Chapter 29 Abbie
ABBIE
The morning light in Topanga is different from anywhere else I've ever lived.
The baby rolls against my ribs. Thirty-three weeks. I put my hand there.
The fall was three weeks ago. Sometimes it feels like an hour ago. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime. At the island, I open my draft of Halo’s statement. Wren’s edits arrived last night.
Floorboards creak somewhere in the house. Gray is here. The distinction matters more than I can explain. My phone buzzes. Wren's name on the screen.
"You're calling at eight AM," I say by way of greeting. "Either someone's dead or you haven't been to sleep yet."
"Option B, but not for fun reasons." Her voice has that particular rasp that means she's been up all night with work.
"Az had a wedding emergency. Bride decided at midnight that she needed all the centerpieces changed from white roses to peonies.
For a wedding that's happening in—" a pause, probably checking her watch. "Eleven hours."
"Peonies this time of year?"
"That's what I said. Az is currently on the phone with every wholesaler in Southern California using words I didn't know she knew." I can hear her smile through the exhaustion. "But that's not why I'm calling. Did you finish the statement?"
I look at the screen. The cursor blinks at me, patient and accusing. "Almost. I keep... I don't know. Second-guessing myself."
"Read me what you have."
I take a breath and scroll to the top. "'Halo Creative was founded on the belief that every artist deserves representation that sees them as a person first and a commodity never.
Recent events in my personal life have tested that belief in ways I couldn't have anticipated, but they haven't changed it.
If anything, they've reinforced my commitment to building something better—'" I stop. "It sounds like corporate bullshit."
"It sounds like a woman who survived something and is choosing to keep going," Wren says firmly. "Keep reading."
"'The settlement with—'" I hesitate. The name still tastes wrong in my mouth.
"'the party responsible for my recent injuries will be used to establish the Halo Intern Fund, providing paid opportunities for emerging talent who might otherwise be excluded from our industry by financial barriers.
I believe that the best response to harm is creation.
I believe that the people who tried to diminish me will watch me build something they can never touch. '"
Silence on the line.
"Wren?"
"Sorry." Her voice is thick. "That last part. Did you write that or did Gray?"
"I wrote it. Why?"
"Because it's the most you thing you've ever said." She clears her throat. "It's good, Abbie. It's really good. Send it."
The civil settlement was finalized last week.
The criminal case will take months. For now, there’s a no-contact order.
Theo has temporary primary care under an interim agreement, with documented handoffs for Delaney’s supervised visits.
And my mother's last letter is still sitting on my bedroom dresser, unopened.
"Abbie?" Wren's voice pulls me back. "You still there?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just... thinking."
"About the statement?"
"About all of it." I close my eyes for a second, let the morning light warm my face. "Did I ever tell you what the doctor said? When they cleared me last week?"
"That you're healing well and the baby's doing great?"
"Besides that." I shift on the stool, trying to find a position that doesn't make my back ache. "She said I was lucky. That the way I fell, the angle, if I'd hit differently, if the impact had been a few inches to the left—"
"Abbie."
"I know. I know, I don't need to think about the what-ifs.
" I open my eyes. "But I do anyway. I think about all the ways it could have gone wrong, and then I think about the fact that it didn't, and I can't figure out if that means something or if it's just...
math. Probability. The universe being indifferent. "
"Does it matter?"
The question lands somewhere in my chest, settles there. "I don't know. I want it to. I want to believe that I'm still here for a reason, that the baby's okay for a reason, that Gray and I—" I stop. The words feel too big for a phone call.
"You can still walk away, you know." Wren's voice is gentle, careful. "From Gray. You can keep Halo, raise your daughter, and still choose a separate life. Nobody would blame you."
I consider it. I need to know the option still exists.
"I know," I say finally. "I know I can still walk."
"And?"
"I'm not walking." The words come out steady, certain. "I'm choosing. There's a difference."
Wren lets out a breath that sounds like relief. "Yeah. There is."
We talk for a few more minutes about logistics, the statement will go out this afternoon, there's a call with the legal team at two, the Halo office is ready whenever I want to come back but nobody's pushing.
