Chapter 19
Megan
The windows are open and the air that drifts through is warm but easy—late-summer kind of air that smells like sunshine and fresh-cut grass.
I’m on the back porch, a glass of sweet tea sweating beside me and a stack of spelling tests in front of me that could easily take up the rest of my afternoon. I’m trying to grade and log them in at the same time, but every so often I lose focus.
Mason’s out in the yard, his shirt sticking to his back, splitting wood.
He said with how cold I get, he’s afraid we’ll burn twice as much as he usually did when it was just him.
He’s been at it for over an hour now, steady as ever.
The sound of the axe hitting the logs is a rhythm I’ve grown used to.
The man makes chopping wood look like a sport.
Actually, the only sport I’ve ever had genuine interest in watching.
A few minutes ago he caught me staring, wiped his forehead, and called out, “Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”
I just shook my head at him and took a long sip of tea like I wasn’t absolutely enjoying it.
Now, he comes up the porch steps—sweat beading at his hairline, face red, neck sunburned, breathing a little heavier. He questions my grin.
I laugh. “Nothing. I’m just…definitely ovulating.”
His eyebrows lift, that slow, knowing grin spreading as he leans against the porch post. “Oh yeah? How you know?”
“Because I wouldn’t even care if you didn’t shower first.”
He laughs. “That right?”
He drags a chair closer, sitting right in front of me, knees brushing mine. He’s still catching his breath, but he’s got that mischievous look—the one that makes my stomach flip.
“Tell me you’re serious,” he says, leaning in, his voice low, “and we can make it happen.”
Then the wind shifts.
I get a full whiff of sweat mixed with the smell of warm September air and wood.
I wrinkle my nose. “Hmm. On second thought…”
He hums with a teasing grin. “That’s what I thought.” He kisses me quickly before heading back out to the yard.
Twenty minutes later, I’m headed up to Cody and Karissa’s place, just like we planned. I decide to walk. It’s too nice out not to, and I could use the exercise—and maybe the quiet before stepping into someone else’s chaos.
Cody opens the door before I even get the chance to knock.
He looks worn. The kind of tired that’s settled deep in his bones.
Gage is up on his shoulder where a spit-up rag is draped.
He’s two and a half months old but is starting to look like his own little person now.
His head is lifted just slightly as he stares over Cody’s shoulder at Emma.
She’s perched on a stool at the counter, spoon in hand, clearly fascinated with herself.
“Hi,” I say softly, stepping inside.
“Hey—” Cody starts.
“And see! Watch, Daddy! See how I eat it like this?” Emma announces proudly, demonstrating with exaggerated seriousness.
Cody glances over his shoulder. “I see, Em. Good job.” His voice is tired but gentle.
He shuts the door behind me, and I take a few more steps inside. That’s when I see the mess.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen their house like this.
The sink is full of dishes and they’re lining the counter too.
Plates, cups, bottles. The counters are cluttered with everything and nothing at the same time: a phone cord, cookbooks, rags, baby bibs, bottle caps.
Toys cover the floor—baby doll accessories, stuffed animals, dollhouse people.
Two laundry baskets sit by the kitchen table, one dumped out on top like someone started folding and just… couldn’t finish.
The couch pillows are on the floor. Blankets half dragged off. Kids’ books are scattered across the coffee table. Gage’s play mat is flipped upside down, the swing still gently rocking like someone forgot to turn it off.
My chest tightens.
“Karissa’s been in our room all day,” Cody says quietly, like he doesn’t want the walls to hear him.
“Okay.” I nod, already slipping my shoes off. “That’s fine. What do you need from me?”
“If you can take the kids,” he says quickly, “I’ll clean up. I just—” He adjusts Gage slightly. “He’s fussy, and I don’t want her hearing him.”
“Of course.” I set my purse down and reach for Gage without hesitation.
Emma’s already talking my ear off, something about a show she watched or a book she read with Cody, I’m not totally sure. I lower myself onto the stool beside her while she eats, shifting Gage into my arms.
He immediately scrunches his face. Oh no. I freeze.
