"Like you're a giant chocolate cake and she's been on a diet for a year."
I took the phone outside onto the covered porch, needing distance from the domestic scene inside. "It's temporary. The storm will pass, her cabin will get fixed—"
"Or you could pull your head out of your ass and recognize that the universe just delivered exactly what you and Finn need."
"It's not that simple."
"It's exactly that simple. You just make it complicated because you think suffering honors Sarah somehow."
The words hit hard enough that I had to grip the porch railing. Through the window, I watched Serena help Finn adjust his fort's architecture, both of them laughing at something I couldn't hear.
"She's his teacher," I said weakly.
"She's the inclusion specialist. No direct oversight. I checked."
"You checked?"
"Someone has to look out for you, since you're determined to martyrdom." His tone softened. "Brad, when's the last time you saw Finn this happy?"
I didn't answer because we both knew.
After ending the call, I stood in the cold air until my fingers went numb, watching Serena and Finn through the window. She'd started what looked like a puppet show using socks and markers, Finn giggling helplessly at whatever voices she was doing.
Back inside, I started lunch while they performed what Finn called "Fort Theater." Serena caught my eye over Finn's head, mouthing "sorry" about the mess. I shook my head, surprising myself by meaning it.
Maria called Serena during lunch, her side of the conversation filled with protests.
"It's not—no, stop. Because of the tree, Maria. The giant tree through my roof." She paced to the window. "No, I'm not playing house. I'm temporarily— Would you stop laughing?"
She shot me an embarrassed look.
"No, you cannot come visit. The roads— Maria! No, I'm not introducing you to the team." Her cheeks flushed pink. "I have to go. Bye. Goodbye, Maria."
"Your friend sounds..." I searched for a diplomatic word.
"Completely insane? That's Maria." She tucked her phone away. "She has many theories about my current situation."
"Theo has theories too."
"Our friends might get along terrifyingly well."
"Or they'd kill each other."
"Possibly both."
The easy banter felt dangerous, but I couldn't quite stop myself from engaging. Finn had returned to his fort, creating elaborate battle scenarios with his action figures, occasionally calling out updates on the "siege situation."
As evening approached, we developed an unspoken rhythm. Serena handled Finn's educational entertainment—turning everything into learning opportunities without making them feel like school—while I managed meals and medical routines. We navigated around each other in the kitchen without collision, she automatically moved Finn's rescue inhaler when he changed locations, I started making her tea without being asked.
After Finn's bedtime ritual—teeth, medicine, story from Serena, tuck-in from me—we ended up by the fireplace. She'd changed into fleece pants and one of my sweatshirts, looking impossibly small in my clothes.
"Thank you," I said abruptly. "For today. For being so good with him."
"He's easy to be good with." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "You've raised an amazing kid."
"Sarah raised him. I just..." I stared at the fire. "I just try not to mess up what she started."
"You do more than that." Her voice was gentle. "The way he looks at you, the way he trusts you completely—that's not just not messing up. That's active, present parenting."
