He wanted to go back. Every cell in his body wanted to turn around, knock again, and stay.
But he didn’t.
He’d meant what he’d said. He didn’t deserve it yet.
By the time he reached his car, the energy had settled into something quieter—an ache edged with hope. His hands gripped the steering wheel. Not from frustration. From restraint.
He drove through the sleepy neighborhood, headlights sweeping across familiar streets. It was late enough that most of the windows were dark, and the hum of the tires on asphalt was the only sound in the car. He could still smell her on his skin: thefaint sweetness of her shampoo, the warmth of her body pressed against his.
Tom pulled into his in-laws’ driveway and sat there for a second, engine idling. The porch light was still on, like it always was when they were expecting him. The front door opened before he even reached it.
Linda stood there in a robe. “You look like a man who just made a very bad decision or a very good one,” she said.
Tom let out a breath that sounded too much like a laugh. “Somewhere in between.”
Gerald’s voice came from the living room. “He’s home late. That’s a good sign.”
Tom stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The house smelled like chamomile tea and the faint citrus cleaner Linda used on everything. He toed off his boots.
“Dinner go well?” Linda asked, following him into the kitchen.
He nodded. “Yeah. I, uh… cooked. We ate. Talked.”
Linda handed him a mug. “Tea?”
He accepted it, grateful. “Thanks.”
Gerald appeared in the doorway. “You good?”
“I’m okay,” Tom said. And it was mostly true. He felt wrung out but steady, like something inside him had finally clicked into alignment.
Linda reached over and patted his arm. She gave him a look that was equal parts affection and warning. “We’re still on her side, you know.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “But I’m grateful you’re letting me stay here anyway.”
Gerald’s mouth twitched—the ghost of a smile. “Let’s just say we’re rooting for a happy ending. Forher.”
Tom’s throat tightened. “Me too.”
Linda tilted her head. “We know.”
The tea was cooling in his hands now. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt safe. He could hear the faint hum of the heater, the creak of the stairs settling.
His heart still hurt, but it was a clean kind of hurt now.
He’d left her house tonight because it was the right thing to do.
Because he wanted to earn his way back, not just slip back like nothing had changed.Everythinghad changed.
He looked at his phone.
One unread message. From Lauren.
A heart.
The Kent housewas expensive but not flashy—old brick, tall windows, the quiet confidence of money. Tom followed Mr. and Mrs. Kent into a sitting room that looked over the garden.
“Coffee? Or tea?” Mrs. Kent asked, elegant and easy.
