“Can we talk?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I nod because what else can I do? This is her father. My father, too, in every way that mattered. If she needs me, I won’t turn her away.
I stand as she crosses the room in slow, uncertain steps. And then, without another word, she leans into me. Her body folds against mine like she’s been holding herself rigid for too long. I wrap my arms around her, steadying her as more sobs break loose.
“I feel like he died disappointed in me,” she chokes out against my chest. “Like he never forgave me for what I did to you. Like—” She sucks in a jagged breath. “Like every decision I’ve made in the last four years was the wrong one.”
Her words slice through me. She’s grieving, and grief is cruel. It lies. It claws at every scar you thought had healed. But I can’t stand hearing her tear herself apart like this.
“Steph,” I murmur, tightening my arms around her, my palm against the back of her head, stroking her hair. “That’s not true. Those thoughts in your head? Those are lies. All lies. He loved you. He was proud of you. And there was nothing for him to forgive. You know that.It’s not like you hurthim.”
She pulls back a little, tears streaking her face, eyes desperate for something to hold on to. “But I did,” she whispers. “I hurt him when I hurt you. Because he loved you, just like he loved me.”
“I know he did.”
“And you,” she continues, eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. “Did you ever forgive me?”
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I nod. “I did. Maybe not all at once. But I forgave you. Somewhere along the line, I let it go. And your dad knew that.”
Her lips tremble, and her expression shifts, and she buries her face into my chest again.
I forgot how small she is. The top of her head barely reaches my shoulder. It almost feels like I’m hugging a child.
I think her tears are subsiding, but then she asks the last question I expect: “What if I do it again?” she whispers.
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“What if I mess up again?” She pulls her face from my chest again, tilting her gaze back up to mine. “What if I hurt Aaron the same way I hurt you?”
Her words knock the wind out of me. For a second, I just stare at her. “Why would you even ask that? Have you—” I hesitate, the thought tasting bitter. “Have you cheated on him?”
She shakes her head, gaze dropping to the floor. “No,” she whispers.
Then she looks up again, and her eyes flick to my mouth, lingering there. “But when dad got sick, I started thinking about… well, everything. About the past, and how I ruined everything. And what if…”
It’s not just grief in her face now—it’s something else. Something dangerous. Something that used to belong to us.
And for one suspended heartbeat, I feel it too. The echo of what we were, tangled with the raw ache of losing George. The air between us is heavy with everything unsaid, everything that should stay buried but refuses to die.
Before the moment can tip into something neither of us can take back, the door swings open.
Skye’s voice cuts through, sharp and merciless. “I hate to break up such a tender moment, but the service is about to begin—and your husband is looking for you, Stephanie.” She spits the wordhusbandlike it tastes sour.
Stephanie startles, stepping back fast—almost too fast. She wipes at her face with trembling hands, forcing a weak smile for Skye.
She doesn’t look back at me.
Stephanie slips past Skye and into the hallway without another word.
I drag my hand over my mouth, pulse hammering. “That wasn’t what it looked like?—”
“I don’t care what the fuck it looked like,” Skye snaps, fire in her eyes. “What you do with your ex-wife is none of my damn business.”
“Skye—”
“None. of. my. business,” she repeats, biting off the words. Then she steps aside, revealing Tori behind her.
Her eyes lock on mine, and Skye adds, “But it might be hers.”
