Natalie: We need to talk. Monday breakfast?
Relief washed over me, and I responded immediately.
Will: Yes. See you at 8:30. I’ll bring bagels.
A few seconds later, she gave it a thumbs-up.
I stood on the sidewalk, staring at the conversation on my phone. My heart felt lighter, but the tension lingered. Whatever she needed to say, I was ready to hear it. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that Monday morning would define everything, whether we had a future or whether this would all come to an end.
The thought haunted me as I walked back to my car. For the first time in days, I felt a sliver of hope, but it was fragile, ready to shatter with one wrong move.
CHAPTER 42
WHAT’S BEST FOR THEM
NATALIE
After my awkward run-in with Will and Kelly, the weight of everything I’d been avoiding finally caught up with me. I couldn’t keep skating along, pretending life wasn’t unraveling in two different directions. I needed to talk to Will, but even that felt tangled.
And then there was Jason, this slow, suffocating stalemate that wasn’t a marriage anymore, not really. Jason was traveling less, but when he was home, he slept in the guest room. That quiet shift, him in another bed, spoke volumes even though neither of us ever addressed it. We didn’t fight. We never had. Why start now?
Instead, we pretended everything was fine, layering one polite exchange over another until the distance between us felt permanent. When I suggested therapy, he brushed it off almost gently, like he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but couldn’t bring himself to engage.
“We’re smart enough to figure this out ourselves,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile on his face.
His refusal wasn’t new. Jason always avoided conflict, his way of keeping things neat and controlled, but all it did was leave me feeling unseen. I’d spent so many years adapting to his rules, staying calm, not pushing too hard, not rocking the boat. I used to think that was what love looked like: compromise, patience, understanding.
Now it just felt like silence.
I stared at the coffee cup in front of me, the swirl of cream blending into the black, and thought about how much I’d buried over the years. I’d buried my loneliness, I’d buried my resentment, and I’d buried the guilt I felt when I thought about Will, who made me feel more alive in a few stolen moments than Jason had in years.
But those moments, those sparks that made me feel like I was waking up for the first time in forever, weren’t simple either. They came with their own weight, their own set of consequences. I couldn’t just uproot my life and waltz into Will’s. For one thing, there was Madison.
I couldn’t be her wicked witch of a stepmother, the woman she hated, the one she blamed for everything falling apart. I’d spent years trying to be the perfect mom, shielding James and Bebe from pain and heartache. How could I walk into someone else’s life and be the source of it?
But it wasn’t just about Madison. It was about all of them: Will’s kids, my kids, the fragile ecosystems we’d both built around our families. Love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between those worlds. It wasn’t enough to justify the upheaval.
At the end of the day, I knew Will should always choose his kids first, and I would always choose mine. I wanted to believe that what Will and I had; the connection, the chemistry, the wayhe looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered, could be enough. But it wasn’t just about us.
Wasn’t staying with Jason the right thing to do for James and Bebe? Wasn’t that what good mothers did? Sacrificed their happiness for their kids? Even if staying meant swallowing my frustration and pretending I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own home?
But there was another voice, quieter but insistent, reminding me that staying for them wasn’t enough anymore. I couldn’t keep living in this in-between space, waiting for Jason to change or for Will to magically make everything easier. Life didn’t work like that.
I leaned back in my chair and stared out the window, where the morning light stretched across the backyard. The guilt and confusion hit me in waves, each one crashing down stronger than the last; relentless and unforgiving.
The bougainvillea was starting to bloom again, with its pink flowers catching in the soft breeze. The scent of citrus blossoms hung faintly in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of damp soil from the sprinklers. A hummingbird zipped past the window. Its wings were a blur as it hovered near the lavender by the patio. That was what my life felt like lately, chaotic but deceptively serene, as if everything was spinning just beneath the surface.
I thought about Will’s house, his sleek modern mansion perched up on the hill. I could picture it so clearly, clean lines, wide windows, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a luxury home tour. More importantly, it wasn’t just a house. It was his life, his family, his world, and I didn’t know if I could ever truly belong there.
On Monday, when I met with Will, I would have to be honest. No more half-truths or evasions. I owed it to him, to Jason, to myself, to finally confront the mess I’d made. There were no easyanswers, no perfect solutions, but I couldn’t keep putting this off. It was time to stop running. It was time to decide what kind of life I wanted, and whether I was brave enough to go after it.
CHAPTER 43
CLOSING TWO WINDOWS AND HOPING A DOOR IS OPEN
NATALIE
Monday morning crept in slowly, like it was dragging me toward something I wasn’t ready to face. I hadn’t slept well the night before. My dreams were vivid and unsettling, a warped reflection of my reality.
