I don't hear the front door open and don't realize Grant is home until I glance up and catch him standing in the doorway, watching us. The look on his face makes my heart stop—there's something raw and vulnerable there before he masks it.
But in that moment, I see everything he's afraid of, everything he wants but won't let himself have.
"Daddy!" Hazel spots him and sits up. "Sophia's been helping me with my breathing for the song. Want to hear?"
"Maybe later, princess. How are you feeling?"
As Grant moves into dad mode, checking Hazel's temperature and asking about her day, I gather my things. This is the part where I step back and create the space he wants.
"Alright, nugget, let's get you upstairs. Time for bed." He turns back to me. "Thank you for getting her," he says quietly as I head for the door.
"Wait!" Hazel yells. "I want Sophia to put me to bed."
I hesitate, waiting for Grant to give me the green light to join them for the bedtime routine.
"Ok, but no tricking her into more than one book tonight."
The way my heart skips at his invitation to join them for the bedtime routine betrays my instinct to protect it.
thirty-eight
. . .
Grant
The house isquiet when I step inside, and I can see the glow from the television from the kitchen. It's quiet, so I gently place my keys on the counter and slide off my jacket. It's later than I intended.
As I walk toward the living room, my mind is stuck on the last conversation I had with Sophia. I can't explain why it bothered me, knowing Hazel had been spending so much time with her—more than I realized and certainly more than I'd intended for them to. My instincts said to push back. Set boundaries. No expectations equals temporary.
But since then, I've been questioning everything. Sophia was able to pick up Hazel, no questions asked, and now my excuses feel flimsy, like a low-budget set on the verge of collapse. When I see them now, it's like the whole production is going off-script, and I'm not sure I want to stop it.
Sophia is on the floor, with Hazel stretched across the couch like it's the most comfortable place on earth. It probably is. Sophia's fingers trail absently throughHazel's hair, and a small smile tugs at her lips as she listens to my daughter sing. There's something peaceful about the scene, like they're perfectly at ease with each other.
I don't move. I just stand there, caught in the doorway, watching. I should say something, let them know I'm here, but I can't.
Sophia's touch is so natural, like she was always meant to be here. Hazel is so trusting and unguarded. When Sophia looks down at her with a tenderness, something in me aches.
All of it—the sight of them together, the quiet warmth of it—makes me want something I've spent years convincing myself I couldn't have.
Hazel spots me and calls out. Sophia's head turns, and as her eyes catch mine, her lips part in a small, surprised smile. "Hey." Her voice is careful, as if she doesn't want to intrude on the family dynamic between Hazel and me.
"Hey," I manage, stepping further into the room. My voice feels rough like I haven't spoken in hours. Maybe I haven't—not like this, not to someone who makes me forget what I was supposed to say next.
For a moment, we just stand there as the silence stretches between us. I should say something—thank her, apologize for being an ass the last few days—but all I can think about is how wrong I was. About her. About this.
The idea that we would cross so many lines and spend so much time together yet suggest there were no expectations feels laughable now.
I told myself I was mad because I didn't want Hazel to get attached and didn't want either of us to be hurt when thisended. But now I wonder if I wasn't just trying to keep myself from feelingthis connection.
And God, I feel it.
"Thank you," I say finally, my voice low. But when I walk Sophia to the door, Hazel pops up off the couch and demands that Sophia put her to bed, too. I can see Sophia waiting for my approval, and it crushes me that she's hesitating. There's nothing I want more than for her to be a part of our lives.
Sophia follows me upstairs to Hazel's room, and as she promised, Hazel goes right to sleep after one book. We put her to bed together, moving in quiet synchronicity that feels intimate. Sophia adjusts the blankets while I tuck Hazel's stuffed spaceship under her arm. She presses a kiss to Hazel's forehead, and something about the gesture makes my chest tighten.
When we step back into the hallway, I close the door behind us. The house is quiet, but my heart is pounding loudly as I step closer to her.
"Thank you," I say, reaching for her hand. "For tonight. For…everything."
