"One of us has to be," Nate teased softly, the heavy intensity of the conversation shifting into a comfortable, domestic warmth. He dropped a quick, teasing kiss onto her lips and sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, exposing the broad, muscular expanse of his back.
He stood up, grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He looked back over his shoulder, offering her a smile that made her heart execute a sudden, dangerous flip in her chest.
"Now," Nate said, his tone light and entirely decisive. "Stop overthinking, stay exactly where you are, and let me go make breakfast for the most beautiful woman I have ever known."
Chapter 17
Simon
For forty-eight hours, Simon had performed the role of the cheerful, unfazed father within the confines of his mother’s house. He had built elaborate forts out of Kathryn’s expensive sofa cushions, ordered too much takeout, and played three exhaustive games of Monopoly. He had poured every ounce of his shattered energy into ensuring Lily didn't feel the terrifying tremors of her collapsing world.
But as the antique clock in the hallway chimed five o'clock on Sunday evening, the illusion shattered. The weekend was over.
Simon knelt in the entryway, zipping up Lily’s bright pink overnight bag. The physical exertion of pretending was catching up to him, leaving his limbs feeling as though they were filled with wet sand.
"Do I have to go back now?" Lily asked, her small hands tugging anxiously at the hem of her sweater. She looked around the quiet foyer, her brow furrowed. "Why can't you just come home with me, Dad? The grown-up stuff is taking too long."
The innocent, devastating question lodged itself perfectly in the center of Simon’s chest, a serrated blade twisting in the muscle. He forced a smile, though his eyes burned with the effort of keeping the tears at bay.
"I know it feels like a long time, bug," Simon said, his voice thick and rough. He reached out, smoothing her dark hair, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of vanilla and childhood. "But Mommy misses you so much, and she’s waiting for you. And you have school tomorrow. You need to be ready for your play rehearsal, right?"
"I guess," Lily mumbled, looking down at her light-up sneakers. "But the house is too quiet when you're not there."
"I know," Simon whispered, pulling her into a tight, desperate hug. He pressed his face into her shoulder, closing his eyes against the crushing weight of what he had stolen from her. "I love you so much, Lily. More than anything."
"I love you too, Dad."
Kathryn stepped into the hallway, a soft, melancholy expression softening her sharp features. She held Lily’s coat. "Come here, sweet girl. Let's get you bundled up. Your mother just pulled into the driveway."
Simon stood up slowly, his joints aching. He didn't walk to the front door. He couldn't. He retreated into the shadowed depths of the front sitting room, positioning himself just behind the heavy velvet drapes of the bay window.
He watched as Kathryn opened the front door, leading Lily out onto the porch.
And then, he saw Audrey.
She stepped out of her dark sedan. Simon braced himself for the visual impact of his ruin. But as she walked up the concrete path to meet their daughter, the breath entirely left his lungs.
She did not look like the woman he expected.
Just five days ago, driven by a pathetic, masochistic urge to see her, Simon had driven to the upscale organic market downtown at ten o'clock in the morning, knowing with absolute certainty it was her routine shopping day. He had hidden behind an endcap of imported teas like a coward, watching her navigate the produce aisle.
The memory flared violently behind his eyes: Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the market, Audrey had looked translucent. A hollow, fragile shell of the vibrant, commanding woman he had married. She had stood staring blankly at a display of apples, her hands trembling so violently she nearly dropped her basket. She had looked like a ghost, entirely drained of blood and life. Standing there, hidden in the aisle, the guilt had hit Simon with the force of a freight train. He had suffocated on it, dry-heaving in the parking lot afterward, knowing with absolute, horrifying clarity that he was entirely responsible for her destruction.
But the woman standing on Kathryn’s walkway right now was not a ghost.
Audrey was wearing her classic tan trench coat, cinched sharply at the waist. Her hair was clean and swept back. But it wasn't just her appearance; it was the architecture of her posture. She stood taller. The rigid, brittle fragility that had defined her the week before had vanished, replaced by a solid, grounded strength. When Lily ran into her arms, Audrey caught her with an easy, radiant smile that completely transformed her face—a smile that looked genuinely, impossibly alive.
She looked like a woman who was surviving. She looked like a woman who was healing.
And the realization that she was doing it without him, that she had found some secret reserve of oxygen in a world he had set on fire, stung him with a sharp, selfish agony.
Kathryn and Audrey exchanged a few polite, muted words on the walkway. Audrey’s gaze flicked briefly toward the house, her eyes scanning the dark windows, but her expression remained entirely unreadable. She didn't look angry. She just looked detached.
Simon stepped back deeper into the shadows, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, watching until the taillights of her car disappeared down the street.
∞∞∞
The gray, overcast morning matched the desolate landscape of Simon’s mind. He sat at Kathryn’s small kitchen table, staring blankly at a mug of black coffee that had gone stone cold an hour ago.
