas walks into the room and sits beside me on the edge of the bed. Not touching me, but giving me space. The way he always does now.
“I am learning that when you say ‘nothing,’ it usually means ‘many things.’”
Despite myself, I smile. “A little.”
“So talk to me.” The words are gentle.
I stare down at my hands, at the indentation from the wedding ring I stopped wearing years ago and the faint line it left behind like a scar. And suddenly I’m tired of pretending I’m okay. Tired of carrying the weight alone.
“I keep waiting.” The words come out quietly. Lukas doesn’t interrupt me or rush to fill the silence, so I keep going. “I keep waiting for something to happen.”
His expression softens as he asks, “What kind of thing?”
I laugh weakly. “The bad kind.” The answer sounds ridiculous when spoken aloud, but it’s true. “I keep waiting for you to leave, for this to fall apart.” My throat tightens. “I’m waiting for disaster to strike.”
The confession hurts more than I expected. Saying it out loud makes it real, and I realise how much fear I’ve been carrying and for how long. “I don’t know how to stop.” My voice breaks slightly.
It’s embarrassing and pathetic if I’m honest.
Lukas stays quiet for a long moment. I brace myself for his speech and all the promises he’s sure to make, but instead, he simply reaches for my hand and holds it. Then, after a minute, he says quietly, “I know.”
That’s it. No, I would never leave or don’t worry. Just understanding. The honesty of it hits harder than reassurance ever could, because it means he gets it. He understands that this isn’t really about him. It’s about what happened before.
The years of loss and waiting for the floor to disappear from beneath me. Years of survival. He lifts my hand and presses a kiss against my knuckles. The gesture is so simple it breaks me.
“I cannot fix what happened before me.” His voice is soft. “I cannot erase it.” He leans in and cradles my cheek in his palm before he kisses me. It’s tender and unrushed. Then he moves back a fraction and says, “But I can keep showing up.”
The tears hit before I can stop them. Silent tears slide down my cheeks in rivers, because that’s exactly what he’s been doing. Showing up. Again, and again.
I lean forward and press my forehead against his shoulder and let myself rest there. Not because I need saving, I don’t need him to rescue me, but I’m tired of carrying everything alone.
His arms wrap around me immediately. Finally, I understand something I’ve been fighting for months.
The future isn’t guaranteed; it never was, and that’s true for everyone, not just me.
Not just because Daniel abandoned me. Fear doesn’t protect me from losing things.
It only stops me from enjoying them while I have them.
The realisation settles slowly.
When I finally lift my head, Lukas brushes his thumb beneath my eye, wiping away the last traces of tears.
Neither of us speaks. Because for the first time since Daniel walked out that door all those years ago, I’m not thinking about how everything could end.
I’m thinking about how it could continue.
About all the lazy Sunday mornings after hockey games, with Félix and Hudson. I think about Lukas standing in my kitchen, making terrible coffee, and all the ordinary, mundane things that will bring us happiness.
They don’t feel impossible anymore; they feel allowed.
As I look at him sitting beside me, warm and solid and real, something settles quietly inside my chest.
Trust.
And finally, after years of expecting loss before happiness has a chance to arrive, I let myself believe something I should have believed long ago.
I am allowed this.
I am allowed to love him, and I am worthy of being loved back. More importantly, I deserve to have a future that looks different from the one I lost.