38. Chapter 38
Adam
I arrive back at the old farmhouse before dawn, the sky still a deep navy blue with just a hint of lighter blue at the horizon.
I couldn’t sleep last night with the image of Caitlin’s tears burned into my mind, her sobs echoing in my ears.
I unlock the front door with hands that feel disconnected from my body, like they belong to someone else.
The morning air bites at my skin, but I welcome the discomfort.
It’s nothing compared to what I deserve.
Inside, everything is exactly as we left it yesterday, the cabinet doors stacked against the wall, tools scattered across the dining room table, empty water bottles collected in a small pile.
Caitlin’s presence lingers in the space, in the careful way she labeled each cabinet door, in the notes she left about paint colors and hardware choices.
I flip on the work lights, setting the house aglow in harsh fluorescence that makes the half-finished rooms look even more raw and exposed.
I stand for a moment in the kitchen doorway, feeling something tighten in my chest. We were working here together yesterday, before everything fell apart again. Before I made her cry. Again.
My throat constricts, and I swallow hard against the ache. There’s no time for this. I have work to do. This house has to be perfect for her. It’s the only thing I can give her now.
I throw myself into cleaning up the mess I made in the upstairs bathroom.
Once that’s done, I move on to cutting and installing the new subfloor.
Each precise measurement, each careful cut, each nail driven home is all for her.
I work without breaks, without stopping to eat or drink or rest. My body protests, muscles burning, hands blistering, but I push through it.
Physical pain is easier to bear than what’s happening inside me.
* * *
A glance at my watch tells me it’s almost time for my shift at Louise’s Table. The thought of going there, of facing Peter, of working in the space that belongs to Caitlin’s family makes my stomach clench. But I won’t run from this. I won’t add cowardice to my list of failures.
I clean up quickly, changing into the clean uniform shirt I brought with me, trying to make myself look presentable. This day will probably be the end of this job. Peter would be well within his rights to fire me on the spot. Hell, if I were him, I’d probably do worse.
Once I arrive, I slip in through the back door, bracing myself for whatever comes next. Peter is at the stove as usual. He looks up and gives me a nod and then goes back to his work. Caitlin is nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” Jenny says, spotting me as I head to the time clock. “Mrs. Bryant is here and demanding to know where you are. You know she only allows you to serve her now.”
I nod, relieved and confused in equal measure.
Clocking in, I get to work. The day passes in a blur of customers and orders.
Every time I bring a new order up to the pass-through, Peter gives me a thoughtful look, but he doesn’t speak to me beyond what’s necessary for the job.
I tell myself this is better than the anger I expected, the confrontation I deserve.
When my shift ends, I clock out, grab my jacket and head for the door, keeping my eyes on the floor. I’m almost there when Peter’s voice stops me.
“Adam.”
I turn, steeling myself. “Yes, sir?”
“You did good work tonight,” he says, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and slip out into the evening. The cool air feels good on my flushed face, and I stand there for a moment, trying to make sense of what just happened. Why didn’t he fire me? Why didn’t he even mention yesterday?
The drive back to the farmhouse is automatic, my hands and feet performing the necessary actions while my mind churns. I know I should go back to my apartment, eat and get some rest, but I’ll work a few more hours here instead. There’s always more to do.
I’ve just gotten started when headlights sweep across the yard. Looking out, I see Peter’s familiar truck pull in. My stomach drops as I watch him park and get out. This is it, I think. He waited until we were away from the restaurant to tell me to get gone.
“Adam,” he calls, walking toward me. “Had a feeling I might find you here.”
“Mr. Hughes,” I say, my voice rough from disuse. “Is everything okay?”
He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his face half in shadow. “I came to check on you,” he says simply. “I meant to talk to you at the restaurant, but I didn’t want an audience.”
I nod, confused by his tone. There’s no anger in it, no accusation. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just wanted to get back to work here. There’s still a lot to do.”
Peter studies me for a long moment, his gaze steady.
Then he does something that knocks the air clean out of my lungs.
He steps forward and pulls me into a hug.
Not a casual, one-armed thing, but a real hug, firm and warm and completely unexpected.
I stand frozen, arms at my sides, too shocked to respond.
“You’re not fine,” he says quietly, still holding on. “And that’s okay.”
Something breaks inside me at his words, at the simple kindness in them. My arms come up without my permission, returning the hug briefly before Peter steps back, his hands on my shoulders.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”
We end up on the front porch steps, side by side in the cool night air. I can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the disappointment that must be in his eyes.
