Divorce papers.
He looks at them like a death notice.
“And the house?” he asks.
My spine straightens.
“Gracie stays,” I say. “She always stays.”
He swallows.
Then the truth.
“It’s becoming a sanctuary,” I continue. “For parents who don’t get to bring their babies home. For holding. For bathing. For sleeping. For saying goodbye inside walls that know what love was supposed to look like.”
His lips part. No sound comes.
“I will not dig up my daughter to make you or your mother comfortable,” I say. “That part is not negotiable.”
He nods. Broken. Defeated. Human.
“This article goes out today,” I add. “Barely before it hits newsstands. I wanted you to read it first.”
He presses his palm to his chest like he might cave inward.
“I would never forget the day you slipped away,” he says softly. I blink through tears.
“Once I would have ran through fire for you,” I say, my voice steady despite everything, “Now my love for you is ashes.”
We sit with it. The ending. The truth.
I stand.
“I hope you find air,” I tell him. “I hope it doesn’t cost someone else their lungs.”
Across the street, Dane shifts. Turns away. Drags a hand through his hair. Breathes. When he looks back, his eyes are on me like I am the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
I stand.
Blake looks up, panicked.
“Penn,” he says. “I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye.”
I bend then. Slowly. Tenderly.
I kiss the side of his head.
Not his mouth.
Not his cheek.
A goodbye that cannot be mistaken for hope.
Then I walk out. The bell above the café door rings when I step outside.
I don’t look back.
The air hits my lungs like forgiveness I didn’t know I was allowed to take.
