Mia
I wake to cold sheets and an empty bed. Jack left before dawn, slipping out like a thief in the night. At least I didn’t have to worry about the twins walking in on us. They're still with Sarah, who promised to keep them entertained for another day while I "got settled."
Settled. Right. Because sleeping with three different men in the span of a week is the definition of settled.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my body still humming from last night with Jack. The man knows exactly how to take me apart and put me back together. But so does Blake. And Noah. God, I'm a slut!
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from Blake asking if I'm okay. Another from Noah saying he's thinking about me. Nothing from Jack, but that's probably wise. He's my boss. We can't exactly exchange flirty texts that might get hacked.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water pound against my shoulders. The steam fills the bathroom as I try to wash away the guilt clinging to my skin. It doesn't work. Nothing works.
By the time I'm dressed in jeans and a simple sweater, my phone shows three missed calls from my mother. I call her back while making coffee.
"Mia, thank God." Mom's voice is breathless with relief. "Your father is having a good day. A really good day. Can you come over?"
My hand freezes on the coffee pot. "A good day?"
"He's sitting up. He ate breakfast. He's asking about you." Her voice cracks slightly. "Please come. I don't know how long this will last."
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to my childhood home. Taking a deep breath, I walk to the front door. Mom opens it before I can knock, pulling me into a tight hug.
"He's in the living room," she whispers against my hair. "Be patient with him."
I nod and follow her inside. The house smells like cinnamon and coffee, comforting and familiar. Dad sits in his recliner by the window, and I'm shocked by how much better he looks. He's wearing actual clothes instead of pajamas.
"Hi, Dad." I hover in the doorway, unsure of my welcome.
He looks up from the newspaper in his lap. "Mia." His voice is still rough, but stronger than last time. "Sit down."
I perch on the edge of the couch while Mom settles into her chair, her hands twisting in her lap. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything unsaid.
"How's the teaching job?" Dad finally asks, his eyes returning to the newspaper.
"It's good. The students are engaged. The curriculum is challenging but manageable." I keep my voice neutral, afraid that anything too personal could cause an argument.
"Riverside Academy is a good school." He turns a page without looking at me. "Jack runs a tight ship."
My stomach clenches at Jack's name. "He's a good principal."
"Heard he got divorced a few years back." Dad's tone is casual, but I sense the undercurrent. "Shame. He and Sarah seemed solid."
Mom shoots him a warning look that he ignores.
"These things happen," I say carefully, my fingers digging into the couch cushion.
"Do they?" Dad finally looks at me, his blue eyes sharp despite his illness. "People making vows and breaking them? Walking away from commitments?"
The accusation hangs in the air. We're not talking about Jack's divorce anymore. We're talking about me and how I left without a word.
"Robert," Mom says softly. "She came to visit. Let's not do this."
Dad's jaw tightens, but he returns to his newspaper. "How are your classes going? What are you teaching?"
I latch onto the safer topic. "Sophomore and junior English. We just started The Great Gatsby with the juniors. They're surprisingly engaged with the symbolism."
"You always loved that book." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "Used to read it every summer."
"I still do." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
We talk about literature for a few minutes, the conversation stilted but civil. Mom hovers anxiously, refilling coffee cups and offering cookies neither of us touches. I notice how she watches Dad, monitoring his energy levels, ready to intervene if he tires.
"You should have come home sooner." Dad's voice cuts through my explanation of teaching Romeo and Juliet. "Ten years is a long time to stay away."
My throat tightens. "I know."
"Do you?" He sets down his newspaper, his gaze boring into me. "Do you know what it did to your mother? To me? Wondering if you were alive or dead? If we'd failed you somehow?"
"You didn't fail me." The words come out choked.
"Then why did you leave?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself, his hand pressing against his chest. "Why did you run away in the middle of the night like we were monsters?"
Mom stands quickly. "Robert, your blood pressure."
"I'm fine, Linda." But he leans back in his recliner, his breathing labored.
I stand, my legs shaky. "I should go. I don't want to upset you."
"Sit down." It's not a request. "I'm dying, Mia. I don't have time for dancing around the truth. You owe me an explanation."
