Chapter 21
Dani
The last week went by in a blur. I bounced back from the loss and filed an appeal for my client, determined not to let it define me.
Harper and I had perfected our routine. Things with Logan were going well.
We hadn’t talked about that night, but I knew when he came back, it would be harder to ignore.
Since then, he’d checked in with small gestures—ordering dinner so it was ready when we returned from dance, taking something off my plate before I even realized I was carrying it.
He never drew attention to it, but I noticed.
It was hard to consider what things would look like when he returned. I knew his focus was on Harper and that this was all just temporary, but I’d be lying to myself if I ignored the subtle ache that came with imagining days that didn’t include dance parties and check-ins with a broody single dad.
Maybe that’s why I was instead cursed with a night of excruciating pain.
The pain had started that afternoon, sharp and low, the kind that made your stomach twist and your patience vanish.
It wasn’t the first time. Endometriosis and I had been long-time enemies. We’d been trading blows since college. Most days, I could handle it with persistent defiance: heating pads, Tylenol, Zofran, and the art of pretending I was fine. But tonight, it hit harder than usual.
I’d had excision surgery a few years ago. It was a clean removal, they said. Careful hands, optimistic outcomes. For a little while, it worked. The pain eased, the flares disappeared long enough that I almost believed I could outrun it.
But it didn’t last.
They’d taken an ovary during the procedure. Told me it wouldn’t change anything and that I’d still be able to have children someday. They has said it with such confidence, like certainty was something they could promise.
But I wasn’t naive enough to take that at face value.
I knew better than to assume anything about my body would be simple.
Since then, I’d tried everything—hormones that made me feel like a stranger in my own skin, medications that dulled one thing only to sharpen another, treatments that promised balance but never quite delivered it.
Nothing fixed it. The only thing that ever truly worked was managing the pain when it came and waiting it out.
Sometimes it made sense: my cycle, stress, long days that stretched too far. Other times, it just happened. No warning. No reason. And tonight was one of those nights.
By the time Harper noticed, I was already curled slightly on the couch, pressing the heating pad against my stomach, willing my body to settle.
“Are you sick?” she asked as I pressed a heating pad to my stomach and tried to smile through it.
“Not sick, sweetheart,” I said, easing myself onto the couch. “Just a little bit of pain. Happens sometimes.”
She frowned, her little brow creased with concern. “Like when Daddy gets headaches?”
“Kind of,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Just lower.”
She nodded solemnly, as if that made perfect sense. “Then you need rest. I’m very good at resting.”
I smiled. “Are you now?”
“Uh-huh. We should watch a movie. That helps me feel better.”
“Good idea,” I said, relieved for the easy distraction.
We had big plans for tonight: taco night, board games, and a bubble bath for her dolls.
I glanced at the taco ingredients spread out on the counter, my stomach twisting slightly at the thought of chopping and cooking.
The excitement of the evening we had imagined seemed to slip away.
I wasn’t up for anything ambitious. So, movie night it was.
I texted a quick message to Logan,
Me: “Keeping it low-key tonight.
Movie and takeout. All’s well.”
Then I ordered pizza, set the thermostat a little warmer, and grabbed every blanket in sight.
By the time Finding Nemo started, Harper had tucked herself under my arm, the heating pad rested across my stomach, and a blissful quiet settled over the apartment.
“Do you want me to get your water?” Harper whispered, her voice serious.
“You’re such a good helper,” I said softly. “I’ve got it right here.”
She smiled, snuggling closer. “When I grow up, I’m gonna take care of people too. Like you.”
My heart squeezed. “That’s a pretty amazing thing to want to do.”
She nodded, eyes already half-lidded. “You’re like a superhero.”
I laughed softly. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
She gave a tiny hum of approval and drifted off halfway through the movie, one small hand resting on the heating pad as if helping me hold it in place.
I let my head sink back into the couch and breathed slowly.
The pain stayed, sharp and deep, but the warmth of her small body against mine helped.
Heat gathered beneath the soft fleece blanket, and the gentle aroma of pizza beside us dulled the discomfort just enough to let me find a sliver of peace.
For a moment, I just listened to her soft breathing and let myself rest too.
Some time later, I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I heard was the sound of the front door unlocking.
I startled slightly, sitting up just enough to see Logan stepping inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and an airport coffee in hand.
For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.
He froze in the doorway, surprise flickering across his face before it melted into a sense of relief.
“Hey,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Logan?” I blinked. “You’re—early.”
His smile tugged wider. “Not for good, just 48 hours off. Finished the job ahead of schedule and thought I’d surprise you both.”
Before I could respond, Harper stirred at the sound of his voice. Her eyes fluttered open, and then she gasped, loud and delighted.
“Daddy!”
She practically launched herself off the couch, heating pad and all, running full speed into his arms. He caught her easily, laughing as she squealed, “You’re home early! You didn’t even call!”
“Best surprise ever, huh?” he said, hugging her tight. “Look at you, unicorn pajamas and all.”
She beamed up at him. “We were having movie night! Because Ms. Dani’s tummy hurts.”
