“New place?” Ash looks between us, curious but not alarmed.
Esme makes an “oops” face, but I give her a look that tells her it’s okay.
“I’m thinking about finding us a new house,” I explain to Ash. “Something smaller, maybe a townhouse with a pool. How does that sound?”
“Cool! Can I have my own room still?”
“Absolutely. Your own room is non-negotiable.”
“Then I’m in.” He grins and stands up. “Can we look at the weird plants? I saw some that look like they’re from outer space.”
As we wander through the nursery, Ash chattering about exotic plants while Esme and I browse the more practical options, I feel something I haven’t felt in weeks: peace. Not the resigned acceptance I’ve been carrying, but actual peace with my decision.
Tuesday’s interview will go however it goes. The house will sell when it sells. But regardless of those outcomes, I’m taking control of my life again.
For the first time since that night Jordan and I almost kissed, I feel like myself again. Not Jordan’s employee or the woman pining for something she can’t have, but Alexa. The person I was before Jordan and I even met.
Someone who’s brave enough to walk away when staying would slowly break her heart.
“Mom, look at this one!” Ash calls from beside a display of succulents. “It looks like a tiny tree!”
“That’s a jade plant,” I tell him, moving to examine the small, sturdy plant with its thick, glossy leaves. “They’re supposed to bring good luck.”
“Should we get it? For the new house?”
I look at the little plant, so perfectly self-contained and resilient, and smile. “I think that’s exactly what we need.”
As we head to the checkout counter with our jade plant and Esme’s collection of ferns, I feel not happy, but okay. For now, it’s enough.
And soon, very soon, I’ll hand in my notice and finally start building the life Ash and I deserve—one that doesn’t depend on someone else’s capacity for love or commitment.
One that’s entirely, beautifully our own.
CHAPTER 26
JORDAN
The house feels too quiet without Henry’s babbling or the sounds of our evening routine. I’m wiping down kitchen counters that are already spotless, needing something to keep my hands busy. If I sit still, if I let my mind wander, the thoughts creep back in—Amy lying motionless in that hospital bed, the weight of responsibility I’m carrying alone, the growing distance between Alexa and me that I can’t seem to bridge.
So, I clean. I’ve already reorganized the pantry, scrubbed the bathroom sink, and vacuumed the living room carpet twice. The house doesn’t need any of this attention, but movement keeps the restlessness at bay.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I pause mid-wipe to check it.
Can we talk? I know it’s late, but it’s important.
Alexa. My pulse quickens as I check the time. Nine thirty p.m. Henry’s been asleep for over an hour, and I’ve been cleaning like a man possessed since I got home from the hospital. I guesswhatever she needs to discuss couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning.
Of course. Everything okay?
I’ll be right over.
I set down the dish towel and run a hand through my hair, trying to imagine what could be so urgent. Maybe Henry had a rough day. Maybe she needs to adjust her schedule for the week. Maybe she’s finally going to tell me what I’ve done wrong, why the easy warmth between us has been replaced by careful professionalism.
When she knocks on the front door five minutes later, I can see through the glass that she’s holding a folded piece of paper. Her expression is serious, almost grim, and suddenly I know this isn’t about scheduling or Henry’s routine.
“Thanks for seeing me so late,” she says as I open the door. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled back in a ponytail like she threw it on quickly. But there’s something different about her posture, something resolved and determined that makes my stomach drop.
“Come in. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”
