“I don’t regret it,” I said. “Any of it. I need you to know that.”
“I know.”
“You gave me Timmy. You gave me years of normalcy. Of feeling like maybe I could have a regular life.”
“You gave me a family. Not to mention this whole chaotic, demon-fighting, world-saving mess. And I loved it, Kate. I loved every minute of it.”
“Even the parts where you almost died?”
“Even those.” He squeezed my hand. “Though I could have done without the coma. As for the visions...” he trailed off with a shrug. “Those, I’m getting used to.”
I laughed despite myself and felt tears prick at my eyes. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not dying. I’m going to Rome.” He pulled back enough to look at me. “And I meant what I said. I’m not leaving Timmy’s life. Video calls, visits, whatever it takes. He’s my son. That doesn’t change just because his parents couldn’t make it work. That goes for Allie, too. I didn’t suffer through that girl’s puberty for nothing.”
I laughed, wiping my eyes with my free hand. “I know you’ll be there for him. For both of them.”
Stuart was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, crossed to his dresser, and opened the top drawer. When he turned back, he was holding something small.
“I want you to have this.”
It was a piece of paper, folded into quarters and soft with age. I took it carefully, unfolding it to reveal a child’s drawing—stick figures in bright crayon, a house with a pointed roof, a yellow sun in the corner.
“Timmy’s first drawing,” Stuart said. “The one he made in preschool. ‘My Family.’ That’s you, and that’s supposed to be me, and that blob is either Allie or possibly a dog. He was three. Artistic accuracy wasn’t his strong suit.”
I remembered the day Timmy had brought this home, so proud of himself, demanding we put it on the refrigerator immediately. It had hung there for months before Stuart had quietly taken it down and—I’d assumed—thrown it away.
“You kept it.”
“Of course I kept it.” He sat back down beside me. “Kate, whatever else happens. Whatever choices we’ve both made. Whatever comes next. We made something good together. That little boy down the hall is the best thing I’ve ever done. And I wanted you to have something to remember that. To remember us before everything got complicated.”
I looked at the drawing. At the crooked figures and the too-big sun. At the word FAMLY written across the top in wobbly letters.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For this. For everything.”
Stuart leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was gentle. Final.
“Be happy, Kate,” he said. “You deserve it. And so does he.”
I didn’t have to ask who he meant.
I stood, still holding the drawing, and walked to the door. “Stuart?”
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, you were a good husband. A great father. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”
“You were exactly what I needed,” he said. “For exactly as long as I needed it. That’s not nothing, Kate. That’s everything.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and slipped out into the hallway.
Behind me, I heard him resume packing. Shirts folding. Drawers closing. The quiet sounds of a man preparing to leave.
I went to my room and tucked Timmy’s drawing into my bedside table, next to the photo of Eric and me from our wedding day that I’d never quite been able to throw away.
Two lives. Two loves. Both real. Both true.
Soon, Stuart would leave for Rome.