I froze mid-sit-up. “Oh, Harper, I’m fine.”
“It’s okay,” Logan said quickly, his eyes flicking to me with concern. “Stomach bug?”
“It’s not contagious,” Harper said very seriously. “It’s her end-o-me-tree-oh-sis.”
I covered my face, mortified and amused all at once. “Apparently, we’re using medical terms now.”
Logan’s smile was faint but warm. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, waving him off. “Just one of those days. The heating pad’s doing its thing.”
He set Harper down and crossed to me before I could protest. “You should’ve called. I would’ve—”
“—flown home early?” I teased lightly. “It’s not my first rodeo; I’ve had it worse.”
He huffed out a laugh, crouching beside the couch. “Still. You shouldn’t have had to handle both her and this alone.”
“I’m fine,” I said softly. “We had pizza, watched a movie, and made a blanket fort that currently looks like it survived a small tornado. Harper was an excellent nurse.”
“Of course I was!” she said, climbing back onto the couch proudly. “I got her water and everything.”
“You’re a great nurse,” I said, brushing her hair back.
Logan watched us, something unreadable in his expression, before his voice dropped, gently. “Do you need your medicine? Or do you need me to run out and get you something else?”
“I mostly just use heat and rest,” I said. “It passes.”
He nodded, clearly holding back the instinct to do something. Instead of jumping into action, he carefully adjusted the blanket around me, tucking it in just right. That was who he was, always fixing, always protecting.
Harper wriggled between us again, clutching her new dolphin. “Daddy, look what we named him! Sir Wiggle Fin the Third!”
“That’s a strong name,” he said, grinning. “Very noble.”
“Harper picked it,” I added, smiling faintly.
“Of course she did,” he said. “Sounds exactly like her.”
She giggled, oblivious to the soft tension between us.
“Okay,” Logan said after a moment. “How about you finish the movie with Dani while I unpack and get cleaned up?”
Harper frowned. “But we already saw the good part!”
“Then maybe we can make popcorn and start something new,” he suggested. “But only if she feels up to it.” Looking to me for affirmation.
I smiled weakly. “Popcorn sounds great.”
He hesitated before standing. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I promise,” I said. “I just need a little time with my heating pad.”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t quite believe me but respected my stubbornness anyway.
“Alright. Holler if you need anything.”
As he disappeared down the hall, Harper snuggled back into my side, whispering, “I told you Daddy would come back soon.”
I smiled, brushing a hand through her loose curls. “You were right.”
By the time Logan returned, I’d shifted to sit a little straighter. He’d changed into jeans and a worn T-shirt, hair damp from a quick shower, looking far too good for a man who’s been traveling all day.
As he came back into the living room, he handed me a cup of chamomile tea without a word.
“You didn’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” he said simply, sitting across from me on the edge of the coffee table.
The warmth of the mug seeped into my palms, and suddenly my throat tightened with an unexpected tenderness. It had been a long time since someone noticed what I needed without asking.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He shrugged, though his gaze softened. “You’ve taken care of her. The least I can do is take care of you for a minute.”
I smiled, caught somewhere between gratitude and something deeper. “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job already.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I was starting to feel like a stranger in my own house.”
“You’re definitely not that,” I said, meeting his eyes. “She’s been talking about you nonstop. And, uh… well, I have too.”
That earned a slow, quiet smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
As the space between us grew silent, Harper hummed softly beside me, already half-asleep again, while the movie’s credits were rolling.
He looked at her, then back at me, his voice low. “You really held everything together while I was gone.”
I shook my head. “We just kept things warm until you came back.”
His eyes lingered on me, almost as if he was searching for something. “You did more than that, Darlin’.”
I didn’t trust myself to ask what he meant.
So I stayed quite as he stood, gently lifting Harper from my side. She sighed and melted into his arms, her tiny fingers curling in his shirt.
Something in my chest caught at the sight of the way he held her like she was the whole world, the reverence in the gesture.
He carried her down the hall, and I watched them disappear into her room.
For a long time, I sat there, the tea cooling in my hands, the flicker of the TV washing soft light across the room.
I felt him return, before he even spoke, almost as if my body recognized his proximity before I did.
“She’s asleep,” he said softly.
“Good. She played hard today,” I said.
He smiled faintly, sitting back down beside me.
We sat there for a while, neither of us speaking, just breathing in sync with the hum of the heater and the soft rain starting outside.
Finally, he said, “I missed this.”
“This?”
He gestured vaguely to the couch, the blankets, the lived-in quiet. “All of it. Her. Home. You.”
My heart stuttered. I wanted to say something clever, something light to deflect the way his gaze anchored me. But the words wouldn’t come.
So I just said, “We missed you, too.”
He smiled, small and real. “Guess that makes us even.”
And for the first time that night, the pain faded to something dull and distant.
Because sitting there, wrapped in warmth and the gentle rhythm of him beside me, I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit until now:
It didn’t hurt just because of the flare-up.
It hurt because, somehow, my heart was waking up again.