20. Avery
AVERY
The envelope sits on my kitchen counter, plain and unassuming. No logo. No stamp. Just my name, handwritten in that precise, almost too-perfect script I know far too well.
My heart betrays me, stuttering in my chest as I peel back the flap. Inside, there’s no formal invitation, no flowery words. Just a simple card with a few deliberate lines.
Please come to the estate at sunset & bring the boys.
Where it all began. Where one stolen night changed everything. The place where I lost him before I ever really had him.
And now, he’s asking me to return to that place, to that moment.
Is he asking for another chance? Or is this just another chapter in the endless back-and-forth that’s left me raw and exhausted?
I glance toward the twins’ bedroom, their laughter drifting through the thin walls. Marcus isn’t just Marcus anymore. He’s their father.
Since Darius’ illness, he’s become an anchor. And even if my heart didn’t ache for him in ways I wish it didn’t, there’s no clean break now. No easy way out.
And definitely not when the boys adore him like they do.
Not to mention, I’ve gone and tied my entire professional future to him. The literacy program—the dream I’ve fought for—depends on his company’s support.
Pulling away from him means risking everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’ve built.
My fingers tighten around the card. I hate that it matters. But it does.
And yet, that’s not what keeps me standing here, staring at his words like they hold answers I’m too scared to admit I need.
It’s him.
Because despite all the pushing and pulling, the heartbreak and hope, I still see the man behind the armor. The one who remembers my coffee order without asking. The one who makes the boys laugh until their sides hurt. But what do I want?
The question hangs in the silence, heavy and unfamiliar. I’ve spent so long putting everyone else first—the boys, the program, the endless demands of a life I never quite chose. When was the last time I dared to ask what I need?
The answers hit me like a quiet revelation.
I want to raise my sons in a home filled with love and safety.
I want to build something lasting with my work—something that matters.
And I want a partner who sees me. Supports me. Loves me for everything I am and everything I’m still trying to be.
And I want Marcus.
But wanting him has never been the problem. Trusting him? That’s the part I’m not sure I can do.
Still, as I tuck the card into my pocket and glance at the clock, I know we’re going. I’m not about to deprive him of his chance to be a father.
And maybe it’s reckless, but the pull between us has always been undeniable. And for better or worse, I’m not ready to let it go.
Not yet.
The gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I step out of the car. The boys don’t wait. The moment I unbuckle their seatbelts, they’re off—tiny whirlwinds of excitement sprinting down the path to the garden without a backward glance.
I almost call after them, but I don’t. I can’t. My throat is too tight, my heart pounding too loudly. I could use the extra time to calm myself down.
It smells the same as it did that night.
The faint sweetness of roses drifting through the evening air, the thick haze of jasmine carried on the breeze. It’s almost unsettling how little has changed here.
Looking closer, it’s actually not the sterile perfection I remember. It’s softer now.
Twinkling string lights snake through the hedges, creating a golden glow over the sprawling garden. There’s a picnic blanket spread on the grass, surrounded by low lanterns flickering like tiny stars.
It’s beautiful. Thoughtful. And it doesn’t feel like the Marcus I’ve known for years—the man who prizes precision over sentiment.
But then again, maybe I never really knew him at all.
I swallow hard, forcing my feet forward. It feels like the longest walk of my life, each step pressing down on the nerves already coiled in my stomach.
I stop just at the edge of the picnic, my hands trembling at my sides, unsure of what to do or say.
The boys are already seated, cross-legged and content, tearing into their sandwiches like they haven’t eaten in days. I blink, surprised, when I see Darius with his favorite PB&J, crusts cut off, and Desmond happily munching on turkey and cheese.
I know I didn’t pack those. Marcus must have.
There’s a neatly wrapped sub waiting too, from the Italian deli I used to drag Victoria to every weekend. Marcus hated it.
Or so I thought.
And then I see him.
Marcus is standing just beyond the blanket, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense but face open in a way that steals my breath. His eyes, dark and intense, are locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.
It’s almost too much.
Because I remember this moment. Not exactly this one, but something achingly close.
The last time I stood in this garden, under the soft glow of the moon and the weight of a thousand unsaid things, he looked at me like this. Like I was everything.
And I walked away carrying a secret that changed both our lives.
Tonight, there are no secrets.
