And then—Jaxon laughs.
Not from humor. From disbelief. From the cruelty of timing.
“You’re telling me… Claire thought I was engaged to my damn sister and left without saying a word?”
Sara nods, her voice barely holding. “She died thinking she missed her chance. She never got to tell you about Jaqueline. And she never stopped loving you.”
Jaxon looks toward the living room.
Toward the little girl sitting cross-legged on the couch.
His daughter.
Claire’s daughter.
His voice drops to a whisper. “I never even knew…”
“I’m sorry, Jax,” Sara says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She tried. She wanted to. She was just scared.”
His eyes fill, and for a moment, he can’t speak.
He just nods, the words lodged behind the lump in his throat.
Because this—this is the kind of heartbreak no one prepares you for.
And still… she left him something.
A second chance.
A part of her he never knew existed.
His legacy. His light.
His daughter.
61
SparkingAshes
Jaxondoesn’tspeakrightaway. He just sits there, staring down at the table like it might give him the answers he’s been chasing for years. Like maybe if he looks hard enough, the cracks in the wood will explain how the hell he missed this—how life moved so far without him.
Then it hits.
Like a train to the chest.
He drops his head into his hands, his breath catching mid-inhale. His shoulders begin to shake—not with rage, but with something deeper. A sadness so big, so consuming, it doesn’t come out loud. It comes out in silence. In tremors. In the kind of pain that doesn’t scream—it suffocates.
Sara watches him break from across the room, her heart splitting with every breath he takes. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just lets him come undone. But when she sees the first tear fall—landing heavy on the khaki fabric of his shorts like a bullet from the past—she finally steps forward, places her hand gently over his.
Jaxon lifts his head.
And for the first time in years, Sara sees him cry.
“I would’ve been a great dad,” he whispers.
“You still can be, Jaxon,” she says softly.
He lets out a hollow laugh, one with no joy behind it—just disbelief. “She took those moments from me, Sara. I missed her being born. I missed her first steps… her first tooth… her first words. I missed the first time she called someone ‘Daddy’—and it wasn’t me.”
