CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT #3
“The way you and Jack just took charge and knew exactly what to do,” Madison continues, looking at me with newfound respect. “That was incredible.”
Jack approaches, looking as drained as I feel. “The helicopter’s taking them to Queenstown Hospital,” he reports. “They’ll be in good hands there.”
“You guys were amazing,” Emma echoes Madison’s sentiment. “Talk about teamwork. The way Jack rigged up that suction device—I wouldn’t have thought of that in a million years.”
Jack glances at me, a question in his eyes. “Your mom did the hard part,” he says to Madison, deflecting the praise.
“We did it together,” I correct, the words coming before I could stop them.
Something shifts in his expression—a cautious hope quickly contained.
“Our flight back to Queenstown leaves in thirty minutes,” he says. “Unless you’d rather stay longer?”
“I’m good,” I say, suddenly desperate for the familiarity of our temporary home at the estate. “It’s been quite a day already.”
The drive to the Milford airfield is mostly silent, at least between Jack and me. Emma and Madison chat in the back seat, Emma distracting Madison with stories of the local wildlife and geography, carefully avoiding any mention of the birth we’d just witnessed.
I stare out the window, acutely aware of Jack beside me, my eyes fixed on his hands resting on the armrest of his seat.
I’d felt those same hands working alongside mine minutes ago, felt the brush of his fingers as we’d transferred the struggling newborn between us.
The memory of that touch—professional but undeniably intimate—lingers on my skin.
On the flight back, Madison sits with Emma, their heads together as Emma explains something about the landscape below. I find myself beside Jack, the small plane not offering many seating options.
“Thank you,” he says quietly as we reach cruising altitude. “For letting me help. You could have…I would have understood if you’d pushed me away.”
“That would have been unprofessional,” I reply. “And stupid, given the circumstances.”
“Still.” His voice is soft. “It meant something. To work with you again, even briefly.”
I don’t answer, unsure what to say that wouldn’t reveal too much of my conflicted feelings.
After a moment, he adds, “I’ve missed it. The work. Being a paramedic.”
“You’re still a paramedic, Jack,” I say, surprised by the admission.
“Not here.” His gaze drifts to the window. “Here I’m just Jackson McKenzie, heir to the estate. Nobody sees the rest.”
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. For the first time, I glimpse what it might be like for him—trapped between worlds, neither fully accepting him for all that he was.
I have no response that wouldn’t open doors I’m not ready to walk through, so I remain silent for the rest of the flight.
Back at the guest house, Madison is still processing what she’d witnessed, her initial nausea replaced with thoughtful curiosity as I try to shower away the stress of the day.
“Mom?” she calls through the bathroom door. “Can I ask you something?”
I wrap myself in a towel, opening the door to find her perched anxiously on the edge of the bed. “Of course, sweetheart. What is it?”
“That was…” She hesitates, clearly struggling for words. “I had no idea it was so…intense. And gross. And kind of terrifying.”
I sit beside her, water still dripping from my hair. “Childbirth is one of the most primal, powerful things a body can do. It’s not always pretty.”
“Is it always like that?” she asks, her voice smaller now. “So…scary? Do I have to go through that someday?”
The vulnerability in her question touches me deeply. “It’s not always like that,” I say carefully. “Hannah’s labor was unusually fast. Most first-time mothers have hours of labor before delivery.”
“That sounds worse, not better.” Madison looks genuinely concerned.
“It’s intense,” I acknowledge. “But also…miraculous. When I had you, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but also the most worthwhile.”
“Did it hurt? Like, really bad?”
“Yes,” I say honestly. “But they have pain management options, and the moment I held you…nothing else mattered.”
Madison absorbs this, her face thoughtful. “I don’t think I want kids.”
“That’s completely fine,” I assure her. “It’s your choice, always. And you have many, many years to figure it out.”
She nods, then changes topics with teenage abruptness. “The way Jack fixed it when the baby wasn’t breathing…that was amazing. He just, like, made a thing out of nothing.”
“That’s what paramedics do,” I say. “Especially good ones. They improvise with whatever they have.”
“You guys worked together like you were reading each other’s minds,” she continues, studying my face. “Even when you’re mad at him, you still…fit together. Like puzzle pieces.”
I sigh, not ready for this particular conversation. “That’s different, Madison. Professional compatibility isn’t the same as personal trust.”
“I know, but…” She hesitates. “You still care about him. I can tell.”
“It’s complicated,” I say, falling back on the phrase I’d been using for days.
“Adults always say that when they don’t want to talk about their feelings,” she observes with surprising insight.
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re too good at this.”
“TikTok,” she replies with perfect seriousness. “Lots of relationship advice there.”
“Ahhh. I should have known. The modern oracle strikes again.”
Madison’s expression turns serious again. “I think he deserves another chance, Mom. After seeing him today…the way he knew exactly what to do, how he didn’t panic…and the way he looks at you…”
The simple statement hangs between us. I busy myself with drying my hair, avoiding her gaze.
“He lied, Madison. For months.”
“I know.” She kicks her feet against the bed frame. “But he also saved that baby with you today. And he cares about stupid birds that can’t even fly. And he makes you laugh.”
I look at her then, this remarkable person I’d raised, with her uncanny ability to cut through complexities to the heart of things.
“And,” she adds quietly, “you still love him. Don’t you?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer, but my silence was apparently answer enough.
“That’s what I thought,” Madison says, sliding off the bed. “I’m going to FaceTime Chloe before dinner, okay?”
“Go ahead,” I say, grateful for the reprieve.
“I love you, Mom,” Madison says, bounding back towards her room.
“I love you, too, baby,” I call after her.
Alone, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
The day’s events have shaken something loose inside me—watching Jack work, his hands steady and capable, his focus absolute.
The way we’d moved together without words, anticipating each other’s needs in the crisis.
The feeling of his fingers brushing mine as we’d transferred the struggling newborn between us.
That connection is real. It has always been real. The question is whether it is enough to rebuild what has been broken.
I’m not ready to answer that question. Not yet.
But for the first time since the revelation, I allow myself to acknowledge the possibility that Jack—the real Jack, beneath the deception—might be worth fighting for.