When I hang up, my coffee has gone cold and Gray is standing in the doorway watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"How long have you been there?" I ask.
"Long enough." He pushes off the doorframe, moves toward me with that easy grace that still makes my stomach flip after all this time. "The statement's finished?"
"Almost. I need to reread it one more time before I send it."
"Can I?" He gestures at the laptop, and I turn it toward him.
He reads slowly. When he finishes, he looks up at me.
"The part about creation being the best response to harm."
"Yeah?"
"I want to frame it."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm serious." He moves closer, close enough that I can smell his soap and the coffee he must have made earlier.
"You wrote that while recovering from your sister attacking you.
You wrote it while managing a business and dealing with lawyers and figuring out how to forgive—" He stops, swallows.
"Me. You wrote it while figuring out how to forgive me. "
"Gray—"
"Let me finish." His voice is rough. "I've been waiting.
These past few weeks, I've been trying to give you space, trying not to push, because I know that everything you've been through, everything I put you through before and everything that happened after, I know it's not something you just get over. I know forgiveness isn't linear."
"No," I agree. "It's not."
"But I need to know—" He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, a gesture so familiar it makes my heart ache.
"I need to know where we are. Not because I'm demanding anything, not because I think I deserve anything, but because I love you.
I've loved you for nearly ten years, and I've spent the last year and a half learning how badly I failed at showing it, and I just...
I need to know if there's a path forward. For us. A real one."
I look at the hope he’s trying to hide.
"Come here," I say.
I slide off the stool and cross into the living room. He follows.
"Abbie?"
I turn to face him. I think about Wren reminding me I can still walk away.
"I forgive you, Grayson."
The words come out quiet but clear. I have wanted to say them before. But this is the first time I mean them. This is a choice made with my whole self, not just the part of me that's tired of fighting.
His breath catches. "Abbie—"
"I forgive you for the secrets. I forgive you for the financing and for shutting me out and for making me feel like I wasn't enough.
I forgive you for the year we lost, even though I'm still angry about it sometimes.
Even though I probably will be for a long time.
" I reach out, take his hand. "I forgive you. And I'm done waiting to do this."
"Do what?"
"Give me the ring."
He stares at me. "What?"
"My wedding ring. The one you've been keeping on your nightstand since I left because you're a sentimental idiot." I can feel my heart pounding, but my voice stays steady. "Give it to me."
"Abbie, I, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. That's the point.
" I squeeze his hand. "I'm not doing this because I have to.
I'm doing it because I want to. Because I choose you, Grayson Valentine.
I choose this marriage and this house and this terrifying, messy, complicated life.
I choose all of it. Now give me the ring. "
He's crying, tears sliding down his face while he just stands there looking at me.
"It's in the bedroom," he manages.
"Then go get it."
He hurries down the hall, and I wait in the living room with my hand on my belly. The baby kicks.
"I know," I murmur to her. "I know. Just hold on."
Gray comes back with the ring held carefully in his palm. The platinum band with its single diamond, simple and perfect, exactly what I chose when we married when we were young and certain and had no idea what was coming.
"Here." His voice cracks. "Abbie—"
"No." I take it from him before he can kneel or make a speech or do anything that would turn this into something it's not.
"This isn't you putting it on me. This isn't a proposal or a ceremony or any of that.
This is me. Putting it on myself. Because I'm the one who took it off, and I'm the one who gets to decide when it goes back on. "
I slide it onto my finger. It fits perfectly. Of course it does. It's mine.
"There," I say, and my voice is shaking now too. "Done."
He reaches for me. I fist his shirt and kiss him, laughing through tears as the baby kicks between us. When we finally break apart, both of us breathless, Gray tips his forehead against mine.
"No regrets?" I ask.
Gray is quiet, his thumb tracing slow circles on my shoulder.
"One," he finally says.
I pull back enough to see his face. "One?"
"The year apart." His eyes meet mine, and there's so much raw honesty there that my breath catches. "I would give everything to get that time back. Every dollar, every deal, every piece of what I built this year. I'd trade all of it for twelve more months with you."
"Gray."