Brian was quiet for a long moment. “What if she never comes back?"
I didn't have an answer.
I went to Zoe’s school at pickup time, just to check on her.
She saw me leaning against my truck across the street. She hesitated, then looked around like she was checking if anyone was watching. Then she crossed over to me.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey." She shifted her backpack on her shoulder. Guarded. Wary.
"How are you doing?"
She looked away. "I don't know. Scared, I guess. About my mom. About Tommy. About everything."
"That's normal. What happened was scary."
"Is he going to jail? Tommy?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I heard your mom’s been talking to lawyers. About getting him help instead."
Zoe nodded slowly. "She does that. Tries to help people even when they hurt her."
Something in my chest twisted. "Yeah. She does."
We stood in silence for a moment. Kids streamed past us, laughing, shouting—living lives that hadn’t been touched by fire or fear.
"She won't talk about you," Zoe said quietly.
I looked at her.
"She doesn't say your name. She changes the subject whenever I bring you up." Zoe met my eyes. "But she kept the flowers. The daisies you gave her. They’re dead now. But she won’t throw them away."
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t find words that wouldn’t come out broken.
"I have to go," Zoe said. "Millie's waiting."
"Yeah. Okay."
She started to walk away, then stopped and looked back.
"For what it's worth? I think she's being stupid." Zoe shrugged. "But she's my mom. So."
She disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there for a long time, thinking about the dead flowers that Maya refused to throw away.
That night, I went home, opened my phone, and scrolled through my social media.
The photos. The calendar shots. The comments from women I didn’t remember—women whose names I’d never known.
So hot. Call me. When are you doing another calendar?
This was the reputation that had cost me Maya. The Playboy. The calendar firefighter. The guy who hooked up and moved on.
I couldn't erase the past. But I could stop feeding it.
I deleted the apps.
