Andrew sits across from me at the kitchen table, a half-drunk soda between us. Bash is on the floor nearby, surrounded by colored pencils and a sketchpad, humming to himself while he draws some kind of superhero space battle.
The man I used to know intimately once told me he wanted to be a football coach. Said it with that same far-off tone he uses when talking about businesses he’ll never start. I doubt he ever tried. He’s a car sales manager now, which honestly tracks. He’salways talked a big game. All vision. Paints a pretty picture with words. But there is no follow-through.
Maybe that’s how he reeled in Ashley. He likely fed her promises he never meant to keep. Told her he’d give her the world. Maybe even promised he’d leave me.
Just words.
That’s the thing about Andrew. He’s good at sounding sincere. Good at giving just enough to be believed. But when it comes time to act, he always falls short.
I walk him through everything. My voice is quieter than usual, careful not to alarm Bash, even if the tightness in my chest still hasn’t let up since I saw the destruction in the back of the shop.
When I tell him about Ashley, about the photos—to which he gets all awkward and grimaces at the thought of me with another man—the texts, and what she did to the armoire, his face goes pale.
“I didn’t realize it got that bad,” he says, rubbing a hand over the hair along his jaw. “I mean… yeah, I knew she was intense, but I didn’t think she was capable of something of this caliber.”
I arch a brow. “She’s unstable, Andrew. She’s stalking me. And she’s been parked outside my shop day after day. Following me. She’s following you too for God’s sake.”
“I didn’t know,” he says again, shaking his head. “I swear—she and I—we only hooked up once. Before we split. I… I regret it, Sable. I was in a bad place. I know that’s no excuse.”
I let that hang in the air. I’ve already done all the yelling, the crying, the untangling. I’m past it. This isn’t about punishment. It’s about protection. For my entire family. Andrew included.
He glances toward Bash, then back at me, voice hush. “I’ll file the temporary restraining order. Whatever I need to do.”
“Thank you.”
Andrew blows out a long breath and scrubs his hands down his jeans. “I’ll take Bash out to my parents’ place for the weekend.Get him out of town, let things cool down.” He turns his attention toward our son. “Hey, buddy. Want to go see Grandma Lynn and Grandpa Dale at the lake house?”
Bash jumps up, his face brightening at the idea. “Can I bring my tackle box?”
“Of course,” Andrew says, ruffling his hair.
That small joy—the idea of my son casting a line off the dock, blissfully unaware of the storm circling the adults—is enough to soften the knot in my chest. A little.
Andrew stands, hesitating, like he wants to say something else but isn’t sure if he’s earned the right.
“For what it’s worth… I’m really sorry, Sable. About all of it.”
I nod. “I know.”
But that’s all it is. An apology. No solutions. No help. Regret wrapped in good intentions and not much else.
And maybe for once, I’m finally starting to see him clearly. Not just as the man who failed me, but the man who fooled both women.
He shifts his weight, one foot toward the door, the other still planted like he’s trying to root himself back in this house.
“I don’t know,” he says slowly, “maybe we can… figure something out. Down the line. You know. Be a family again.”
I stare at him.
Is he serious?
Nowhe wants to dangle hope? After his mistress has stalked me, after showing up empty-handed while I cleaned up his messes, raised his son, paid his bills, kept the whole damn operation afloat while running on nothing but caffeine and grit?
“You think this issalvageable?” I ask, not even trying to hide the disbelief in my voice.
He shrugs, eyes doing that thing where they soften just enough to pass for sincerity. “People change.”
I want to hold hope that’s true. That people can turn themselves inside out, choose better, be better.
