“Mom?” Ash appears in the kitchen doorway. “The game froze. Can you help?”
“Of course, honey.” I turn off the burner and follow him to the living room, grateful for the distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
As I help him troubleshoot, all the possibilities for the future are still on my mind.
Yes, I decide. Selling the house is the right choice. As soon as I find a new job and get my finances stable, I’ll put it on the market. It’ll be better for everyone if I create some real distance between us.
Even if the thought of leaving this house, and leaving Jordan for good, feels like losing everything all over again.
Even if starting over somewhere new feels impossible when I’m not sure I know how to let go of what we almost had.
Even if the practical, sensible choice feels like giving up on something that might have been worth fighting for, if only Jordan had been willing to fight too.
CHAPTER 23
ALEXA
The clock on my kitchen wall reads seven fifteen p.m., and I’m bouncing Henry against my shoulder while pacing between my counter and the window that faces Jordan’s house. He’s been fussy for the past hour, probably sensing my own restless energy as we wait for Jordan to come home from what was supposed to be a ten-hour workday.
It’s been a week since he returned to the hospital, and each day his shifts have stretched longer. Yesterday it was eleven hours. The day before, nearly twelve. Today marks thirteen hours since he left this morning, kissing Henry’s forehead and promising to be home by dinner.
“I know, sweetheart,” I murmur to Henry as he makes unhappy sounds against my neck. “I miss him too.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it. Because that’s what this feeling is, isn’t it? Missing Jordan. Missing the easy routine we had established before he went back to work. Missing the man who used to come home eager to hear about Henry’s day, who would roll around on the living-room carpet making silly faces until Henry giggled.
Now I’m lucky if I see Jordan for five minutes in the morning before he rushes out the door, coffee mug in hand and already mentally at the hospital.
My phone buzzes with a text:Surgery running late. Will be at least two more hours. So sorry. Will pay overtime of course.
I stare at the message, feeling that familiar knot of frustration tighten in my chest. The overtime pay is nice, but Henry doesn’t need money. He needs his uncle. Another couple hours means Jordan won’t be home until past nine, and Henry will be asleep. Again. For the third night this week.
“Well, buddy, looks like it’s just us for dinner,” I tell Henry, settling him into his high chair in my kitchen.
The parallel hits me with unexpected force. This is exactly how it felt nine years ago when Ash was an infant and his father would promise to be home for bedtime, then text at the last minute with another excuse. The feeling of being a single mom of two crashes over me, except now I’m caring for someone else’s child while that child’s guardian chooses work over family.
After I get the three of us fed and Henry settled in the portable crib that’s set up in my guest room, I find Ash in the living room building something elaborate with his LEGO. He’s been quieter than usual this week, less enthusiastic about school and friends.
“How’s the spaceship coming?” I ask, settling onto the couch beside him.
“It’s not a spaceship. It’s a headquarters.” He doesn’t look up from the intricate structure he’s building. “Like the ones in Jordan’s comics.”
“Ah. Very cool.” I watch him work, noting the careful precision with which he places each piece. “You’ve gotten really good at these big builds.”
“Jordan showed me some tricks for making the walls stronger.” Ash finally looks up, and there’s something wistful in his expression. “When do you think he’ll have time to see it finished?”
The question pierces straight through my heart. I know the truth: Jordan probably won’t make time for soccer games or LEGO headquarters anymore. His old life is reclaiming him, one late night at a time. But I can’t crush Ash’s hope.
“He’s been really busy at work,” I say carefully.
“I know.” Ash turns back to his building. “But I thought maybe on the weekend we could play soccer like we used to. It’s been forever.”
Forever. To a nine-year-old, a week probably does feel like forever.
“He’s still adjusting,” I say, hating myself for the false hope in my voice. “We’ll see.”
Ash nods, but I can see the disappointment he’s trying to hide. This is what I was afraid of. Getting attached to someone who isn’t fully committed is dangerous when it’s not just my heart on the line… It’s also my son’s.
After Ash goes to bed, I settle into my own bedroom with my laptop and a cup of tea. The room feels like a sanctuary with its soft gray walls, the vintage quilt my grandmother made draped across the foot of my bed, and photos of Ash at various ages scattered across my dresser. There’s the reading chair by thewindow where I used to curl up as a teenager, and the antique jewelry box that still holds my grandmother’s pearl earrings.
