Chapter 22 Kate
KATE
Ifound Stuart in our bedroom—his bedroom now—packing the last of his things. The suitcase lay open on the bed, and he was folding shirts with the methodical precision of a man who’d learned to take care of himself long before I came along.
“Hey,” I said from the doorway.
He looked up, and something in his face softened. “Hey yourself.” He put down the shirt he’d been folding and sat on the edge of the bed. After a moment, he patted the space beside him. “I thought we already did the goodbye thing.”
“We did. I just keep thinking I should feel worse about this,” I finally admitted. “About us. About you leaving. And I do feel bad, Stuart. I feel terrible. But I also feel...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“Relieved?” he offered quietly.
I closed my eyes. “That sounds awful. True, but awful.”
“It sounds honest.” His hand found mine, and he laced our fingers together the way he had a thousand times before. “Kate, look at me.”
I did. His eyes were kind—they’d always been kind—and there was no accusation in them. No blame.
“I feel it, too,” he said. “The relief. But here’s what I’ve figured out—feeling relieved doesn’t mean we failed. It just means we’re being honest about where we ended up.”
“When did you get so wise?”
He laughed softly. “Somewhere between the coma and the visions, I think. Near-death experiences have a way of clarifying things.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he let me. We sat like that for a while, two people who had loved each other, who still loved each other, but in a different way now.
“I don’t regret it,” I said. “Any of it. I need you to know that.”
“I know.”
“You gave me Timmy. You gave me years of normalcy. Of feeling like maybe I could have a regular life.”
“You gave me a family. Not to mention this whole chaotic, demon-fighting, world-saving mess. And I loved it, Kate. I loved every minute of it.”
“Even the parts where you almost died?”
“Even those.” He squeezed my hand. “Though I could have done without the coma. As for the visions...” he trailed off with a shrug. “Those, I’m getting used to.”
I laughed despite myself and felt tears prick at my eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not dying. I’m going to Rome.” He pulled back enough to look at me.
“And I meant what I said. I’m not leaving Timmy’s life.
Video calls, visits, whatever it takes. He’s my son.
That doesn’t change just because his parents couldn’t make it work.
That goes for Allie, too. I didn’t suffer through that girl’s puberty for nothing. ”
I laughed, wiping my eyes with my free hand. “I know you’ll be there for him. For both of them.”
Stuart was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, crossed to his dresser, and opened the top drawer. When he turned back, he was holding something small.
“I want you to have this.”
It was a piece of paper, folded into quarters and soft with age. I took it carefully, unfolding it to reveal a child’s drawing—stick figures in bright crayon, a house with a pointed roof, a yellow sun in the corner.
“Timmy’s first drawing,” Stuart said. “The one he made in preschool. ‘My Family.’ That’s you, and that’s supposed to be me, and that blob is either Allie or possibly a dog. He was three. Artistic accuracy wasn’t his strong suit.”
I remembered the day Timmy had brought this home, so proud of himself, demanding we put it on the refrigerator immediately. It had hung there for months before Stuart had quietly taken it down and—I’d assumed—thrown it away.
“You kept it.”
“Of course I kept it.” He sat back down beside me.
“Kate, whatever else happens. Whatever choices we’ve both made.
Whatever comes next. We made something good together.
That little boy down the hall is the best thing I’ve ever done.
And I wanted you to have something to remember that.
To remember us before everything got complicated. ”
I looked at the drawing. At the crooked figures and the too-big sun. At the word FAMLY written across the top in wobbly letters.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For this. For everything.”
Stuart leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was gentle. Final.
“Be happy, Kate,” he said. “You deserve it. And so does he.”
I didn’t have to ask who he meant.
I stood, still holding the drawing, and walked to the door. “Stuart?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, you were a good husband. A great father. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”
“You were exactly what I needed,” he said. “For exactly as long as I needed it. That’s not nothing, Kate. That’s everything.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and slipped out into the hallway.
Behind me, I heard him resume packing. Shirts folding. Drawers closing. The quiet sounds of a man preparing to leave.
I went to my room and tucked Timmy’s drawing into my bedside table, next to the photo of Eric and me from our wedding day that I’d never quite been able to throw away.
