But when we hit the trail, Finn is darting ahead of all of us.
The narrow dirt track is lined with ferns and wildflowers, and tree roots twist like veins underfoot, with sunlight shimmering off the river that runs alongside part of the path. Dragonflies skim the surface of the water, their wings catching flashes of iridescent blue.
Mikaela grabs Rhys’s hand and swings their arms dramatically with each step. I walk behind them, just enjoying the scenery—my kids, my man, and beautiful nature.
Halfway up the trail, Finn spots a rope swing dangling over a swimming hole where the river widens and slows. “Can I? Please?”
Rhys raises an eyebrow at me. “You okay with it?”
“Sure.” I wave a hand. “Go for it. Be careful. I don’t want to go to the ER today.”
Rhys kicks off his shoes and wades in with Finn, the water splashing up around his calves in bright, silvery arcs.
The river is clear enough that I can see the smooth stones under his feet, shifting as he steadies his stance. He grabs the rope, tests its strength with a tug, then holds it out for Finn, who bounces on the balls of his feet, buzzing with adrenaline. Rhys plants himself, muscles tightening as he anchors the rope, while Finn clutches it, takes three running steps, and launches himself into the air. His whoop splits the quiet morning, echoing through the trees as he drops with a clean splash into the deep pool below.
Mikaela squeals, then kicks off her sneakers and races toward Rhys, her arms pinwheeling. “Me next! Daddy, me next!”
Rhys laughs, water droplets catching in his hair as he crouches to help her. “All right, baby girl. One hand here—yep, like that. Ready?”
She nods fiercely, gripping the rope with both small hands.
Rhys stands knee-deep in the river, steady and sunlit, guiding both our children into joy.
Mikaela squeals and claps.
I stay on the bank, watching the man I married—barefoot, laughing, drenched in sunlight and river water. My son beside him, a perfect miniature. We’re making new core memories, softening the sharp ones from the past few years.
Rhys turns then and catches my gaze. He smiles. It’s the one from before med school, before exhaustion and bitterness crept in.
By the time both kids have taken three turns each on the rope swing, they’re soaked.
Rhys waves them over and pulls a stack of beach towels from the backpack.
He dries Mikaela’s hair with one, rubbing gently until it stands up in damp little curls, then tosses another to Finn.
There’s even a small plastic bag for the wet clothes and a change of shirts for both kids. Rhys packed all of it. Thought of all of it. And watching him kneel in the shade, toweling off our son’s hair while barking a playful, “Hold still, bud,” I am astounded at how much he’s changed, how much effort he puts into everything.
Later, we settle at a picnic table beneath a spread of maples, their leaves casting soft, dappled shadows over us. The table is rough and sun-warmed beneath my hands. Cicadas hum in the distance. It’s idyllic.
Rhys unwraps the ham-and-cheese sandwiches he packed while Finn chugs iced tea from one of the two large thermoses.
Finn picks up his sandwich. “Dad, this is awesome. You should plan stuff more often.”
Rhys rubs a hand through his hair, delighted with our son’s request. “I will, bud.”
Mikaela leans her head on my shoulder. “Can we come back tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow, baby,” I murmur. “But soon.”
Rhys glances at me over the kids’ heads. We smile at each other.
How long has it been since I felt that we were a team?
A long time. But we’re here now, and as I sit in the dappled light with my family, I decide to enjoy it, believe it, not wait for the other shoe to drop.
CHAPTER 24
Rhys
