When our eyes met again, he smiled that soft, easy smile I’d come to love. “She’s got your sparkle now.”
I grinned. “Guess it’s contagious.”
And as he turned to follow Harper down the hall, I let myself feel it — the warmth, the safety, the pull of something more.
The ache from last night had dulled, but it was now replaced with something else entirely.
Chapter 24
Logan
Itold Dani I was coming home early for the weekend.
What I didn’t tell her was that I barely slept the night before. I told myself I was coming back early for Harper, that I missed her, that she needed me—but even then, I knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
When I turned onto our street, the house looked the same as it always had; low white siding, salt-streaked windows, the porch worn in familiar places from years of use. But something about it felt different, like the space itself had shifted in my absence. A small potted fern sat by the door, green and alive against the faded paint, and I knew immediately it hadn’t been there before.
I noticed it before I even cut the engine. And before I could open the door, it flew wide.
“DADDY!”
Harper came off the porch at full speed, launching herself toward me like she’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. I barely had time to step out before she collided with me, her arms wrapping tight around my waist. The impact knocked the breath from my chest, but my body adjusted instantly, hands lifting her, settling her weight like it had been waiting for it.
I buried my face in her hair and inhaled, letting the familiar scent ground me—sunscreen, strawberry shampoo, something faintly sweet that clung to her skin.
Home.
“Hey, bug,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. “Miss me?”
She nodded hard, curls bouncing. “A lot.”
Her arms tightened, and the guilt hit the way it always did—deathly still but heavy, settling deep in my ribs. It came with every goodbye, every trip, every stretch of time I wasn’t there to tuck her in or walk her to school. I’d told myself I was doing what I had to, building something stable for her, but it didn’t stop the way absence carved its own kind of space. Especially after everything she’d already lost.
“I missed you, too,” I admitted.
She pulled back just enough to grin. “Ms. Dani let me stay up late one night, but only because we finished homework.”
I huffed a breath. “Sounds like her.”
And that’s when I saw her.
Dani stood just inside the doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame like she hadn’t meant to be caught watching. Her fingers curled lightly around the wood, but there was tension in the way she held herself, like she was keeping from stepping forward too soon. She wore soft denim shorts and a light blue tank, simple and unguarded, the late afternoon light catching in her hair and softening the edges of her in a way that made the moment feel more intimate than it should have been.
She didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t move in.
She just let me have my daughter.
And something about the patience, the instinct to step back instead of insert herself, spoke volumes about the person she was. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t performative. It was just… Dani.
“Hey,” she said, her voice easy, steady in a way that didn’t ask for anything.
“Hey.”
I became aware of myself all at once. The sweat dried into my collar from the drive, the weight of the past few days sitting behind my eyes, the way her gaze lingered just long enough to make me feel seen in a way I wasn’t used to. She stepped forward then, closing the distance carefully, like she was still giving me room to decide if I wanted it.
The hug was brief, light.
