Her smile bloomed slow, shy, but steadily. A smile that rooted itself in your chest and refused to leave. She pressed a hand to my jaw, thumb brushing over my beard, memorizing every word, every look.
For years, I’d lived convinced that love wasn’t meant forme anymore, that too much had been broken, that too many ghosts lingered. But hearing her saystay, hearing her claim that her kids loved me too, affirmed that this wasn’t temporary.
This was a life being built brick by brick.
I kissed her forehead, holding her closer. “I’m not going anywhere, Camille. Not from you. Not from them,” telling her just as much as I was telling myself.
“Okay, okay!” I tried to sit up, but the toddler on my chest squealed, bouncing like she’d discovered her own personal trampoline. “You guys are ruthless.”
“Again!” one of the twins demanded, giggling so hard she hiccuped.
I groaned dramatically. “What am I? Your jungle gym?”
“Yes!” Zeke piped up from the other side of the bed, not even looking up from the Lego figure he’d smuggled in with him.
Camille shot me a look through her laughter, the kind that saidwelcome to my life. And for some reason, instead of feeling out of place, I felt like I’d been invited in.
Chapter Forty
Camille
My textbooks lay scattered across the kitchen table, a single highlighter tracing neon across pages, the unfinished paper blinking from the laptop with expectation. Hunter hung out with us for a while longer that morning, before heading off to get himself ready for work. The coffee he’d made before he left now sat cold on the table. Fatigue hung in the air, a heavy fog that wouldn’t lift. Responsibilities crowded in; deadlines loomed, the endless juggle of work and home, the nagging ache of feeling never quite enough. I felt hollowed out, bone-tired, with rare moments never refilling me completely. And then, when least expected, there was him.
My phone buzzed. No caption. No emoji. Just a link.
Hunter:“Beautiful Crazy” by Luke Combs.
I stared at the screen, chest tightening before I even pressed play. It was so him, sending a song instead of words, lettingthe music say what he never quite could. Somehow, that said more than any message ever would.
I tapped the link and let the first smooth notes fill the room. His voice wrapped around me, warm and sure, carrying a promise I could almost believe. I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket tighter, and let myself just be present for a while.
The lyrics washed over me, sudden and overwhelming.
“Beautiful, crazy. She can’t help but amaze me.”
The words landed deep. The song wasn’t just about looks, it was about being seen, every flaw and edge, and still being chosen. The lines about waking up grateful just to have her there, about finding joy in a smile, felt like he was holding up a mirror I barely recognized.
“Yeah, she’s crazy. But her crazy’s beautiful to me.”
I pictured him crouched on the floor, building Lego towers with Zeke as if nothing else mattered. Letting the twins climb onto his back, laughing as he dropped into push-ups until they shrieked with delight. Catching my eye across a crowded room, smiling as if I was the only one there.
I typed fast, fingers shaking:
Me:You can’t just drop this on me
with no context.
The reply came almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for it.
Hunter:Don’t need context. Just listen.
So I did. Again.
Every lyric pulled me deeper, threading into places Ithought I’d hidden for good. Words about gratitude, about never taking her for granted, about being enough just as she was.
No one had said things like that to me in years. Not in a way that felt real. Not in a way that felt earned. My ex’s words had always been sharp, critical, and draining, and by the end, I believed I was the problem, the reason he turned to drugs. The reason he became angry was that I finally left. There was this one night, I remembered sitting on the porch as he reminded me that I was too much and not enough all at once, as if the very fabric of who I was would never be right. Those words lingered as a constant reminder of why I felt undeserving of Hunter’s love. Yet now, I could see his judgment wasn’t a reflection of my worth. I was not too much or too little; I was simply more than he could handle. And here was Hunter, saying the exact opposite, without saying it at all.
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I curled into the corner of the couch, swiping them away with the back of my hand. The light from my phone blurred, and I pressed it to my chest, allowing it to anchor me. Blanket pulled up to my chin, soft threads twisting between my fingers, I tried to find some small comfort against the rush of feeling inside me.
