Millie studies me for a moment before asking, “What was your first trimester like? Was it as tough as they say?”
I’m quiet for a moment, trying to piece together the scattered memories from that time. “Honestly, I don’t remember much from the beginning,” I admit. “I was in survival mode. Everything felt like it was falling apart after Cole went to prison. I was just trying to get through it, day by day.”
Millie’s expression softens with understanding. “Yeah, I canonly imagine how hard that must’ve been for you,” she says quietly. “But look at you now. You’ve come so far, Kenna. You’ve got Cohen, and a good life.”
I glance over at Cohen, who’s in the backyard now with Aura, the two of them chasing each other through the grass. Their laughter is light and real—carefree in a way that reminds me what childhood is supposed to look like. What I’ve tried so hard to give him.
“I’m trying,” I say, my voice a whisper more to myself than to her. “Some days it feels like I’m doing it right. Other days…” I trail off.
Millie reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “You’re allowed to have both kinds of days.”
I blink back the sudden sting behind my eyes. “Thank you.”
Millie just nods, and in that quiet, I feel a kind of sisterhood form between us—built not on years of shared history, but on something deeper. The understanding of what it means to carry the weight of new life while still healing from the life before it.
We stand there for a few minutes, watching our kids tumble across the lawn, shrieking with laughter. Cohen is chasing Aura with a stick that’s clearly meant to be a magic wand, and she’s pretending to turn him into a frog with every step.
“He’s so good with her,” Millie says softly. “She looks up to him.”
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “He doesn’t even realize it, but he’s teaching her how to be kind just by being himself.”
She places a hand on her belly again, thoughtful. “That’s the energy I want around this baby. The kind that’s...gentle without being fragile. Strong with no need to prove it.”
I nod. “That’s Cohen. And...that’s what I want for him, too. A world where gentleness may be loud. Where it’s safe.”
As the day winds down, Cohen and I decide to stop by Reuben’s restaurant on the way home to grab some takeout. Cohen’s been asking about seeing Reuben in the back office all day, so I let him go while I wait at the counter. I’m not really in the mood for talking to anyone, but I’m trying to stay present for Cohen.
I’m just about to place our order when the bell above the restaurant door jingles behind me.
I don’t think much of it since Reuben’s place is always busy around dinner, but something makes me turn.
And there he is. Cole.
He steps inside like he’s unsure whether he belongs. His eyes scan the room, casual at first, until they land on me. Then he stops.
Just like that, the air shifts.
He wasn’t expecting me either.
Neither of us moves. He stays still, and so do I. The sounds of clinking glasses and low voices seem to disappear, like the room has gone still, frozen in place.
He looks older. Leaner. Not just from the passing years, but from everything those years have put him through.
Our eyes lock for a heartbeat too long. I feel my pulse quicken. I find myself preparing for something I wasn’t ready to face today. Maybe not ever.
He steps forward slowly, not in any rush, but not retreating either. There’s no script here. No safety.
“Kenna,” he says, his voice low and a little rough. Like he’s surprised to hear it himself.
I nod once. “Hey.”
He looks around, like he wants to pretend he’s here for some other reason. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Same to you,” I say. My voice is steady, but my hands betray me—clenching a little too tightly around my wallet.
He nods, eyes darting toward the register, then back to me. “Just grabbing something to go. My mom swears Reuben has the best pulled pork in town.”
Of course it’s an accident. Of all the places Cohen begged me to come tonight, Cole walks in. I can almost laugh at how the universe works. Almost.
