14. Samantha
CHAPTER 14
Samantha
T he ring of the doorbell sent a flutter through my chest, like a flock of nervous butterflies had taken up residence. I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel before making my way to the front door. Opening it, I found Evan standing there, his presence dwarfing the doorway of our quaint Minden home.
"Hey, Sam," he greeted me with a nod, cool politeness lining his words as if we were mere acquaintances rather than fragments of each other's past.
"Hi, Evan. Come in," I said, stepping aside. My voice was even, betraying none of the turmoil beneath. I led him into the living room where Sophia was curled up on the couch, her eyes brightening at the sight of our guest. I’d tried my best to prepare her for this moment. But how did you really prepare your thirteen-year-old daughter to meet their father for the first time?
"Sophia, this is Evan–your dad. Evan, this is Sophia," I introduced them, careful to watch their exchange.
"It’s really nice to meet you, Sophia," Evan said, extending a hand that seemed too large against her petite frame.
"Hi." Her smile was genuine, if a little shy. “I remember you. You’re the firefighter.”
“That’s me,” he said. “I’m really glad to hear you’re doing okay after that trip to the hospital.” No trace of fear or regret shadowed Evan's face, just an open warmth that felt painfully absent when he looked at me.
“Yeah. All good. Especially if I can get that–”
I stepped forward, interrupting her before she shared too much. “Can I get you something to drink, Evan?” When Sophia looked at me, I shook my head in a silent instruction. I didn’t want her telling Evan about our money troubles.
He shook his head, his eyes still on Sophia. “No thanks. What were you saying, Sophia?”
“Oh… nothing.”
“She just wants to get back to horseback riding again soon,” I interjected, hoping my face didn’t flush with the lie. Well, it was technically true. Just not what she was going to say. We’d been talking a lot about the ICD and how we could get one.
“I know this is a little sudden, Sophia. But I want you to know that I’m going to be here for you from here on out.”
My heart stuttered at the promise, remembering the ones he’d made to me. Made and broken. You’re my dream girl. We’ll make this work when we get home. This is more than just a fling. I’ve never felt like this before. We’ll be together forever.
I quickly excused myself to the kitchen to pull myself together.
"So, Sophia, what do you like to do for fun–besides horseback riding?" Evan asked, drawing her into conversation while they sat at the dining table, within my line of sight but worlds away from where I stood chopping vegetables for the salad.
"I love reading. Oh, and making things. I’m really into friendship bracelets right now," Sophia said, her voice carrying a note of enthusiasm.
"Really? That's cool. Could you show me how to make one?" His tone was warm and curious, an invitation to a world I felt barred from.
"Sure!" Sophia perked up, dashing off to her room for supplies before returning with her plastic box. “You can choose to do a braided bracelet or a beaded bracelet. What do you think?” Soon they were sorting through colorful beads, tying knots and exchanging stories.
"Have you ever saved anyone from a fire?" Sophia's voice, tinged with awe and curiosity, cut through the hum of the kitchen.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching as Evan leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, there was this one time," he began, his deep voice filling the room. I could see Sophia leaning forward, her hands stilled from their bracelet-making, utterly captivated.
"Tell me everything!" she urged, her eyes wide with anticipation.
Evan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He described how he and his team had responded to a call from an old apartment building engulfed in flames. As he spoke, his hands animatedly painted the scene: the smoke billowing into the dark sky, the heat radiating off the walls, and the sound of sirens echoing in the night.
"Everyone was out, except for an old man on the third floor," Evan continued, his voice dropping to a hush as if sharing a secret. "He was scared, and he didn't want to leave without his cat."
"Did you find it?" Sophia's eyes were glued to him, her lips parted slightly in suspense.
"Yep, hiding under the bed. Scared half to death." Evan's smile was gentle, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. "We got them both out safe and sound."
"Wow..." Sophia breathed out, the simple word filled with admiration. "Mom, can you pass me the scissors?" she asked, and I delivered them with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"Thanks!" She returned her focus to Evan, who was fumbling with the strings, a gentle humor lighting up his features. “You’re pretty brave, you know,” she said.
He smiled softly. “It must run in the family,” Evan said, meeting my gaze for a fleeting moment across the room. “I think you’re about the bravest person I know.”
“I’m just a kid,” Sophia replied, twisting the last knot on her bracelet, her fingers dexterous from practice. “Mom says being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared, though.”
Evan's eyes lingered on me, searching. I shifted uncomfortably, pressing my lips into a thin line.
“She’s right. I think your mom’s pretty brave, too, actually.”
I rolled my eyes, focusing on the sizzle of the pan.
"Yep, she's the bravest person I know," Sophia declared, oblivious to the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.
