For a long moment, I sat with the subtle—the kind you can’t outrun, the kind that makes it impossible to lie to yourself.
Beneath the worry and the ache, under every excuse I kept rehearsing, there was something else there, too.
I just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, put a name to it.
Chapter 18
Dani
Once we hung up, the screen went black, but the image of Logan’s half-smile in the glow of some dim hotel lamp and the rough scrape of fatigue in his voice softening when he’d said my name, lingered for a while.
I’d meant to hang up right after Harper fell asleep, but somehow, as it often did lately, the conversation had wandered, like something neither of us wanted to set down.
And then it was over, and he was 2,534 miles away again.
I set the phone on the couch cushion next to me, exhaled slowly, and glanced toward Harper who was fast asleep in her blanket cocoon beside me. Her tiny hand still rested on the corner of her dad’s jacket, as if trying to keep him close.
“You really are your dad’s girl,” I whispered. “Can’t let go, even in your sleep.”
The clock ticked softly in the background. The TV played some late-night rerun on mute. The whole space, this house,carried a warmth I hadn’t expected to feel in a place that wasn’t mine.
And that realization wasn’t lost on me.
It had only been a couple of weeks here, but it already felt like a rhythm. Not mine, not exactly, but something we built together.
Mornings started with sleepy hair and mismatched socks. Harper refused to eat anything “boring,” so every breakfast had to involvesomething special.
Monday was pancake faces.
Tuesday was fruit smileys.
On Wednesday, we tried to make egg muffins and ended up with… egg disasters.
She laughed so hard I almost forgot I was supposed to be the responsible adult.
After drop-off, I worked from Logan’s kitchen table: laptop open and legal briefs spread across the counter like a paper storm. Harper’s art supplies had already claimed one corner, and every day she’d leave me a new “office decoration.”
A rainbow, a unicorn with reading glasses, a drawing of me sitting at my computer with the words“Ms. Dani is a boss.”It softened something in me I didn’t realize had hardened.
In between emails, I’d catch myself glancing at the empty coffee mug Logan used every morning, still on its shelf.
He’d washed it before leaving, careful and methodical — the same way he seemed to live his whole life: structured, controlled, and safe.
And yet, Harper was all chaos and color.
The balance between them was almost poetic.
By Friday night, our “spa night” routine was in full effect.
It started when Harper caught me painting my nails after dinner.
“Can I match?” she’d asked.
And within minutes, we had a full salon set-up: a towel wrapped around her head, cucumber slices we’d stolen from thefridge resting unevenly across her eyes, her nails now a matching red color.
She’d giggled through most of it. And when it was my turn, she painted exactly three of my nails before getting distracted by a new sticker book I had picked up for her. It was ridiculous and messy, but it was exactly what I had needed after a full day of work.
Somewhere between the glitter and the laughter, I felt a lightness wash over me. No deadlines chased me here. No courtroom posturing or client phone calls pulled at my nights. Just a little girl believing in the magic of spa nights, and a quiet house embracing us both, offering space for breath.
