Chapter 5 #2
"You can." She slides the notebook across the table so I can see the numbers she's written down. Income. Expenses. Savings goals. "This is what you'll have after your first month. And this is what you'll have after six months if you stick to the plan."
I stare at the numbers, my chest tight.
"You need to know where you stand," Scarlett says, her voice firm but not unkind. "You need to know you can do this."
I look up at her, and for the first time in a long time, I believe it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
She nods, closing the notebook. "You've got this."
And then she's gone.
I sit at the table for a long time after she leaves, staring at the numbers she wrote down, feeling something I haven't felt in years.
Hope.
Hadley shows up around two with a stack of casserole dishes balanced in her arms and a bright smile on her face.
"Delivery!" she announces, breezing past me into the kitchen before I can even say hello.
"Hadley—"
"Nope. No arguments." She starts loading the casseroles into the fridge, rearranging things to make them fit. "You've got lasagna, chicken and rice, shepherd's pie, and mac and cheese. All you have to do is heat them up."
I watch her work, overwhelmed by the simple kindness of it.
"How are you settling in?" she asks, closing the fridge and turning to face me.
"Good. Really good, actually."
"Good." She glances around the kitchen, then starts opening cabinets without asking. "You need more spices. I'll bring some next time."
"You don't—"
"I know, but I'm going to anyway." She smiles, pulling out a few mismatched mugs and rearranging them. "That's what we do, Ainsley. We take care of each other."
We work together in comfortable silence, organizing the kitchen, wiping down counters, making the space feel more lived-in. Hadley keeps the conversation light, talking about her students, about the upcoming club event, about nothing heavy.
It's easy. Companionable.
By the time she leaves, the kitchen feels like mine.
I'm sitting on the porch swing with Owen when Tessa's car pulls up.
She hops out, grinning, and pulls a stack of paint cans and brushes from her trunk.
"What are you doing?" I ask, standing.
"Making Owen's room fun," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Come on. Let's do this."
I follow her inside, watching as she sets everything down in Owen's pale blue bedroom.
"We're painting?" I ask.
"Yep. And adding decals. Dinosaurs. Every kid loves dinosaurs." She looks at me, her expression serious for once. "Every kid deserves a fun room, Ainsley. A room that feels like theirs."
I nod, my throat tight.
We spend the next two hours painting and decorating.
Tessa does most of the work, insisting I sit and direct while she climbs ladders and applies decals.
She teases me about my terrible color commentary, makes me laugh with wild stories about club parties, and doesn't let me spiral into my own head.
By the time we're done, Owen's room is transformed, bright, playful, full of color and life.
Tessa steps back and surveys the room, hands on her hips. "Not bad."
"It's perfect," I whisper.
She looks at me, and her expression softens. "You're home now, Ainsley."
And that's when I break.
Not a full breakdown. Just tears. Quiet, overwhelming tears that I can't hold back anymore.
Tessa pulls me into a hug, holding me tight. "Let it out, babe. You've earned it."
I cry into her shoulder, and she just holds me, not saying anything, just being there.
When I finally pull back, she wipes my face with her sleeve and grins. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," I say, laughing through the tears. "I do."
Jax and Knox show up just as the sun is setting. Jax is carrying a bottle of wine. Knox has flowers, wildflowers, like the ones growing along the fence.
"Thought we'd stop by," Jax says, grinning.
"Come in," I say, stepping back.
We sit on the porch, the three of us squeezed onto the squeaky porch swing. Owen is sleepy after all the excitement of the day, his eyes drooping as he leans against my chest.
Knox reaches over and takes him gently, settling him against his own chest. Owen doesn't protest. He just snuggles in, his little hand gripping Knox's shirt, and falls asleep within minutes.
I watch them together, my heart aching in the best way.
"He trusts you," I say quietly.
Knox looks down at Owen, his expression soft. "Good."
Jax pours wine into plastic cups and hands one to me. "To new beginnings."
I clink my cup against his. "To new beginnings."
We sit there in comfortable silence, watching the sun set over the property. The wildflowers sway in the breeze. The porch swing creaks softly beneath us.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself feel it.
Hope.
Not just for survival.
But for something more.
Something real.
Later, after they leave, I tuck Owen into his beautiful new crib in his bright, playful room. I stand in the doorway for a long time, watching him sleep, feeling the weight of everything that's happened today.
The cottage is becoming a home.
These people are becoming my family.
And I'm terrified.
Terrified of wanting this too much. Terrified of losing it. Terrified of what happens if Justin finds us.
But underneath the fear is something else.
Something I haven't felt in years.
Belonging.
I sit on the couch in the dark cottage, pulling a blanket around my shoulders, and let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe, just maybe, this could be real.
That I could have this.
That I could keep it.
And as I close my eyes, I whisper into the darkness:
"Please let this be real."