Chapter 16
Mason
My parents really need to invest in a longer table.
We’re packed in here like sardines now that everyone’s married and there are four grandkids between Jesse and Cody.
I can’t even imagine what it’ll look like in a few more years.
Addison will have four, easy—she was made for it—and who knows? Megan and I may not be too far behind.
Hallie’s pointing to the basket of rolls and jabbering in her own little language, and Ella’s trying to reason with her. “Just wait, baby. We’re gonna pray first.” Hallie doesn’t care about that. She just wants a roll.
Cody’s standing behind his chair, burping Gage—who’s just over two months old now—and Karissa’s trying to strap Emma into her high chair while she yanks at her bib like she’s in a wrestling match.
And don’t even get me started on Addison and Cora.
They’ve got some high-five game going, and every time Cora misses, she throws her head back and laughs like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.
Wesley just watches from beside them, shaking his head with that soft smile that says he’s pretending not to melt.
The table’s a full spread—roast, mashed potatoes, rolls, three different casseroles, salad, pie cooling by the window. Mom never runs out of food. She never has. Feeding three boys and Dad, she cooks like she’s feeding an army, and now that army’s more than doubled.
Once Dad prays and the food starts being passed around, the kids’ volume drops and the adults take over.
“Are you ready for the school year, Meg?” Ella asks, looking down the table.
I glance at Megan. She’s sitting beside me, her plate already filled, her eyes bright. She swallows a bite before answering. “I’m so excited! I probably won’t sleep much tonight.”
Everyone laughs.
“Because of nerves or excitement?” Addison leans forward, looking past Wesley.
“Both,” Megan says, her cheeks flushed.
I smile, watching her talk—watching her hands move, the way her eyes light up when she talks about her classroom. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
I stopped by her school Friday. I didn’t tell her I was coming—just showed up. She was standing on a little stool, hanging up a banner that said Welcome to Our Farmyard!
I cleared my throat, and when she turned and saw me standing in the doorway, she smiled so big my heart tripped over itself.
She gave me the full tour, proud as could be. Showed me every corner, every new idea she had for her students. The reading nook she made with little hay bale seat covers, the wall with hand-painted animals, the rows of shiny new desks already labeled with names.
And then there was the new teacher. Trevor.
I hadn’t expected him to be what he was. I don’t know what I had really expected…someone older maybe? Grayer. Definitely not someone our age. Definitely not someone who fit in so easily. Tall. Easy smile. The kind of guy who looks like he belongs wherever he’s standing.
He was the one holding the ladder while Megan stapled borders. The one hauling boxes from the supply room. The one sliding desks into place like it was nothing.
Last year, that had been me.
I’d been the one she called when something was too heavy, when the banner wouldn’t stay up, when she needed an extra set of hands. I’d offered again this year too—told her to just text me and I’d swing by whenever I could.
She hadn’t needed to.
Trevor joked with her and Sierra like he’d already been there years instead of days. Comfortable. Easy. Helpful in a way that made my jaw tighten, even though I didn’t want it to.
I didn’t love how natural it all looked. And I didn’t say much. Just listened. Reminded myself that none of this meant anything. That Megan hadn’t done a thing wrong.
I glance at her now, glowing as she laughs at something my dad just said, and the jealousy settles back where it belongs.
She’s mine, I trust her, and that has to be enough.
* * *
Megan, Addie, Wes, and I take the kids into the living room while everyone else cleans up.
Cody and Jesse insisted we get some “practice” wrangling all the little ones—said we’ll need it soon enough.
I think they’re still half worried about Megan and me wanting kids right away.
Addie and Wes don’t get that same scrutiny, but they’ve been married a year now. I guess it’s different.
It’d be fun if it happened around the same time. Addie and Meg going through it together. But as far as I know, neither of them are pregnant. And if Addison was, we’d know. That girl couldn’t keep a secret if you paid her.
“Play with these!” Cora announces proudly, crouching by the cabinet under the TV. She tugs out a basket overflowing with toys—a mix of dolls, books, blocks, and baby toys. Emma’s right beside her, equally determined to dig out the good stuff.
“Play these!” Cora says again to Wesley.
“Play babies?” he asks, kneeling onto the rug.
Megan’s on the couch with Hallie perched on her hip. Hallie’s shy and still deciding which of us men she’s okay with—definitely not me or Wes at the moment. She’s wary of Cody too, though Ella swears it’s just a phase.
Addie drops onto the couch beside me, Gage propped on her thighs. He’s facing her, babbling and kicking like he’s telling her his life story. The kid’s cute—chubby legs, dark hair, big brown eyes that look exactly like Cody’s. It’s kind of crazy.
“You are just too cute,” Addie coos, tilting her head and blowing a raspberry against his cheek. He grins, all gums and dimples, and she turns to Wesley with a dramatic sigh.
“I want one,” she says, her voice soft and whiny in that teasing way she uses when she’s halfway serious.
We all laugh, even Wes. “I know you do,” he mutters, shaking his head but smiling.