Two lives. Two loves. Both real. Both true.
Soon, Stuart would leave for Rome.
And I would finally stop pretending I didn’t know what I wanted.
The evening had that gray, heavy quality that made everything feel muted. Like the world knew something was ending and had dressed appropriately.
The taxi sat in the circular driveway, its trunk already stuffed with Stuart’s luggage. Not much, really—a few suitcases, a garment bag, a box of books he couldn’t bear to leave behind. The rest he’d already planned to have us ship.
I stood on the front steps and watched him do a final check, patting his pockets for his passport, his phone, his wallet. The small rituals of departure.
We’d all gathered to see him off, clustering on the porch like mourners at a funeral no one wanted to admit was happening.
Eddie stood with his arms crossed, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn’t quite spit out.
Cutter and Laura flanked him, Laura already clutching a tablet, because she’d be taking over Stuart’s administrative duties now.
The students had said their goodbyes earlier, most of them awkward and uncertain.
Stuart had never been their teacher, just a steady presence in the mansion.
The oracle who saw too much and said too little.
The quiet man who sometimes screamed in his sleep when the visions took him.
They didn’t know what to make of his leaving.
Neither did I.
A breeze picked up, carrying the smell of the ocean and something else—rain coming, maybe, or just the particular scent of change. I wrapped my arms around myself even though I wasn’t cold.
Allie broke from the group first. She crossed the gravel drive in quick strides and wrapped her arms around Stuart in a fierce hug, the kind that said everything words couldn’t.
I watched his face over her shoulder—the way his eyes closed, and his arms tightened around her.
The way he seemed to be memorizing the moment.
“I love you,” I heard her say, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “You know that, right? No matter what happens, no matter how far away you are. I love you.”
“I know.” He hugged her back just as fiercely. “I love you, too, kiddo. I’ll be seeing you a lot. We’ll make Forza charter a plane. You train. We hang out. Sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“Take care of your mom for me.”
She nodded. “Always.”
When she pulled away, her eyes were bright with tears. She retreated to Jared’s side, and he put an arm around her shoulders, steady and sure. She leaned into him like he was the only thing keeping her upright.
Stuart turned to Timmy, who had been clinging to my leg with the particular intensity of a child who sensed something was wrong but didn’t understand what. “Hey, buddy. Come here.”
Timmy let go of me and toddled over, his dinosaur sneakers scuffing against the gravel. Stuart scooped him up, holding him close, pressing his face into Timmy’s hair for a long moment. I saw his shoulders shake once—just once—before he got control of himself.
Timmy, being Timmy, tolerated the affection for about three seconds before squirming. “Down! Wanna play with Elena!”
Stuart laughed a real laugh, the first I’d heard from him in days.
It cracked something open in my chest. “Okay, okay.” He set Timmy down and watched him race across the lawn toward where Fran and Elena were waiting near the garden.
“He’s going to be fine,” Stuart said, almost to himself.
“He won’t even remember this by lunchtime. ”
“He’s resilient.”
“He is.” Stuart’s eyes stayed on our son for another moment. “Make sure he knows I love him.”
“I will. And you can tell him yourself everytime you talk on the phone. And we’ll be visiting at least twice a year. Who worries about the cost of international travel when Forza’s paying the airfare?”
Eric stepped forward then, and I realized I was hugging myself. The two men faced each other—my past and my present, my first love and my second.
And my first again.
Eric extended his hand, and Stuart took it.
Their grips held for a beat longer than necessary. “Take care of her,” Stuart said. “Of them.”
Eric nodded. “I will. I promise.”
I saw Stuart’s face change. The tension in his jaw softened. Something that might have been gratitude flickered in his eyes.
Stuart nodded as he released Eric’s hand. Then he was turning away, climbing into the taxi, the door closing behind him with a sound that felt far too final. The engine started, and I watched it roll down the long drive, finally disappearing around the bend where the oak trees blocked the view.
I kept watching even after it was gone. Kept listening even after the sound of the engine faded into nothing.
Kept standing there on the steps while the others drifted away one by one, back into the house, back to their duties and their distractions and their carefully maintained illusions of normalcy.
“Kate?”