Chapter 17
Lucas
We started dating again the way most people start at forty: awkwardly, with too many boundaries and a constant, low-grade terror of screwing it up.
Bella insisted we maintain separate houses, at least for a while.
She said she liked her space, that Grace needed routine, and that we were better when we took things slow.
I believed her. More than that, I trusted her judgment, even when it made me ache for what we’d lost.
Friday night dinners were our ritual. Sometimes it was takeout at my place, sometimes spaghetti at hers.
Grace preferred the nights at my apartment, which she called “the fun house” because of the creaky floors and the vending machine in the lobby.
We watched old movies, played board games, and let her stay up past bedtime if she said please.
Every few weeks, Bella and I went out just the two of us—dinner, a museum, a walk through the city. We talked about work, about books, about what we wanted for Grace. Sometimes we talked about the past, but only if it came up naturally, never as a weapon or a test.
The first time we kissed again, it was after a concert at the symphony. Bella leaned in, caught me by surprise, and I felt the spark all the way to my toes. I tried to apologize for being rusty, but she just laughed.
“We’re not eighteen,” she said. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
I wanted to believe her, and most days, I did.
Work was different, too. I went back to Ashford Global, but in a role three steps below where I’d left off. My new office was smaller than my old supply closet, and my responsibilities were limited to one portfolio and no travel. I liked it. The lack of power suited me.
Christian was the CEO now, and he kept me on a short leash, which I appreciated. We had lunch every so often, and he always asked, “You good?” before launching into business. The other partners knew about my past, but they didn’t bring it up. The new hires barely noticed me.
Most important, I never took another meeting alone with a female colleague unless it was in a glass-walled room with a calendar invite and a witness. The rules were clear. I was never going to break them again.
Hunter ribbed me about it at the next family dinner. “Jesus, you’re boring now,” he said. “Don’t you miss being the golden child?”
I shook my head. “I like being regular. You should try it.”
He laughed, and even Olivia smiled.
Later, as we cleared the table, Bella caught me staring at her across the kitchen. She held my gaze, and for a second, I felt like we were the only two people in the room.
After everyone left, she squeezed my hand in the doorway.
“I like this version of us,” she said.
“Me too,” I replied.
The scare happened in November. Grace had a cough, and Bella started having abdominal pain. We took Grace to urgent care, got her on antibiotics, but Bella’s pain didn’t go away. She texted me in the middle of the night: I need you.
I was at her place in under ten minutes.
She opened the door, pale and sweating. I helped her to the couch, got her a glass of water, and sat with her until the pain passed.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I think I just panicked.”
I sat beside her for an hour, not touching her, just breathing with her. When she started to doze, I set an alarm for every two hours to check on her.
In the morning, she woke to find me making coffee and pancakes. Grace ran in, hugging my legs, and for a moment, we felt like a family again.
“I kept the promise,” I said. “I answered the call.”
Bella smiled, weak but genuine.
“You did,” she said.
The next week, we went to the park with Grace. Bella wore her old wedding ring on a chain around her neck. I noticed, but didn’t ask. It was enough that she wore it at all.
As we walked, Grace running ahead, Bella slipped her hand into mine.
“I think I’m ready,” she said. “To try again.”
This time, I didn’t offer any guarantees. I just squeezed her hand, steady and warm.
At home, as I read Grace another letter, I watched Bella from the corner of my eye. She touched the ring at her throat, then, without a word, slid it back onto her finger.
She caught me looking.
“It doesn’t mean the past is erased,” she said. “It just means hope is safer now.”
I nodded, believing her.
We watched Grace draw pictures at the table, the light falling through the window, and for the first time, I wanted nothing more than the ordinary moments between disasters.
We had learned, finally, that love wasn’t something you inherited or earned. It was something you practiced, day by day, even after you’d failed at it.
Especially then.