“Up,” Cody says gently. “He likes to be up.”
“Right. Okay.” I stand back up, repositioning him over my shoulder the way Cody had him, giving him a soft bounce.
He settles instantly, and I let out a breath of relief.
Cody moves fast after that, picking up toys, starting in the living room before moving toward the kitchen table. He doesn’t say much, just works. Like he’s trying to outrun something.
Emma chatters beside me, completely unaware. Gage sighs against my shoulder, warm and heavy and content.
And it’s strange, sitting here with my heart so set on wanting this. The noise, the mess, the full house. Wanting it so badly it sometimes aches.
While just upstairs, Karissa is feeling the exact opposite.
I get Gage to sleep, and Cody transfers him to his crib, the monitor buzzing softly on the counter. A show plays quietly for Emma while I help with the dishes, the sink finally clearing.
“Do you think she’d want to talk?” I ask quietly. “To me?”
Cody exhales. “I don’t know. She always says she doesn’t want to be around anyone.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Then maybe it’s not a good idea.”
He pauses, drying his hands on a towel. “You know what…let’s try. Maybe it would help.”
He glances toward the living room. “Emma will be fine for a minute.”
I follow him upstairs, staying back a few steps as he knocks softly on their bedroom door.
“Riss?” His voice is careful. Hesitant. He waits, then swallows. “Babe?”
“What?” she mumbles.
Cody eases the door open. “Megan’s here. She wanted to see you.”
My stomach flips. Suddenly I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, what version of myself I should bring into this room.
Cody gestures me forward. And then I see her.
Karissa’s lying on her side, hair twisted into a messy knot with loose curls stuck to her cheeks. Her face is blotchy, eyes swollen and red. Used tissues are scattered on the floor. She’s wiping at her cheek, like no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop crying.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She doesn’t sit up. Just murmurs a quiet “Hi.”
I step in slowly and sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to crowd her.
“I’m really sorry you’re struggling,” I say.
Her eyes squeeze shut and her breath catches. Tears push through anyway, her shoulders trembling as she tries—and fails—to hold them back.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” I ask gently. “I want to help.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to say. It passes eventually. I just…sink really low for a few hours and then I’m okay again.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Once a week. Maybe twice.” She shrugs weakly. “I don’t know.”
“And right now?” I ask. “What’s the loudest thought in your head?”
She stares at the wall. “That Cody doesn’t love me.”
My heart drops. “Karissa…Cody loves you so much.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she says immediately. “We fight over the dumbest things and then everything feels rocky, and I can’t handle it.”
“Arguments don’t mean that,” I say carefully. “Mason and I argue. Does that mean he doesn’t love me?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Right. So Cody loves you too.”
Her voice cracks. “No, I’m a bad wife, bad mom. He deserves someone else and so do the kids.”
She sits up, leaning back against the headboard. Her face is wrecked—eyes swollen, cheeks streaked, exhaustion written all over her.
“No,” I say instantly.
She looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I see you with your kids,” I say. “You’re good with them. They adore you—”
“In public,” she cuts in. “When people are watching.” Her voice sharpens.
“Behind closed doors I’m short-tempered.
I yell. I get overstimulated and annoyed, and I hate it.
Everyone’s so quick to say, ‘Oh, you’re such a good mom, you’re doing great!
’—throwing affirmations around like confetti.
” She laughs bitterly. “It’s bullshit. No one knows what it’s really like. Everyone’s a liar.”
The words hit heavy.
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts.
Cody wasn’t exaggerating. Nothing you say can pull someone out of this. There’s no right sentence. No reassurance strong enough.
And all I can think is how desperately lonely this must feel—being surrounded by people and still believing none of them truly see you, let alone understand you.
“I still think Cody deserves someone else,” she says, her voice cracking. “Someone who isn’t like this. Someone stable. Solid. Not…brittle and broken.”
The words come apart as she says them, each one dragging more tears with it. Her sniffles are heavy, chest hitching like she’s fighting a losing battle with her own thoughts.
My throat tightens until it hurts.
