Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
CAMERON
The seasons change, and with them, my feelings for Willow deepen—an unexpected complication. At home, Tally still occupies the same space, our lives intertwined through Brinley's care.
Willow's schedule as a pediatric oncologist dictates our relationship: three nights of dinners and conversations with her are all I can get, because four days a week she’s at the hospital, doing the most physically and emotionally draining work possible.
The remaining four nights find me at home, where Tally, her mother and I fall into domestic rhythms—sharing meals, Marisa and I playing piano together, board game competitions, and movie nights with commentary.
Brinley transforms daily, her laugh now filling rooms, her sleep finally uninterrupted through the night.
Tally has grown into motherhood, needing me less for midnight feedings.
My life splits neatly: four nights of family dinners with the woman I dream of marrying, three nights of possibility with someone new, all while guilt gnaws at me for leaving the woman I love alone with our child.
This impossible equation balances only because Tally herself insists on it as a solution.
The text from Willow arrives like a grenade with its pin pulled. She wants to meet Brinley—properly this time, not like that brief introduction at the chalet months ago.
"Tally," I say, matching her fold-for-fold as we tackle the mountain of baby clothes on the couch.
Across the room, Brinley's walker bumps against the coffee table, her five-month-old giggles punctuating the silence between us.
The gray tabby—Tally's compromise between wanting Brinley to have a pet and her own limited bandwidth, as Tally doesn’t have the time or patience for a higher maintenance pet like a dog—weaves between the walker's wheels.
"Willow's been asking about spending time with Brinley. "
Tally's hands freeze mid-fold over a yellow onesie.
She nods mechanically, but her eyes tell a different story.
"Right. Of course." Her voice thins as she smooths invisible wrinkles from the fabric.
"If you two are getting serious, she should probably know.
.." The sentence hangs incomplete as she turns away.
"Excuse me. I just remembered something. "
"Tally—"
"It's fine, Cameron." Her back is to me now. "Introduce them."
I watch her retreat, conflicted. Willow could be my future, which means she and my daughter need a relationship. That's just reality. Isn't it?
Still, it feels like a knife twisting deeper.
Another wound in this maze where every turn leads to pain.