“I’ve never seen him like this. So persistent. So committed. So alive. He smiles more, works harder than I’ve ever seen in all the years I’ve known him. And I just know that a large part of it is because of you. You’ve given him hope, a new purpose… just when he thought he had none left.
“I know he hurt you by keeping the truth of his past from you—a past that has weighed on him with overwhelming shame and regret, one he finally wishes to be free of. But I can tell you, without a shadow of doubt, he would rather die than ever hurt you like that again.”
I release a long, sharp breath, feeling the full weight of Jason’s words press down on me, like a heavy rock.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Jason. I haven’t been as oblivious as you seem to think. Yes, Kaden did something truly awful—so awful that he was too ashamed to tell me. But I’ve also seen the man he is now, the one striving to change, to grow, to ensure he never makes the same mistakes again. I see the effort he’s put in, not just towards our friendship and his relationship with my son, but within himself as well. And that’s why I gave him a second chance. I knew there was more to him than the shadows of his past.
“But I also need time—time to heal, time to learn how to trust with an open heart again. That’s what’s more important to me right now. I hope you can understand that.”
He offers me a soft, gentle smile and nods. “I understand completely, Hope. And one thing Kaden definitely has… is time.”
Chapter 43
Hope
Four weeks have passed since that heart-to-heart with Jason in my kitchen—one that forced me to re-evaluate who Kaden had been before me, and who he has become since our lives became intertwined. Though a small thread of doubt and fear still lingers at the back of my mind, I’ve begun to see him through a wider lens, allowing myself to discover more of the man he is now. And that man—is slowly, carefully, peeling back the walls around my guarded heart.
As for Zac and me, life continues to move forward, even without the steady presence of his father. And while it’s been a whirlwind of heartache and struggle, it has also been filled with moments of surprise, excitement, and lessons I never expected to learn.
One of those lessons has been learning to accept that I don’t have to be strong all the time—that I can loosen my grip on the steering wheel and let someone else take over for a change. It doesn’t mean I’m weak or incapable ofhandling things on my own. It simply means I’m human, and that sometimes strength isn’t standing independently, but admitting I need help, and finding the courage to ask for it.
I’ve not only sought out therapy for myself, but I’ve also been accepting help from my family, and from Kaden, who continues to prove to me, every single day, that giving him that second chance was the right decision.
Today, I’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon and evening at his apartment, after dropping Zac off at his friend’s house for a sleepover. Kaden needed a little help decking out his apartment with Christmas decorations—a task he’d left until just a few days before the holiday. We also decided to spruce up his balcony while we were at it—adding some outdoor plants and fairy lights.
One thing I’d always been curious about was where he worked on and stored all his pieces, given that his apartment didn’t exactly have the space for it. It was only today that I learned he leases a small commercial studio from one of his colleagues—about the size of a single garage. Just enough room to work on his projects. And since his pieces tend to sell fairly quickly online, the studio is rarely crowded, always leaving space for whatever he chooses to build next.
With the decorations finally arranged, his apartment now feels alive with holiday spirit, the Christmas tree shimmering like a cluster of stars against the night. So pleased with what we’ve accomplished, Kaden decides to celebrate by making us homemade pizzas, a small but perfect reward for a job well done.
While he busies himself in the kitchen, I sink into his super-comfy couch and scroll through the wide selection of movies on the TV, searching for one we can settle in with for the evening.
“What are you in the mood for—action, horror, comedy, romance?” I shout across to him.
“I’m easy. I’ll let you pick,” he replies, popping a small piece of capsicum in his mouth from behind the island.
I pick a newly released comedy on Netflix that looks promising based on the plot alone.I’m in the mood for something light, with a touch of humour, and honestly, you can never go wrong with a good comedy.
I click on the movie, but it doesn’t play. I try again. Still nothing. Tapping the back of the remote on my palm a few times, I jab at the OK button, but once more—nothing happens.
“Um… I think the battery in your remote is dead. Do you have a spare I could replace
it with?”
“There should be a brand new packet in the top drawer of my office desk.”I nod, then rise and make my way to his home office, easing through the door left slightly ajar.A solid oak desk sits at the centre of the room, and I find myself smiling as I admire the intricate craftsmanship of the custom piece, undoubtedly another of his brilliant creations.
I trail my hand along the smooth, polished grain, appreciating the way it feels beneath my fingertips. The desk is surprisingly neat, almost sparse. A laptop, an iPad, a notepad, and a single pen engraved with his initials are arranged on top. But it’s the small photo frame that catches my eye—him, Jason,and Jake standing in front of a breathtaking waterfall, all three with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera.
It’s the only photograph on display in the entire apartment, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s his way of keeping the rest of his past carefully out of sight.
Sliding the top drawer open, I sift through the scattered papers until I find what I’m looking for. I pull out the packet of batteries, and just as I’m about to close the drawer, something in the back corner pulls my gaze. An envelope—Skylar’s name scrawled across the front in big, bold letters.
Setting the batteries down on the desk, I quickly glance at the door, before sliding the envelope out. I know it’s wrong of me to snoop—to invade something that’s private, but curiosity guides my hands anyway, urging the folded pieces of paper free.
It’s a letter addressed to Skylar, his neat handwriting, the same I’ve seen on all the little notes he’s sent me—covering both sides of the two pages. I skim it quickly at first, then return to the start, where the opening line instantly holds my attention.
Dearest Skylar,
How do I begin to tell the one person I have loved more than anything in this world that I am profoundly sorry—for the pain I caused, for the vows I shattered, for the betrayal that brought ruin to everything we spent years building?