“You should be checking on Caitlin,” I say finally, my voice barely audible. “Not me. I’m the one who hurt her.”
“Caitlin’s okay,” Peter says, his voice gentle. “Charlene’s been with her all day. Rachel’s home with her now.” He shifts slightly beside me. “And I can worry about both of you.”
The kindness in his voice nearly undoes me. I don’t deserve this, any of it. “I made her cry,” I say, the words scraping my throat raw. “I promised I wouldn’t hurt her again, and I did.”
“You told her the truth,” Peter corrects me. “That’s not the same thing as hurting her. The truth can be painful, but hiding from it causes more damage in the long run.” He pauses. “Trust me on that.”
I risk a glance at him, finding his face thoughtful in the dim light from the porch. “I don’t understand,” I admit. “Why aren’t you angry with me? Why didn’t you fire me? After what happened yesterday—”
“What happened yesterday,” Peter interrupts gently, “was that you were honest with Caitlin about one of the most painful times in your relationship. And she had a very natural, very human reaction to that honesty.” He sighs, a sound that seems to come from deep within him.
“Healing isn’t linear, Adam. It’s messy and painful, and sometimes it feels like you’re going backward instead of forward.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. ”
I look down at my hands, calloused and scraped from today’s work. “I don’t know if what we have can be healed,” I say quietly. “Maybe it’s too broken. Maybe I broke it beyond repair.”
“That’s not for me to say,” Peter replies.
“I’m not here to get in the middle of your relationship.
That’s for you and Caitlin to figure out.
” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully.
“But I will tell you this: continuing to punish yourself for what happened in Mount Pella won’t make it so it never happened.
It won’t take away Caitlin’s pain. It won’t fix anything. ”
His words hit me like a physical blow, cutting through the fog of self-loathing that’s enveloped me since yesterday. “All I care about now is making Caitlin happy,” I say, and it’s the truth. “Whatever that means.”
“And what about you?” Peter asks quietly. “Don’t you deserve happiness too?”
I laugh, a short, bitter sound. “After what I did? No, not really.”
Peter is quiet for a long moment, his eyes on the night sky above us.
“You made bad decisions with your mother and with Millie,” he says finally.
“You hurt Caitlin in the process. Those are facts, and I won’t pretend otherwise.
” He turns to look at me directly. “But that doesn’t make you a bad man, Adam.
It makes you a flawed human being who’s trying to do better.
At some point, you need to forgive yourself too. ”
His words hang in the air between us, challenging and impossible. I can’t imagine ever forgiving myself for the pain I caused Caitlin. I don’t want to. Forgiving myself feels like letting myself off the hook, like saying what I did wasn’t that bad. And it was that bad. It was worse.
“I know a good therapist,” Peter says, breaking the silence. “Someone who specializes in family trauma, in helping people break unhealthy patterns. I could help you get in contact with him, if you want.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The suggestion surprises me, not because it’s unwelcome, but because it implies a future here, in this town. A future I can’t let myself imagine.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I say finally, the words hollow even to my own ears.
Peter studies me for a moment, his eyes knowing. “You’re planning to leave, aren’t you? Once the house is finished.”
The accuracy of his guess startles me. “How did you—”
“Because I know what guilt looks like,” he says simply.
“And I know what running looks like.” He stands, brushing off his jeans.
“Just think about what I said, okay? About forgiveness. About getting help. You deserve to heal too, Adam.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, a brief, warm pressure.
“Remember this: it is possible to make the wrong decision for all the right reasons.”
With that, he heads back to his truck, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I watch his taillights disappear down the driveway, his words echoing in my head.
But he’s wrong about one thing. I do know what the right thing to do is in this case. It’s finishing this house perfectly, exactly the way Caitlin wants it. And then it’s removing myself from her life so she can heal properly, without the constant reminder of the man who broke her heart.
I stand and head back inside, picking up my tools with renewed determination. I’ll work through the night if I have to. I’ll pour every ounce of skill and care I possess into this house. It will be my parting gift to her, the only thing of value I have left to give.
And when it’s done, I’ll leave. Despite what Peter says, despite his kindness and his talk of forgiveness, I know the truth: Caitlin deserves better than me. She deserves someone who would never make her cry, never prioritize anyone above her, never fail her the way I did.