Chapter 36
Blair
The copy in my hands felt heavier than it had all morning.
Not in weight, but in meaning.
I stood on the porch of my childhood home, staring at the familiar navy-blue door I once slammed behind me on my way out of this town for good. But today, I wasn’t here to run or retreat.
I was here to offer a piece of myself.
The cool, crisp wind rustled through the mossy oaks as I knocked. My hands were a little clammy despite the chill. I could still back out, I thought. Just leave it in the mailbox. But something inside me said she deserved more than that.
My mom answered the door wearing a soft cardigan and slippers. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“Blair,” she breathed. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded and held up the wrapped book in both hands. Brown paper, tied with twine. Simple. Honest.
“I wanted you to have the first copy,” I said. “Of my book.”
Her hands flew to her mouth. “You finished it?”
“I did. It’s being shelved in Delilah’s store later this week. There’s a launch party next month, but I wanted to give you this first. Before anyone else.”
She looked down at the package as if it were made of glass.
Her fingers trembled as she took it from me. “Can I open it now?”
I nodded.
She slipped the paper off gently and gasped when she saw the cover. A Second Chance . Her fingers traced my name, Blair Cunningham , printed in looping serif font. Then she opened the front cover.
Her eyes caught on the handwritten note immediately.
To the girl who was once silenced, and to the woman who’s learning to listen.
For my mother. I love you.
She pressed the book to her chest. Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t have the words.”
“I didn’t either,” I whispered. “Not for a long time.”
She looked at me, “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “I know we’re still healing, but I want you to know who I am now. And this is part of that.”
She pulled me into a hug that felt more like a beginning than an apology.
And for once, standing on that porch didn’t feel like walking back into the past.
It felt like claiming my place in the present.
The house smelled like garlic, butter, and something vaguely on the edge of burning.
“Greyson,” I called from the kitchen. “Did you forget about the bread?”
A muffled curse came from the oven, followed by the clang of a baking tray and the sound of a spatula hitting the floor.
“I got it! Just... crispier than planned.”
I peeked around the corner and found him fanning the air with a dishtowel, smoke rising dramatically from the now very golden garlic bread.
“Babe,” I said, biting back a laugh. “You had one job.”
“I was setting the table!” he protested, pointing to the mismatched plates, the slightly wrinkled linen napkins, and a bouquet of wildflowers in a mason jar. “Also, I opened wine.”
I walked over, plucked the corkscrew from his back pocket, and kissed his cheek. “Then you’re forgiven.”
We were hosting our first dinner together. Madison, Olive and Maddox were on their way. The table wasn’t perfect, nothing matched, but it was ours. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged.
Greyson handed me a glass of red, then went back to trying to salvage the toast.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“A little,” I admitted. “Not about the people. Just… it’s been a long time since I had a home to share.”
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Well, you’ve got one now. A real one.”
The doorbell rang before I could respond.
Madison ran through the door holding a bottle of wine, Olive strapped to her chest in a wrap that looked like it took a PhD to tie. Maddox follows behind and gives me a sheepish smile. “I brought a pie,” he says, and follows everyone to the dining room.
We all laughed and gathered around the table, passing plates and stories, baby Olive gurgling happily in someone’s arms at all times. Greyson reached for my hand halfway through dinner, his thumb brushing over mine as if to remind me he was there. That this was real.
And somewhere between Olive throwing rice on the floor and Madison teasing me about my half-cooked green beans, I looked around the room and felt it.
The ache of my past was still there, tucked into the corners.
But this, this messy, loud, laughter-filled life, was healing it, one small, perfect night at a time.