Which is even more terrifying.
I tear my gaze away, trying to steady my breath, my heart, my racing thoughts.
But I can still feel him waiting. Watching.
Just like he did seven years ago.
The boys are lost in their sandwiches, but I can’t eat. Too many butterflies in my stomach.
And definitely not with Marcus standing there, watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse stumble.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Slow. Deliberate.
My breath catches when his hands, warm and steady, reach for mine. His touch is gentle but sure, grounding me when everything inside feels like a whirlwind.
“The last time we stood here,” he begins softly, voice low and steady, “I let you walk away.”
My heart twists painfully at the memory.
“I thought it was just a moment,” he continues. “Something we weren’t supposed to hold onto.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles.
“But I was wrong.”
My throat tightens. This is the conversation we never had. The one I convinced myself I didn’t need.
“I thought love was something I could control,” Marcus says, his voice rough with emotion. “That wanting you—having you—was selfish.”
I blink rapidly, biting my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
“But you and the boys… you taught me different,” he admits, his gaze never wavering from mine. “You taught me that love isn’t weakness.”
His words crack something open inside me, something I’ve held together with sheer will for too long. Because I remember that night so vividly—the way he kissed me like I was the only thing in his world, the way his walls crumbled for just a few stolen hours.
And now? Now he’s choosing me. Not out of obligation. Not because of circumstance.
Because he wants to.
Marcus exhales shakily. “I finally realize—I don’t need certainty. I’ve spent my whole life chasing it, convincing myself that if I could just control enough variables, I’d finally be happy.”
His eyes lock onto mine, raw, unguarded. “But it never worked. Not once. Because happiness isn’t about control. It’s about you. You and the boys. Messy, chaotic, loud, real.”
Avery lets out a quiet, almost breathless laugh, shaking her head. “Marcus Greyson, embracing chaos? That has to be a sign of the apocalypse.”
His lips twitch, but his grip on her hands tightens, grounding, steady. “Oh, don’t get me wrong—I still value perfection.” He pauses, thumb brushing against her knuckles, gaze softening. “But my definition of it has changed.”
He lifts one hand, cupping her cheek, his voice dropping to something intimate, reverent. “You three… you’re the perfect day. The perfect life. And I’m done running from it.”
A sharp breath escapes me, half a sob, half a laugh, because how is it possible to feel so much all at once?
“Avery, will you–”
And just then, the boys come barreling over, completely unaware they’re crashing such an intimate moment.
“Mommy,” Darius pipes up, eyes wide with excitement, “is Daddy asking you to marry him?”
“Say yes, Mommy!” Desmond chimes in, bouncing on his heels like this is the most thrilling development since dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.
The laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, blending with the tears slipping free. Because leave it to my boys to burst in, unfiltered and unbothered, and somehow make this moment even more perfect.
Marcus huffs a quiet, affectionate chuckle, shaking his head. “You two really don’t miss a thing, do you?”
Desmond grins proudly. “Nope.”
I blink away the tears, my heart so full I swear it might burst. Slowly, I lift my gaze back to Marcus—the man who’s infuriated me, challenged me, broken my heart, and somehow still become irreplaceable.
“Yes,” I whisper.
The boys erupt into cheers, clapping and bouncing in place. Desmond immediately launches himself at Marcus’s leg, and Darius isn’t far behind, hugging my side tightly.
Marcus’s shoulders drop, a breath of relief escaping him like he’s been holding it in forever. His eyes, shining with something I’ve never seen before—hope, love, peace—lock onto mine as he pulls me close.
Forehead to forehead, breath mingling, he whispers, just for me, “This time, you’re not walking away.”
A tear slips down my cheek, but I’m smiling through it, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
His lips brush mine softly, gently, grounding the moment in something real. And when we pull back, I glance around at the garden that once held nothing but memories of what could have been.
Now?
Now it’s where our future begins.
We end up celebrating with some champagne (sparkling apple juice for the boys) and top the night off with a private screening of The Incredibles in the Greyson home theater. Inside are at least ten overstuffed recliners with cup holders and soft blankets on every seat.
While the boys find the center-most seats, Marcus and I opt for the loveseat in the last row. The opening credits are barely rolling when I feel Marcus’ hand push my hair aside so he can lean in to gently kiss my neck.
This is going to be a long movie.