Chapter 29
I’ve never loved someone this quickly before.
One look at him, and it’s over.
He’s perfect. Completely, painfully perfect. Mike’s button nose, Olivia’s bowed lips, and a little sparkle in his eyes that’s all his.
My fingertips brush over his wrinkled cheek carefully, content and overwhelmed all at once.
I love him. Instantly. Completely.
I don't dare move to sit down, too worried that if I even so much as flinch, I’ll wake baby Harris, and it took us an hour to get him to this point. So I just stay beside his crib, rocking him in my arms slowly as I try to ignore the collapsing stripe on the wall.
I put that stripe there.
Four millimeters off, and it's going to be the first thing Harris clocks when he develops object permanence. He's going to know it was me, and I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life.
“You're thinking about the seam, aren't you?” Olivia asks from the couch.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I'm looking at your son.”
“You can do both.”
“Okay. Fine. Maybe.”
I shift Harris slightly, and he makes this cute stuffy nose sound as he stretches a little.
He’s perfect.
Did I mention that already?
“You can sit down you know?” She says, pulling her hair up into a bun. “He's not going to wake up.”
“I don't want to spook him.”
“He's tougher than he looks. He survived fourteen hours of labor and Mike cutting the cord wrong twice.”
“I did not cut it wrong twice,” Mike says, from somewhere behind me. I didn't hear him come in.
“That’s not what the nurse said.”
“Yeah, well, the nurse gave me the wrong scissors.”
“There's only—”
Ignoring their argument, I look down at Harris, who is deeply unbothered by all of this. He's just happily sleeping.
“You’re going to have a good life, kid,” I whisper.
“He is,” Mike confirms from beside Olivia. “That's partly because he's got a kick-ass godmother / aunt.”
“Oh, please. Do not give me any credit.”
“Look how well he's sleeping with you. You're a natural, Honey.”
I snort, turning away a little.
“We might have to hire you as the live-in nanny.”
“I think I should at least try to finish a degree before choosing to live in your home for the rest of my life.”
Mike huffs out a laugh. “Probably, but we pay well.”
Olivia grabs the blanket from the side and pulls it over herself. I still can’t believe my best friend is recovering so well after labor. “You could always defer,” she adds.
“You’re kidding, right? After all that time it took me to decide where I’m going? Not going to happen.”
“I’m just saying,” Olivia continues. “The spare room has a bed.”
And none of my potential. Honestly, thinking about how much time I spent there makes me sad now. I wasted months sitting around, feeling sorry for myself instead of changing my life and making it what I want.
“As much as I love this little boy, I can’t stay. I’ve got a seminar I haven’t prepared for. If I don’t go back, they’ll probably give my dorm room away and sell all my stuff,” I say, still unable to tear my gaze away from baby Harris. “I’m sorry, bud, but I’ll be back very soon. I promise.”
He answers me with a little shift before he falls back asleep again.
It’s crazy to think about how much life is waiting for him. The beautiful parts of it. The painful ones too.
One day, he’s going to fall in love. One day, someone’s going to break his heart. He’s going to spend years trying to figure out who he is before he finally grows into the person he’s meant to become.
Somehow, all of that is wrapped up inside this tiny little body sleeping against me.
He doesn't need to worry about that now, though. Right now, he's just Harris. Safe, untouched by a cruel world, with parents who love him more than anything.
I can’t take my eyes off him. With every micro expression he makes, I see either Mike or Olivia.
They've done this. They've made this perfect human being.
Tears prickle at the back of my eyes, and I’m feeling so many emotions in my chest that I can't process them.
“Honey?” Olivia’s voice is soft. “Are you okay?”
“I'm good,” I say, my voice hitching. “He's just so perfect.”
Mike walks over and carefully wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently against his side without disturbing Harris. Then he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“He thinks you're perfect too, Aunt Honey.”
I snort, my breath hitching a little with unshed tears. “Oh, please. I'm the messy aunt that he's going to disown when he's old enough,” I joke. I can't help it; it's my defense mechanism when things get a little too real.
Mike squeezes my arm. “Is that really what you think about yourself, Honey?”
“I think running away from the man you love in favor of a cruise is pretty messy, don't you?”
“Love?” Olivia asks immediately, interest.
I don’t give her an answer. There’s nothing to add.
She knows damn well that I love Zach. They all do.
“What’re you thinking about?” she asks more softly this time.
I look down at Harris sleeping peacefully against me.
“How full life can get,” I say quietly. “One minute your kid’s messing around in college, and the next you’re holding this tiny person you made with someone you love.
” My chest tightens slightly. “It makes me think about how one person can completely ruin your ability to imagine a future without them in it.”
A future I’m too afraid to admit I might want.
Mike steps in front of me with a smile. “Alright, I’m taking Harris back before you decide to bring him to college with you.”
He carefully lifts his son from my arms, and I let him go reluctantly. Harris doesn’t even stir as Mike settles him against his chest and starts swaying gently.
I can’t stop watching him. The same boy I met in first grade is standing in front of me now with his son asleep against his chest.
A husband. A father.
In the two days I've been here, I've seen Mike cry twice and pretend he wasn't. I've watched Olivia look at her son in an overwhelming kind of awe, and all I can think is how rare it is to find something this good.
I clear my throat, and point my thumb to the door.
“I should probably go and pack if I want to make it back in time.”
Not that I want to go, but staying here would keep me stuck in a past I no longer want.
Olivia looks up. “Already?”
“It's ten. If I want to beat the traffic, I need to head out in a few hours.”
Mike turns from the window with Harris still against his shoulder. “For what it's worth,” he says, “the nanny position remains open. Competitive salary. Free scrambled eggs.”
“Your scrambled eggs are terrible, Mike.”