I know I haven’t known her long, but I know this…this isn’t her. This is something sitting on her, weighing her down, telling her lies in her own voice.
I move closer without thinking, sitting beside her and pulling her into me. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her tight, her forehead pressing into my neck as she breaks.
Her crying sets something off in me too. My eyes burn. My chest aches.
“Cody loves you,” I say firmly, even as my voice trembles. “Your kids love you. We all love you.”
She clings to me, and I don’t know how long we stay like that, but it doesn’t matter.
When I leave their room, I find Cody downstairs pouring Goldfish into a small bowl for Emma to take to the living room.
“How’d it go?” he asks. And I don’t have words, I just shake my head.
“She needs more than therapy, Cody.” I wipe the corners of my eyes.
He looks down, his shoulders loosening with his exhale. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
* * *
It’s about eight when I finally crawl into bed, queuing up some random comfort movie that I’ve seen a dozen times and don’t really have to pay attention to. The AC hums, the sheets are cool, and somewhere outside I can still hear the thump of Mason stacking the last of the wood.
He said he’d be in soon. A shower and then he’s all mine.
The front door opens downstairs, followed by the heavy, familiar thud of his boots on the hardwood.
A second later, he fills the bedroom doorway. Hair damp with sweat. T-shirt clinging to his chest. Voice low.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I say back, a little blunter than I would’ve liked.
He studies my face for half a second before asking, “You okay?”
I nod, then shrug. “Yeah. Just…Karissa was heavy today.”
His mouth tightens slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I’m okay,” I add quickly. “I’m just glad I went.”
Something settles between us, understood, held. “Good. Me too.”
Then his eyes shift, warmth creeping back in. He leans against the frame, eyes skimming over me. There’s a smug little smile tugging at his mouth.
“You really ovulating?” he asks, “or were you just messing with me earlier?”
“No, I am.” I laugh.
His eyebrows lift, slow and playful.
“Oh yeah?”
I nod once. “Round two, baby.”
His smile breaks fully. “Alright then…” he murmurs, pushing off the doorframe. “Give me five minutes.” He nods toward the bathroom.
Five minutes suddenly feels like an hour. Especially when my thoughts on Karissa are spiraling. I can’t get her voice out of my head, what she was saying to me.
I turn the TV down and adjust the pillow behind me when I finally hear the shower turn off. A few seconds later the door opens and Mason steps out.
His hair is wet, and he’s got a towel hanging around his waist. His biceps are darker than his chest from all the sun he got today.
“Should I get dressed?” he asks with a laugh.
“No. That’s pointless.”
His smirk grows and he eyes the blanket covering me up to my stomach. “You’re dressed.”
“Am I?” I tease, lifting my brows.
He laughs again—that warm, boyish kind. He drops the towel and climbs into bed beside me. The mattress dips under his weight, and his hand finds my leg, sliding slowly, deliberately, feeling for fabric.
“Just doing standard procedure here, ma’am. Hold still,” he says in a low cop voice.
“I hope it’s not standard procedure to search everyone like this,” I tease, breath catching when he gets a little higher.
His grin is pure trouble as he leans in. “Only you, my dear.”
He kisses me softly at first, and when I nip at his bottom lip, he breaks away with a quiet breath, eyes darkening.
“You’re not messing around tonight,” he murmurs.
“No, I’m not.” I laugh, breathless already.
It’s crazy how much ovulation changes my hormones. I’m not usually this…feral.
I reach for him when he leans in, my hands slipping around the back of his neck. He smells like our soap, like summer, like him. His forehead rests against mine.
He presses me back onto the pillows, his body hovering over mine without all the weight, and our kiss deepens. The kind of kiss that makes my fingers curl into his hair just to keep myself grounded.
His lips move along my jaw, slow and warm, down my neck then back to my mouth.
There’s a moment where he looks down at me…like, really looks at me as he traces his thumb down the side of my face to tuck the stray strands of my hair back.
“I love you,” he says, voice low and thick.
“I love you too.”
We kiss again, the room spinning just a little as he comes closer.