Across from us, Megan’s got Hallie settled in her lap, a book open between them. “Cow,” she says gently, tapping the picture. “Moo.” Hallie giggles, leans her head against Megan’s shoulder.
My chest tightens a little, the kind of ache that’s good and bad all at once.
Addison glances over. “You and me both,” Megan says softly, meeting her eyes with a small, hopeful grin.
“We’re trying,” I remind her, my voice quieter than before.
“Yup, same here.” Wesley chuckles, still on the floor beside Cora. He’s holding a baby doll, feeding it with a tiny plastic bottle while Cora mimics him. Hallie grabs her own fake bottle and sticks it in her mouth.
I lean back on the couch, watching the whole scene unfold. Addie’s laughter, Wes’s grin, Megan’s gentleness with Hallie. It’s easy and perfect.
* * *
The drive home is quiet—not that it’s very long—but even once we’re inside, Megan hasn’t said much.
I noticed it earlier. How she slipped into the kitchen with Ella and Karissa while the rest of us were wrangling kids in the living room. Their voices low. Standing close. It didn’t feel like recipes or school talk. It felt heavier than that.
“So,” I say casually as we change for bed, pulling my shirt over my head. “What was the hot topic?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“You girls.” I glance over my shoulder. “Kitchen conference.”
She smirks, trying to play it off. “Oh. Yeah. Nothing.” She shrugs.
I don’t buy it. I don’t say anything, just look at her.
She sighs. “Karissa,” she finally says. “She opened up.”
I step into my pajama pants. “About?”
“Her depression. Postpartum, I guess.” Megan shakes her head slightly. “The thoughts she has. The feelings. I don’t…I don’t get it.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say gently. “You’re not her.”
“I know,” Megan says quickly. “But I guess I just don’t understand how…” She pauses, choosing her words. “I want a child so bad. And here she is with not one but two. And sometimes she doesn’t even want them.”
My chest tightens. “She said that?”
She nods. “Not all the time. But when she’s really in it—when she’s depressed—she said that’s how it feels.”
I don’t answer right away.
“And Cody…” Megan continues, voice quieter now. “Karissa said she doesn’t like Cody either in those moments. That she hates everything—her life, the kids, her husband.” She swallows. “It just feels really dark.”
“It is,” I say. “That’s what depression does.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I just don’t think I could ever feel that way about my kids. Or my husband.”
Something in me tightens. It’s not anger, not judgment…just awareness. I’ve seen what untreated depression can do. On the job. In people who never thought they’d end up where they did.
“Don’t say that, Meg.”
She looks at me. “What?”
“Don’t put yourself above someone else’s suffering,” I say quietly but firmly. “Hormones are brutal. PPD isn’t a mindset—it’s a chemical storm. She isn’t choosing to feel that way.”
“I didn’t say she was,” Megan says, defensive now. “All I’m saying is I don’t think I could ever—”
“Don’t,” I repeat, softer this time. “You don’t know what you’d feel if your brain turned against you.”
She goes still, staring at me.
“Sorry.” She swallows.
“Don’t apologize to me,” I say gently. “Just…be there for her.”
She nods. “I will.”
* * *
I wake up to find Megan taking up half the bed and all the blankets. Typical. She’s tangled up like a burrito while I’m left with the edge of the sheet.
When I try to tug some back, she makes a sleepy sound and burrows closer, her toes icy against my leg.
“No,” she mumbles into my chest, voice muffled and tired. “I’m cold.”
I laugh softly. “You’re always cold.”
“I know.” She sighs dramatically, half asleep.
I settle back against the pillow, brushing her hair away from her face. It’s barely light out. The world’s quiet. For a minute, I just breathe her in—shampoo, detergent, all of it that makes her her.
She shifts against me again, arm draped over my stomach now, fingers tracing lazy circles through the fabric of my shirt. “You’re warm,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.
She presses a kiss against my neck. Then another. Then a slower one just below my jaw.
Goose bumps spread down my arms, and I laugh quietly. “Whatcha doing?” I ask, my voice low, rough from sleep.
“Mmm,” she hums against my skin. “Maybe I need a little good luck.”
I chuckle, the sound vibrating in my chest. “Good luck, huh?”
She nods against me, still half under the blankets, still kissing a slow trail across my collarbone.
“First day of school,” she reminds me, a playfulness to her tone.
She tilts her head up, those blue eyes meeting mine, sleepy but mischievous.
I slide my hand around her waist, fingers brushing her bare skin as I pull her in closer. “You know I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that.”
“I know.” She smiles, smug and soft all at once.
I roll her gently onto her back, careful not to crush her, my thumb brushing along her jaw. Her hair fans across the pillow, her cheeks pink from sleep. I can feel her heartbeat beneath my palm, quick and steady.
“I think I can arrange some good luck,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. Then another kiss, deeper, slower.
She exhales against me, her fingers threading into my hair. The world narrows to just this—her and me.
I brush a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again.
Her hand slides to my shoulder, pulling me closer, stopping me from thinking about anything else—work, money stress, how early it is—and I let myself fall into her.