After we hang up, I sit in my car for a moment, watching other visitors make their way to and from the hospital. Some look relieved, others devastated. All of them carrying the strain of someone else’s crisis.
I drive home thinking about what Mom said. About possibilities. About not closing myself off. About how, for just a moment this morning, standing close to Alexa in my kitchen, I forgot about everything except the way she looked at me.
The thought that follows catches me off guard: what would it be like if Alexa were still around after Amy wakes up and takes Henry home? What would it be like to have someone in my life who knows how I take my coffee, who doesn’t mind that I work long hours, who makes my house feel like more than just a place where I sleep between shifts?
The idea scares me almost as much as it appeals to me. I’ve built my life around independence, around not needing anyone else. But these past few days have shown me how much easier things can be when you have help. When you have someone who understands what you’re going through.
When you have someone who looks at you like you matter.
I used to think I would never want that, but the past few days have taught me that nothing is guaranteed. Your whole world can turn upside down in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, even the scariest things are worth taking a risk on.
CHAPTER 11
ALEXA
The afternoon light filtering through my living room windows has shifted from bright to golden, signaling that evening is approaching. Henry sits contentedly in the bouncy seat I borrowed from Jordan’s house, watching Ash read on the couch with serious concentration.
It’s been three hours since I talked to Jordan and offered to stay longer with Henry, and I’m starting to wonder where he is. Not that it’s any of my business, but when someone says they have one more stop to make and then disappears for half the afternoon, it makes me curious.
“Mom, can I have screen time now?” Ash looks up from his book, marking his place with his finger. “I finished my chapter.”
“Did you write down the summary?”
He holds up his reading log, dutifully filled out with today’s chapter summary. “Yep. Can I play my Nintendo now?”
“Thirty minutes,” I tell him, and he grins as he heads to his room to get his device.
Henry makes a soft cooing sound and reaches for the toy dangling from his bouncy seat. He’s been an angel all afternoon, content to nap, eat, and play while Ash regaled him with stories about laser tag and arcade games. The spending money from Jordan made Ash’s day, and seeing my son happy made the strange situation with our neighbor feel even more worthwhile.
I check my phone again. No messages from Jordan. Part of me wants to text him, just to make sure everything’s okay, but that feels like overstepping. He’s not required to give me a detailed itinerary of his afternoon.
Still, there’s something about the way he looked when he left this morning that’s been nagging at me. Distracted. Like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
The sound of a car door closing makes me look out the front window. Jordan’s walking up my front steps, and even from here, I can see the exhaustion in his posture. His shoulders are slumped, his movements slower than usual. Whatever he’s been doing for the past few hours, it’s taken a toll.
I open the door before he has a chance to knock. “Hey. How did the errands go?”
“Fine. Good. Thanks for staying late.” He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m beginning to recognize as his go-to when he’s stressed. “How was Henry?”
“Perfect. He’s been content all afternoon. Ash entertained him with stories about his day.”
At the mention of his name, Henry’s face lights up when he sees Jordan. His whole body wiggles with excitement, and he reaches both arms toward his uncle with a delighted squeal.
Jordan’s expression transforms instantly. The weariness disappears, replaced by a smile so genuine it makes my chest warm. “Hey there, buddy. Did you miss me?”
He lifts Henry from the bouncy seat, and Henry immediately snuggles against his chest, babbling in what sounds like his version of conversation. It’s the first time I’ve seen Henry this genuinely happy to see Jordan, and the effect on both of them is obvious.
“He really missed you,” I say, watching the interaction with a smile of my own.
“I think he’s finally starting to get used to me.” Jordan’s voice is softer than usual, filled with something that sounds like relief. “Maybe I’m notcompletelyhopeless at this.”
“You were never hopeless. Just learning.”
“Jordan!” Ash appears in the hallway, Nintendo in hand. “You’re back! How was your day?”
“Good, thanks. How was yours? Did you have fun at laser tag?”
Ash launches into an enthusiastic recap of his afternoon. Jordan listens with what appears to be genuine interest, asking questions and making appropriate impressed sounds.
