Chapter Thirty Four
Camille
The truck rolled to a stop in front of my apartment.
The twins were snoring softly in the back and Zeke laid slumped against his booster seat with cookie crumbs on his shirt.
I reached across to grab Avery’s bottle from the cup holder…
only it slipped from my hand, rolling onto the floor mat and splattering milk across the spotless leather.
I froze. My breath caught in my throat. His new truck. His perfect, gleaming, not-a-scratch-on-it truck.
Heat rushed up my neck, panic clawing at my chest. This was it. The crack. The reason to sigh, to mutter something about carelessness, to remind me in some small way that this: me, my kids, my mess…was too much.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, scrambling for wipes in the diaper bag. My hands shook as I dabbed at the mess, the sour smell already creeping into my nose. “I swear I usually…this doesn’t…”
“Cami” His voice cut through calmly.
“I’ll clean it, I swear. Just give me…” I was elbow-deep in the diaper bag, pulling out everything but what I needed. A pacifier, a toy car, a half-empty snack pouch—no wipes. With a sigh, I grabbed one of the extra shirts I’d packed for the twins and did my best to mop up the spill.
“Camille.” I looked up, expecting the sigh, the edge, the disappointment. He came up beside me, plucked the shirt gently from my hand, and grinned. “Relax. It’s just milk. My truck will live.”
“But it’s so perfect,” I whispered, my voice cracking with how much more I meant than just the seat.
He tilted his head, eyes soft. “So are we. And I’m not gonna let a little spill ruin either.”
The tightness coiled beneath my ribs softened, just a little, as he reached forward, flipped open his center console, and pulled out a pack of wipes without a second thought.
My eyes widened. “You… keep those in here?”
He shrugged, a crooked grin on his face as he knelt to swipe at the spill. “I figured there may come a time when we needed them.”
We.
I stared at him, stunned. The easy way he said it. The way he wiped the leather without a flinch or a scowl. He didn’t make me feel like I’d ruined something precious. He just wiped the spot once more, before tossing the wipe into the bag.
“At least it wasn’t an apple pouch,” he teased. “That would be a real tragedy.”
A startled laugh burst out of me.
“See?” he said, flashing that crooked smile. “Still standing. No one’s running.”
And in that moment, milk splatters, cranky toddlers, and all…I believed him.
Once the mess was cleaned, I looked to the back seat.
Zeke’s head lolled to the side, asleep, cookie still clutched in his hand.
The twins’ breathing was soft and even, toys tucked against their cheeks.
He lifted Zeke gently from the booster, the little boy murmuring but not waking, then nodded toward the stroller still folded in the bed.
“I’ll carry him in,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a question. I swallowed hard, nodding.
Together, we moved up the steps. I carried Chloe and Avery, their warm little bodies limp with sleep, while Hunter balanced Zeke against his shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times. He carried the diaper bag, too. Of course he did.
As we reached the front down, I turned to him, my hands full of curls and sleepy sighs. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled, shifting Zeke slightly. “Always.”
After the kids were tucked into their beds, Hunter lingered at the door. He leaned down, close enough that I caught the warmth of his cologne, and kissed me softly. My knees wobbled, my heart stumbling in my chest.
“Goodnight, Beautiful.” he murmured, brushing a curl from my face.
And then he was gone, walking back to his truck like it was the easiest thing in the world to carry my chaos and still want more.
???
Later, when the kids were asleep and the house was still, I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers pressed to my lips where his kiss still lingered.
He hadn’t shown any sign of being overwhelmed or frustrated.
Not at the aquarium, not at the spilled milk, not at the mess of bedtime and bags and bottles.
He’d just stayed. And that scared me more than anything, because if he kept staying, I might actually start to believe he meant it.
And if I believed… there would be so much more to lose.
But even with that fear whispering in the dark, I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. Because it felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t carrying the weight alone anymore.
Steam curled around me as I stood under the shower, the water pounding against my shoulders, washing away the smell of sunscreen, spilled milk, and faint aquarium salt. But it didn’t wash away the thoughts spinning in my head.
I closed my eyes, letting the heat soak into my tired muscles, but all I could see was him carrying Zeke on his shoulders, steadying the stroller with one hand, leaning down to kiss me at the door like it was the easiest thing in the world.
And the mess. The spilled milk in his spotless truck.
The dread that had gripped me, certain he’d finally see me for what I was: messy, too much, not worth the hassle.
But he didn’t run. He grabbed wipes from his own center console, cracked a joke, and made me feel safe when I was seconds away from falling apart.
I braced my hands against the cool tile, the water mixing with the sting in my eyes.
Why did it feel so impossible to believe someone might actually stay?
Because history had already written its story for me.
My dad had left when I was a little girl.
Sometimes he’d call, sometimes he’d send a card, but he was never there.
I grew up watching my mom hold everything together, and I swore I’d never repeat that cycle.
But here I was, trying to do the same thing.
I leaned my head against the wall, the water cascading down, whispering into the steam, “Men always leave.” That was the story my life kept writing.
By the time I slipped into bed, hair damp, body heavy with exhaustion, my phone glowed on the nightstand. I picked it up, thumb hovering. My instinct was to say nothing, to let the silence keep me safe. But tonight felt different.
Me: Thank you. For today. For not
making it feel like too much.
The three dots appeared almost instantly, then stopped, then blinked again.
Hunter: Thank you for letting me be
there. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
My chest tightened, tears blurring my vision.