“They're an acquired taste.”
“I've lived with you before and I never acquired it.”
I shake my head, and I'm already smiling as I lean in and press a kiss to Harris's head—he smells like everything good in the world—and then I squeeze Olivia's hand on my way past the couch.
“I'll be quick,” I say.
“Take your time.”
I won't. If I take my time, I won't go.
When I finish packing, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment and look around the room.
There’s something strange about being inside a life that feels so settled. So complete.
A crib down the hall. Bottles drying beside the sink. Tiny socks folded neatly in laundry baskets. Evidence of a future they built together quietly filling every corner of this house.
We’re the same age, but somehow they feel years ahead of me.
It’s as though they’ve crossed into some version of adulthood that I’ve only been orbiting around.
It’s not just to do with Harris—though he is a big part of it—but because they found something together and decided to build a life around it.
I swallow hard and zip my bag shut before my thoughts spiral too far.
Then I notice my phone on the vanity and reach over for it, seeing a few unread messages lighting up the screen.
Stevie: Red Alert: Ryan didn't just hug me today... he gripped my ass... Okay, fine, because you asked, I might've kissed him. This isn't going as intended ??♀?.
Chris: Hey Honey! I hope you're doing well. Just thought I'd check in to see how you're settling in?
I stop when I see the final unread message and frown in confusion.
Jake: Important question: have you gone cliff diving again, or am I still your most reckless decision?
Jake? The cliff diving guy? It feels so long ago that I almost forgot about him. Am I still your most reckless decision?
You never were, Jake. You never were.
I flick off the message, and I immediately think about texting Zach. My thumb hovers over his name, but we haven’t spoken since Harris was born, and even though it’s only been a week, it still feels like something shifted in that time.
Before I can decide whether to text him anyway, a notification slides across my screen.
Because you were interested in Zach Evans.
Underneath is it a chopped-off news headline. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I tap it.
The first image that loads is Zach standing in front of a clock tower beside a woman I immediately recognize from all the press she gets.
Whit Marlow.
She’s stunning with long blonde hair, perfect body, cocky smile. She’s the kind of woman people stop and stare at.
Zach is standing right beside her, looking like he belongs.
Zach Evans, rookie quarterback of the moment, photographed with LPGA sensation Whit Marlow for Ascent’s winter campaign.
So not only is she gorgeous, but she’s also successful too. She’s competitive, disciplined and the kind of woman who understands Zach’s world.
The one I’ve always found hard to manage.
I scroll down the article before I can stop myself.
Big mistake.
It’s not just one picture. It’s an entire campaign.
Photo after photo of them standing too close together, in matching Ascent gear, looking polished and effortless and painfully good beside each other.
And the worst part?
They fit.
America’s new golden quarterback beside a beautiful pro athlete.
I keep scrolling anyway because apparently I enjoy emotional self-destruction.
In one photo, she’s laughing against his chest while he looks down at her. In another, she’s gripping his arm while he smirks at something she said. Every shot feels intimate even though I know logically it’s just marketing.
Still, logic isn’t doing much for me right now.
“Shit,” I whisper when I reach the final image.
Whit’s wrapped around his arm, and Zach’s head is angled downward just enough that it looks like he’s staring directly at her ass with absolutely no guilt at all.
Why should he have any guilt?
We aren't technically together. I’m the one who left. I’m the one who created all this space between us in the first place, and now I’m sitting here acting jealous of a photoshoot.
A few of the comments register before I can turn the screen off and stuff the phone in my purse.
They need to date.
Is it weird to get aroused for them?
Imagine what their kids would look like!
The comments I read are still there, front of mind.
Am I too late?
I let the thought sit with me for a second and think about everything Zach and I have already survived.
The distance. The timing. The fear.
My chest still aches, but underneath it, something steadier starts to rise. A feeling I recognize immediately.
It’s the same feeling I had standing at the edge of the cliff. The same one I felt when I hit confirm on my enrollment while the ship’s horn sounded in the distance.
It's a knowing feeling that I'm slowly learning to trust.
No. It's not too late, it's not even close, but I can't keep expecting him to wait for me forever just because he always has before.
You could lose this.
It's all I think. I’ve spent so long convincing myself I needed to become some perfect, fully healed version of myself before I could accept the kind of love Zach offers me.
But holding Harris this week, watching Mike and Olivia build a life together so naturally.
.. has made something click into place inside me.
Life doesn’t wait until you’re perfectly ready.
It just asks if you’re willing to show up for it.
And I am.
For the first time in my life, I don't feel lost anymore.
I grab my bag off the bed and head downstairs.
Olivia's on the couch downstairs now with Harris asleep against her chest. Mike's in the kitchen rinsing a bottle. They both look up when I come in.
“You sure you don't want to stay one more night?” Olivia asks.
I shake my head. “I've got to get back.”
I lean down and press a kiss on Harris's head, breathing him in one more time. Then I hug Olivia carefully, so I don't wake him. Mike walks me to the door with my bag slung over his shoulder like I'm sixteen and he's seeing me off after a sleepover.
“Drive safely, Honey,” he says, setting the bag down by the porch.
“I will.”
When I get in the car, I sit there for a moment before turning the key. My hands rest on the steering wheel as I look back at the house—at the warm yellow lights spilling out of the kitchen window, at the life Mike and Olivia have built inside it.
One week until workshop wraps. One story I still have to finish.
I’m not running anymore, but I’m not going to him empty-handed either.
I pull out of the driveway, glance in the rearview mirror, and pass the exit for the airport without even slowing down. He's waited this long. He can wait until I'm done.
The next time I show up at his door, I want to be the person I've been trying to become—not for him, but because I owe it to myself.
I press the accelerator and let the highway pull me forward, my heart beating fast for everything that comes next.