I watched them laugh together, and it was like observing a scene from another life—one that could have been mine had things been different. I was torn between happiness for Sophia, seeing her connect so effortlessly with someone new, and the sting of my own unresolved feelings for Evan. The way his brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled with the tiny bead in his giant fingers, the easy tilt of his mouth when he smiled—it all clawed at memories I kept locked away.
"Doing okay over there?" Evan asked, his voice pulling me back to the present.
"Fine, just fine," I said, perhaps too quickly. I gripped the spatula a little tighter, wishing it were as simple to hold onto my composure.
"Mom's the best cook," Sophia chimed in, pride evident in her voice.
"Is she now?" Evan glanced in my direction, a polite smile on his lips. "Something smells amazing."
"Thanks," I muttered, focusing on the sizzle of the meat in the pan, letting it drown out the chatter behind me.
"Look, Evan finished his bracelet!" Sophia held up his creation—a clumsy yet endearing band of interwoven colors.
"Looks great," I said, the praise catching in my throat.
I turned back to the stove, stirring the pasta with more force than necessary. Through Sophia’s questions, I was discovering another facet of the man I once thought I knew completely. Why did he choose to run into burning buildings instead of boardrooms? He’d been a business major at the University of Chicago, almost ready to graduate and move on toward his MBA. I took a deep breath, willing my heart rate to slow down, focusing on the rhythmic scraping of the spatula against the pot.
"Okay, dinner's ready," I announced, more to break the spell than anything else. I set the plates down, my movements deliberate, trying not to let the swell of emotions overtake me. “Can you clear off the table, Sophia?”
Sophia cleared the bracelet-making supplies off the table and made room for the three of us. Evan stepped into the kitchen, and suddenly, the small space felt even smaller.
I could sense him behind me, the quiet presence of him a weight against my back. He didn’t touch me—he didn’t have to. The heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breath, the faint scent of clean soap and smoke—it all pressed in around me, making it hard to think.
"Want me to grab drinks?" His voice was even, controlled.
"Sure," I said, forcing myself to sound just as unaffected. I pointed at the cabinet to my left.
I busied myself at the stove, plating the food and pretending I wasn’t hyperaware of him standing so close. Pretending I wasn’t remembering the last time we’d shared a space like this—so long ago, in a too-small hotel kitchenette where we’d stolen kisses between bites of takeout.
But that was then.
Now, Evan reached past me to grab a glass from the cupboard, his arm barely brushing mine. The briefest touch, yet it sent a jolt through me. I swallowed hard, gripping the serving spoon tighter than necessary.
He nodded, stepping away as if nothing had happened—as if I wasn’t standing there, every nerve ending in my body on high alert. He moved through my kitchen like a man who had everything figured out, utterly composed, every action precise. There was no hesitation in him, no indication that he felt any of what I did.
I envied that.
I turned to find him setting glasses down on the table, his expression perfectly detached. Not cold, exactly, but unreadable. Like he’d drawn a firm line between the past and the present, and I was the only one still tripping over it.
"Thanks," I murmured, clearing my throat as I set the last dish down.
His eyes flickered to mine for the briefest second—then away again. A polite nod, nothing more.
And maybe that should have been a relief.
"Let's eat," I said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. As they dug into their meal, I watched them, a silent observer to the bond forming right before me. I watched him effortlessly slip into conversation with Sophia, his laughter low and warm, and something inside me twisted.
He was keeping his distance.
And for reasons I couldn’t begin to untangle, that realization stung far more than it should have.
After the plates had been cleared, Evan rose to leave. “I better head out. My shift starts tomorrow morning. Thanks for having me over tonight. I had a lot of fun getting to know you better, Sophia.”
Sophia was quiet, her fingers fidgeting with something on the table. Then, in a move that seemed both achingly sweet and unbearably painful, she held out a friendship bracelet toward him.
"Here," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I made this for you."
Evan's face softened as he took the interwoven threads, colors vibrant against his calloused hands. "Thank you," he said solemnly.
My heart splintered a little more with each word. It was just a simple bracelet, but it felt like she was weaving them closer together, stitching a new family tapestry where I was merely a background shade.
"Promise you'll wear it?" Sophia's hopeful eyes met his.
"Every day," he replied, securing it around his wrist.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left standing there, the remnants of our shared meal cooling on the counter. Sophia sank back into her chair, her shoulders drooping ever so slightly.
"Mom?" Her voice quivered just enough to betray her upset. "Are you mad?"
"Me? Honey, I should be asking you that." I pulled a chair up beside her, trying to sound more light-hearted than I felt.
She gave a small shrug, a gesture that carried all the weight of her thirteen years of wisdom and worry. "I'm fine, just... I don't know. Sad, I guess. He's really great, isn't he?"
“I think he really cares about you,” I replied, the words tasting bittersweet on my tongue.
