I glance over at him. "You always show up."
His eyes find mine. There’s no teasing in them now. No smirk. Just something unwavering. "You do, too."
"No, I ran." My voice wavers. "I ran away and now I’m terrified I’ll have to do this—say goodbye—without ever really coming back."
"You’re back now," he says softly. "That’s what counts."
I press my fingers to my temples. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this."
"You are," he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. "But you don’t have to be strong alone."
My gaze drops to the floor. "What if I’m not ready to lose him?"
Brooks gently tugs me toward him, and this time, his hand lifts—not to touch, not yet—but to hover near my arm. "Then you don’t. Not today. Not right now."
And somehow, those few words undo me more than all the chaos, all the uncertainty.
I step into his arms without asking, without pretending. His embrace is solid and unshakable, and I let myself cry. Not the quiet tears I usually reserve for late nights and locked bathrooms, but the aching, silent sobs of a daughter bracing for the unknown.
He holds me through all of it.
He doesn’t rush it.
And when I finally pull away, wiping at my eyes, he looks at me with so much care it hurts.
"Come on," he says gently. "Let’s get some air. Just for a minute."
I nod, and we start walking.
Together.
Always together.
The automatic doors sigh open, and warm night air folds around us, heavy with cut grass and rain still clinging to the asphalt. Somewhere in the distance, a train horn cuts through the dark—soft, low, and human.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
This Path, These Trees
I wake early and start the coffee, the scent filling the quiet kitchen like a promise. Mom’s been sleeping at the hospital every night. She won’t go anywhere else. Not yet. But Jasper says it’s progress.
She still won’t step into a restaurant or walk the aisles of a grocery store, but she shows up for Dad. And somehow, that’s enough for now.
Today, Brooks and I are moving Dad’s things back into the bedroom. Dr. Kulkarni says his recovery is nothing short of miraculous. Faster than expected and stronger than anyone dared hope.
But I think I know the truth.
Love is healing him in ways medicine can’t. Maybe it always has.
I inhale a thankful breath. The house smells faintly of cedar and coffee grounds, the kind of morning scent that feels like safety. Outside, dew clings to the grass, and somewhere down the road, a dog barks. It’s a small, ordinary sound that shouldn’t matter, but it does. I press my palms to the warm countertopand just breathe. After weeks of sleepless nights, this quiet feels almost foreign, like I have to relearn how to exist inside calm.
Brooks returns just after eight, balancing two travel mugs in one hand and a small bakery bag in the other.
"I have fuel," he says with a half-smile, nudging the bag toward me. "Scones. Don’t ask me what kind. I just pointed at the ones that looked fancy."
I take the mug from him and sip. "You’re getting alarmingly good at showing up just when I need you."
He shrugs. "I’ve had years of practice."
