Cam
I’m halfway through summer camp forms at my desk in the clubhouse when my phone buzzes
I see Kate’s name and answer it. “Hey, Katie.”
I hear her exhale, then she whispers, “Hey. Can you come over?”
I’m already grabbing my keys.
“Of course, baby. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just…I need you.”
I press the button to unlock my truck and climb in. “I’m on my way. Do you need to stay on the phone?”
“No, I’ll see you whenyou get here, okay?”
“Okay. Just call again if you need anything before I get there, all right?”
“All right. See you in a minute.” She hangs up, leaving me to spiral as I drive down Main Street.
The drive to her house is a blur. All I feel is the knot of worry building behind my ribs. By the time I pull into her driveway, my pulse is thudding hard enough that I barely remember cutting the engine.
The second I walk through the front door, I know something’s wrong. Kate is standing in the kitchen with her hands braced on the counter, head bowed between her shoulders like she’s trying to breathe through something. The sight sends worry shooting through me.
“Kate?” I keep my voice low, careful. “What happened?”
She doesn’t look up at first. She inhales a shaky breath, the kind she takes when she’s trying to hold herself together by force, not ease. When she finally lifts her head, her eyes are shiny, glassy in a way I haven’t seen since the night she told me about the custody papers.
“Cam,” she whispers, and the crack in her voice hits me dead center. “He came by.”
The words take a beat to register, but when they land, everything in me pulls tight. “Daniel?” I ask, even though her expression already answers it.
She nods. Her chin wavers, eyes glassing over, and before she can hide it, tears slide down her cheeks. The sight knocks the air out of me. My body reacts before my mind does—every instinct narrowing to one thought: get to her. Hold her. Make her feel safe.
I steady myself on the back of the chair, not because I’m angry—because the urge to close the distance is so strong it nearlytopples me forward. I want to pull her into my arms, shield her from whatever he said, whatever he implied, whatever memory he tried to resurrect.
And beneath that instinct—quiet but relentless—comes the second one: track Daniel down and make damn sure he understands that showing up uninvited will never happen again. Not with her. Not with Evie. Not with the life she’s built.
But I don’t go looking for him. I go to her.
I cross the kitchen slowly, giving her space to breathe, to see me coming. When she presses both hands over her eyes as if she’s ashamed of falling apart, I gently ease one down and cup her cheek, guiding her gaze back to mine.
“Katie,” I whisper, thumb smoothing the tear that falls. “Talk to me.”
Her breath shudders out. “He asked for Evie. Just—showed up. And he said—” She stops, swallowing hard, voice breaking. “He said the court will see I’m overwhelmed. That I’m doing too much. That I’m tired.”
Her shoulders fold inward, and a quiet sob slips free—small, almost inaudible, but it hits me like a blow to the ribs. I slide my arms around her, pulling her in despite the way she tries to hold herself back, and she caves against my chest like she’s been holding this weight for hours.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shirt, shaking. “I—I hate that he still gets to me.”
I press my cheek to the top of her head, fingers threading gently into her hair. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” My voice comes out low, too calm for what I’m feeling. “He came here to rattle you. That’s the only tool he has. And you’re allowed to feel rattled. You’re human, Katie. You’ve carried this alone for years.”
She clutches my shirt tighter. “He made it sound like I’m failing.”
My jaw flexes so hard it hurts. The thought of Daniel standing on this porch, talking down to her, judging her, making her feel small—it lights every fuse inside me. I want to go after him, but her trembling pulls me back, anchors me.
I bend my head, voice firm but soft against her hair. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. Do you know how unbelievable it is—everything you’ve done for Evie? Everything you’ve built on your own?” I pull back just enough to see her face, her lashes wet, her cheeks streaked. “That man doesn’t get to define you. Not anymore. And he sure as hell doesn’t get to make you doubt what kind of mother you are.”