"Then why…" She hesitated, biting her lip in that way she did when she was mulling over her words. "Why didn’t you tell him about me?"
I pulled her in for a hug, pressing my lips to her hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I did what I thought was the best thing for us. I wasn’t sure how your dad would react to the news. And I wasn’t very brave.” Admitting you were wrong was always hard, but somehow it felt even harder when you were admitting it to a child.
“Is it wrong if I want to keep seeing him? Will you be mad?” She picked at the frayed edge of the tablecloth, not meeting my eyes.
"Sweetie, if having Evan here makes you happy, then it's the right thing. You deserve all the happiness in the world." My voice was firm, even if my heart was quivering like a leaf in the wind. “I could never be mad at you for wanting to spend time with your dad.”
"Thanks, Mom." She finally looked up, her gaze clear and searching. "You deserve to be happy too, you know."
I forced a chuckle, pushing down the surge of emotions her words brought. "Well, my happiness is a work in progress."
"Maybe my dad can be part of that progress?" There was an innocent hope in her voice that made my chest tighten.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Soph. He’s here for you, okay? Not me.”
I was at work, with a thousand things to do, but my focus was on Sophia and Evan, two tables over, their heads bowed together over her history homework. It had been three weeks since Evan came over for dinner, and the two of them were finding every excuse to be together. School had just started, and I knew Sophia rarely needed help with her assignments, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk her out of it when she asked if she could invite Evan to the library after school.
Evan’s voice was low but steady as he pointed to something in her textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. Sophia nodded along, tapping her pencil against her chin, the picture of deep thought.
I knew that look. It was the same one she got when she was pretending to struggle with a concept just to keep a conversation going.
“She already knows the answer,” I murmured under my breath, shaking my head with a small smile.
It was obvious, the way she leaned in just a little closer, the way she hung on his every word. She wasn’t here for the homework—she was here for him.
And what startled me most was that he was here for her, too.
I wasn’t sure what I had expected from Evan when he first demanded to meet Sophia. Hesitation? Awkwardness? A slow, uncertain dance of trying to figure out his place?
But instead, he had stepped into the role like he had always belonged there.
I watched as Sophia shot him a sly grin. “You’re really bad at explaining this, you know.”
Evan let out a short laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I am explaining it just fine. You’re just messing with me.”
Sophia gasped, all mock offense. “Wow. You think I would do that?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate, completely deadpan.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
Sophia nudged him with her elbow. “Okay, maybe a little.” She flipped the page in her textbook, her smile lingering. “I just like hearing you talk about history. You sound like you care about it.”
That surprised him. I could see it in the way his expression shifted, like he wasn’t sure how to take the compliment.
“It’s important,” he said after a pause, his tone gentler now. “The past has a way of shaping us, even when we don’t realize it.”
Sophia nodded thoughtfully, twirling her pencil between her fingers. “That’s kind of deep for a guy who looks like he should be in an action movie, jumping out of burning buildings.”
Evan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I run into burning buildings.” He shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’ve jumped out of one or two.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have a cool catchphrase when you do it, do you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Like, ‘Time to turn up the heat’ or ‘Looks like things are getting a little too toasty in here.’ ”
I snorted from my desk, quickly covering my mouth.
Evan shot me an exasperated look before turning back to Sophia. “No, because I have to focus on saving lives. Not sounding like a bad action hero.”
Sophia sighed dramatically. “That’s a missed opportunity.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly, but his smile lingered.
I should have looked away, should have gotten back to work. But I couldn’t. Because in that moment, watching them joke so easily, Evan’s eyes alight with laughter, Sophia utterly at ease beside him…
I had never seen her look at anyone the way she looked at him. Like she was finally getting something she didn’t even know she had been missing. It was effortless, the way they interacted. Natural.
"Your chair is a bit wobbly there, let me just—" Evan bent down, reaching for something under the chair. He popped back up, then gave it another shake to make sure he had fixed it.
“Thanks, " she said, sending him a grateful look that was mirrored by the warmth in his eyes.
"Anytime, kiddo," he replied, his usual careful composure softened around the edges. “Now, back to the Industrial Revolution.”
And there I sat, on the fringes of their world, a silent observer caught between the joy of watching my daughter connect with someone so deeply and the ache of memories that danced just out of reach.
"Thank you so much, Evan. You're like…the best at explaining things," Sophia gushed, her eyes reflecting the overhead lights like twin stars of gratitude.
"I'm just glad I could help. Besides, it's easy when I have such a smart daughter."
Sophia’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing with pleasure.
Evan didn’t seem to notice the way my entire body locked up, too caught in the moment, too focused on Sophia’s reaction. He had said it so easily, so naturally, like the words had been waiting just beneath the surface, ready to slip free.
