Maybe she was right. Maybe I was the kind of man women kept around until someone better came along. Reliable. Convenient. Easy to have—and easier to leave.
The sky lightened another shade. Somewhere behind me, the station was starting to stir. The day shift would be here soon. I’d have to go back inside, put on the face, pretend I wasn’t hollowed out.
I’d gotten good at pretending.
The crunch of gravel made me look up.
A car pulled into the lot. Not a truck I recognized. Not one of the crew. A small sedan, silver in the gray light, easing into the space beside mine.
My heart stopped.
Grace.
She was getting out of the car slowly, one hand braced on the door, the other pressed against her belly.
She looked up and saw me.
Neither of us moved.
She was wearing one of those loose maternity dresses, the kind that flowed over her belly—soft gray in the early light. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, not pulled back the way she usually wore it for work. She looked like she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Like she’d driven here before she could talk herself out of it.
She looked terrified.
I was off the tailgate before I could think. I met her at the edge of the pavement. My hand found her elbow, steadying her without pulling her closer.
“Careful,” I said. “The gravel’s uneven.”
Grace looked up at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, shadowed underneath. She hadn’t slept either. Something about that made my chest ache.
“Owen.” My name on her mouth. Rough, like she’d been practicing what to say and forgotten all of it.
I didn’t fill the silence. I just kept my hand on her elbow, holding her steady.
“I gave Marcus eleven years,” she said. “And I never once looked at him the way I look at you.”
The words hit somewhere below my ribs. I didn’t move. Didn’t trust myself to.
She stepped closer. “I’m not choosing you because Marcus let me down. I’m not choosing you because you were there when I needed someone.” Her voice shook, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. “I’m choosing you because you’re the only one I want.”
“Grace—”
“Let me finish.” She lifted a hand, and I stopped. “Please. I need to say this.”
I nodded.
She took another step closer. Close enough now that I could smell her shampoo, something floral beneath the cold air.
“You never tried to make me smaller,” she said. “In eleven years with Marcus, I shrank. I made myself quieter. More convenient. Easier to fit into his life. I forgot what it felt like to take up space.” Her voice cracked. “But you never asked me to be less than I am. Not once. In sixteen years, you never made me feel like I had to earn your attention.”
All the Saturdays. All the mornings. All the small excuses I’d used just to stay close.
“You built a nursery for a baby that isn’t yours,” Grace continued. “You remembered where my grandmother’s rocking chair used to sit. You remembered I was afraid of the dark as a child, and you bought a nightlight shaped like the moon.” Hereyes were bright now, tears threatening. “You’ve been loving me with your hands for years, Owen. And I was too scared to see it.”
Her hand found my chest, right over my heart. I could feel the warmth of her palm through my shirt. Could feel my heartbeat slamming against her touch.
“When I think about Saturday mornings for the rest of my life,” she said, “I want them to be with you. When I think about what I want to teach this baby about love, I want to teach her that it’s a choice. It’s not settling, not an obligation. It’s about choosing.”
Her other hand came up to my face. Her fingers were cold against my jaw.
