I’m sorry.
Enzo’s words kept popping up in my mind uninvited. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d apologized that stuck with me, but the words themselves. I never expected an apology because it never—not in a thousand years—occurred to me that he felt any regret over ending things. I’d spent seventeen years thinking that he’d grown tired of me, gotten bored, and decided he wanted something that wasn’t me. Now that he’d issued an apology, something else settled in my chest.
I’m sorry I made the decision without you.
That was the part that lodged deep behind my breastbone and refused to go anywhere.
He understood, which made me feel seen. None of that erased the hurt his actions caused. It didn’t rewrite decades of absence or the walls built to protect myself from that same hurt again. I’d moved on and built a life and a business without him. It wasn’t the same because it couldn’t be, but it was how I learned to survive without him.
Still, something different settled within me. Acceptance, maybe. At least I couldacceptthat he thought he was protecting me, but I still resented that he’d decided my future without my input.
Two things could be true at the same time.
I shook my head and refocused on my screen. Work—that was safe and familiar. And safe.
I combed through nanny applications, flagged promising candidates, responded to emails from concerned parents, and updated recruitment posts on the sites I trusted most. There was always too much to do in twenty-four hours, but I always managed. For now, payroll was my priority, so once I got back on track, that’s what I focused on until it was done.
When one o’clock rolled around, my eyes burned and my shoulders ached. It was time to put work away and get better acquainted with my bed. I was tired, but sleep didn’t come easily, so I stepped into my slippers and made my way down to the kitchen.
It was completely dark except for the pale white light under the cabinets, giving me just enough light to maneuver quietly. I found the electric kettle easily and filled it with water before flipping the switch to get it boiling. Leaning against the counter to wait, the nighttime silence pressed in around me.
Mattie was an early riser. Not just energetic enough for ten kids, but curious too. He was the kind of child who askedquestions because he genuinely wanted to understand the world around him. I needed sleep to keep up with him, but despite my long days, I’d had trouble sleeping since I set foot in Lucky. The house was quiet, silent except for the sound of crickets, rustling trees, and the odd howl of a bird off in the distance.
Still, sleep didn’t come.
Instead, the past intruded.
It started with my tiny apartment near campus. We would watch old movies together on the small television we’d split during a Black Friday sale. The romantic meals we tried—and failed miserably—to cook in the impossibly small galley kitchen on the two-burner stove. We’d had nothing. Less than nothing.
And we’d been happy. Or I’d thought we were.
I pressed my lips together as the kettle whistled.
The truth kept trying to surface, but I wouldn’t let it because the truth didn’t change anything—couldn’t this late in the game. Enzo made his choice and it wasn’t me, and worse than that he’d gone on to marry another woman and have a child with her.
Not me.
“I’m not angry,” I whispered into the empty kitchen, as if saying it out loud would make it truer.
Iwasover it. Over him. Being here was only hard because it was unexpected, because I never thought I’d see him again, let alone see him every day.
Living in his house.
One stunning smile from him and I was twenty-two again, madly in love and planning a future I would never get to see.
One laugh and all the years and distance between us faded away.
The electric kettle popped, and I set about making tea, waiting for the process to distract me from…everything. It was a lot, being here with Enzo, and by the end of each day my heart was exhausted and my mind was full of chaos.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and carried it upstairs, sipping until my lids grew heavy and each breath came in slower and deeper.
Morning came too soon, blurred by the routine of breakfast, spelling lessons, and reading time. Mattie was all focus and enthusiasm, asking questions faster than I could answer them. Morning flew, and by lunchtime, the sound of engines rolled up the long drive, pulling my attention toward the windows.
My first instinct was panic at the long row of cars, but Enzo emerged, and his calm was contagious. He strolled through the kitchen and the living room, all relaxed swagger with a hint of a smile.
“Papa,” Mattie called out, his voice a question.
“Come on,” he said quietly without breaking stride.