Sophia beamed, practically glowing under the weight of his praise. “Well, I do try,” she said, pretending to buff her nails against her sleeve. “Not everyone can be a history genius like me.”
Evan smirked. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”
“Obviously,” she shot back, grinning.
I forced myself to breathe, to swallow past the lump in my throat.
She didn’t correct him. She barely hesitated. And the worst part? Neither did he.
I didn’t even know if Evan realized what he had said—that he had casually referred to her as his daughter, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe, for him, it was.
For three weeks now, he had been there. Steady. Present. Sophia had latched onto him in a way I hadn’t expected, and now, watching her look at him with so much admiration, I felt an uncomfortable twist of emotions coil in my stomach.
Pride.
Fear.
Possessiveness.
She was mine. She had always been mine. I had been the one awake with her in the middle of the night when she was sick. The one who had packed her lunches, tied her shoes, taught her how to ride a bike. Evan hadn’t been there for any of it.
And yet, here he was, effortlessly slipping into a role it had taken me thirteen years to grow into.
I forced a smile. “Well, I’m glad you got your homework done, Soph. Maybe now Evan can go rescue someone else from the horrors of eighth-grade history.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks again, Evan.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze flicking to me for the briefest second before he nodded. “Anytime.”
And somehow, I knew he meant it.
Which should have been reassuring.
So why did it feel like the ground was shifting beneath me?
"Promise you'll come back again?" Sophia asked, a hopeful lilt in her voice as she began gathering her belongings.
"Of course," Evan answered, his hand lifting to ruffle her hair, a gesture so achingly familiar. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm in this for the long haul, kiddo."
"Good." Sophia beamed, her satisfaction simple and pure.
"Ready to go, Mom?" Sophia's voice, bright and expectant, pulled me forward.
Stepping out of the Minden Public Library, the evening air warmed my cheeks, a reminder that although autumn was on its heels, summer hadn't quite loosened its grip. Sophia matched her steps with mine, her shoulder occasionally bumping against mine in that easy rhythm we'd always shared.
"Mom?" Her voice was a timid intrusion into the quiet that had settled between us.
"Hmm?" I glanced down at her, caught off guard by the intensity in her gaze.
"Do you think you and Dad will ever be... friends?" The way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a simple gesture marred by hesitation, told me this question had been weighing on her mind far longer than just this moment.
"Friends?" I echoed, stalling for time as my heart did a precarious dance.
I wanted to brush the question aside, to laugh it off with a quip about how adults have complicated friendships. But this was Sophia, her perceptive eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could promise.
"Friendship would be... complicated," I started, trying to keep my tone light despite the tightness in my chest.
"Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Even if you're not friends... you both love me, right? That part's not complicated?" Her question was earnest, seeking assurance in the one constant she hoped remained untouched by the complication of grown-up feelings.
"Absolutely," I responded without hesitation, my voice firm and unwavering. "That's the simplest thing in the world."
Reaching out, I took her hand in mine, squeezing it gently to punctuate my words. Our bond, at least, was something I never had to question, even when everything else felt uncertain.
As we walked on, the library fading into the distance behind us, I allowed myself to feel the full weight of Sophia's question, and my carefully crafted defenses began to crumble. Maybe it was time to face the truth that my heart knew all along: Evan Mercer still held a piece of it, whether I liked it or not.
"Do you think... I mean, would it be weird if I asked him if I could call him Dad?"
The question hung in the air, fragile and weighted, like a dandelion seed caught on a breeze. I felt the sidewalk tilt slightly, my pulse tapping a staccato rhythm against my throat.
I had prepared myself for a lot of things when Evan Mercer crashed back into our lives.
But not this. Not the quiet, tentative way Sophia asked the question. Not the way her fingers twisted in the hem of her hoodie, a nervous habit I’d seen a hundred times before.
I forced myself to breathe, to think, even as my heart squeezed painfully in my chest.
Would it be weird? Maybe.
Would it hurt? Absolutely.
But this wasn’t about me.
I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. “I think… that’s a big question, sweetheart.”
Sophia nodded, staring down at her sneakers. “I know.”
I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And I think it’s one you should ask him when you’re ready.”
Her head jerked up. “You don’t think he’d be mad?”
“Mad?” My chest tightened. “Oh, honey. No. I don’t think he’d be mad at all.”
He’d be stunned, maybe. Overwhelmed. I couldn’t even imagine what would flicker through his eyes if she asked him something like that.
But he wouldn’t be mad.
I had seen the way he looked at her, the way he leaned in when she talked, like every word mattered. Like he was already stepping into something bigger than either of us had anticipated.
Sophia let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay.”
We walked the rest of the way home in silence, her mind clearly turning over the idea, mine desperately trying to prepare for whatever came next.