"I can't." My voice breaks. "I can't give you what you want."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." Tears blur my vision. "I had my reasons, Dad. Good reasons. But I can't explain them without hurting you more."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods slowly. "All right. I don't like it, but all right."
The concession feels like a gift I don't deserve.
"I'm glad you're teaching," he says quietly. "You always wanted that. I'm glad you got your degree, made something of yourself."
It's the closest thing to approval I've gotten from him since I returned. My chest aches with the weight of it.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Mom stands abruptly. "Mia, help me in the kitchen?"
I follow her gratefully, leaving Dad with his newspaper. In the kitchen, Mom grips the counter, her knuckles white.
"He suspects something," she says quietly. "About you and Jack."
"There's nothing to suspect." The lie tastes bitter.
"Mia." She turns to face me, her brown eyes sad and knowing. "I'm your mother. I see things. The way you tensed when he mentioned Jack's name. The guilt in your eyes."
I can't meet her gaze. "Mom, please."
"I won't ask questions you can't answer." She reaches out and squeezes my hand. "But be careful. Your father may be sick, but he's not blind."
We return to the living room where Dad has dozed off in his recliner, the newspaper sliding from his lap. Mom adjusts his blanket with gentle hands, her love for him evident in every movement.
"When are you bringing the twins?" she asks softly, not wanting to wake him.
My heart stutters. "Soon. Once things settle down at school."
"They should meet their grandfather while he's still having good days." Her voice cracks. "He doesn't have many left."
"I know. I just need a little more time."
"Time is the one thing we don't have, sweetheart." She walks me to the door, pulling me into another hug. "Bring them soon. Please. Let him know his grandsons before it's too late." She smiles faintly. "I'd like to see them, too, you know."
I nod against her shoulder, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
The drive back to my apartment passes in a blur.
My mind spins with everything unsaid, all the secrets piling up like a house of cards ready to collapse.
Dad suspects something about Jack. Mom knows I'm hiding things.
The twins need to meet their grandfather.
And I'm sleeping with three different men.
Three. Different. Men.
What kind of person does that? What kind of mother juggles three relationships while keeping her children hidden and her dying father in the dark?
I park in my apartment complex and sit in the car, my hands gripping the steering wheel. Blake's face flashes through my mind. The way he looked at me while helping me move, his brown eyes warm and genuine. The feel of his body covering mine, his muscles flexing under my hands.
Then Noah. His quiet intensity, the way he listens like every word I say matters. His mouth on mine in the hotel room, desperate and tender.
And Jack. God, Jack. The man I've wanted since I was eighteen. The father of my children. The one who makes me feel alive and terrified in equal measure.
My phone buzzes with a text from Blake: Thinking about you. Hope your visit with your dad went okay.
Then Noah: Free for coffee tomorrow?
And finally Jack: Need to see you again.
I stare at the three messages, my chest tight with guilt and longing. This can't continue. Something has to give. Someone is going to get hurt.
Probably me.
I climb out of the car and trudge up the stairs to my apartment, exhaustion weighing down every step. Inside, I collapse on the couch and stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out how I got here.
Maybe I'm just broken. Maybe I've always been broken, and these three men are just different pieces trying to fill the same void.
A knock at my door interrupts my spiral of self-loathing. I drag myself off the couch, expecting a package or maybe a neighbor.
I open the door and freeze.
Sarah stands in the hallway with Rory and Corey flanking her, their small suitcases clutched in their hands. My best friend's expression is apologetic and exhausted.
"I'm so sorry, Mia," Sarah says, her voice strained.
"I know they weren't supposed to come until tomorrow, but my mom had a fall.
I have to drive to Portland tonight. The boys insisted on coming to you instead of staying with my sister.
" She pauses long enough to take a deep breath.
"I tried calling but your phone kept going to voicemail. "
I pull out my phone and glance at it. How had I missed that? I'd seen the text message notifications but not the missed calls.
Rory and Corey stare up at me with identical hazel eyes flecked with gold. Jack's eyes. Their faces split from wide grins.
"Hi Mom!" they both shout at once before wrapping their arms around my waist.