“We’ll be right back, Mama,” she promised.
“I know, baby,” I said, hugging her back tightly.
George stood at the door, watching us with that serene expression he always had when we were around the kids.
“Alright, you two,” he finally said.“Go grab your backpacks and wait for me in the car. I need to talk to Mom for a sec.”
The kids ran off, their giggles echoing down the hall. I got up and turned to face George.
“Please, send hourly updates,” I said, trying to keep the mood light.
George smirked, that infuriating but oddly endearing half-smile of his.
“Twice a day.”
“George…” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If you need more, you can come with us,” he teased.
“Fuck no. Your mother hates me,” I shot back without hesitation.
“She doesn’t hate you,” he said, but even he sounded unconvinced. “Hate’s a strong word.”
I let out a snort. “It’s the perfect word.”
I wasn’t exactly the poster child for the perfect daughter-in-law back then. I was wild—heavy eyeliner, dark lipstick, and half my wardrobe looked like it was stolen from an edgy teenage girl’s closet. And I didn’t hold back when I talked. If something came to mind, I said it.
I thought ten years of being a responsible adult, a decent wife, and a good mom would’ve changed her opinion. It didn’t. I could’ve cured cancer, and she’d still find a way to disapprove.
“She hates that our kids are ‘children of divorce.’ And, according to her, that’s all my fault,” I said.
George’s smirk softened, and he took a step closer.
“They don’t have to be,” he said quietly. “There’s still time to cancel the papers.”
My chest tightened. I looked up at him, hoping he was joking, but I could see it in his eyes. He was serious. He had been more subtle about his wish to give this another go, but seeing me with Chris had changed things completely. The flowers came back, and now he was clearly ready to pull it all out there.
“Please, stop,” I whispered.
“Why?” he pressed. “I get it. You needed to see what was out there. You had your fling with the actor. But now it’s time to come home.”
Home. The word hit me harder than it should’ve. I wanted to laugh it off, to make a joke, but I couldn’t. The idea of something easy, something familiar, was so tempting it scared me. George stepped closer, cupping my chin in his hand and tilting my face toward him.
“I love you, Jules,” he said softly, and then he kissed me.
His lips were warm, familiar, and safe. I let myself sinkinto it, into him, into the nostalgia of what we used to be. Our foreheads rested together after the kiss, both of us holding onto the moment a little too long. I was so exhausted, and for a moment, I wanted to stay. Yet I knew better than to come back to the same cycle.
We were great at being friends and amazing at co-parenting, but as a couple, we were a mess. We always put ourselves last. Work came first, the kids second, and by the time we got to each other, there was nothing left. It spiraled like it always did.
“I’ll always love you, George,” I whispered. “But I can’t go back. We were making each other miserable… hoping for a version of us that doesn’t exist anymore.”
His shoulders sagged, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. It nearly broke me.
“Are you going back to him?” he asked after a long pause, and I knew he meant Chris.
I shook my head. “It’s not about him. It’s about me. I’m better now.We’rebetter now. You’re holding on because it was really precious.”
George’s hand was warm against my cheek, his fingers tracing the side of my face and sliding down to my clavicle.
