The vulnerability in his confession is devastating. I see the weight of regret written across his face, the what-ifs that have haunted him for longer than I’ve been alive.
“I’m not telling you what to choose,” he says quietly. “But I am telling you that choosing obligation over love leaves scars that never fully heal.” His steel-gray eyes hold mine. “You’ve been given a second chance. Don’t waste it.”
He gathers his folder, preparing to leave. But he pauses at the door, his hand on the knob. “Miss Davis is pregnant, isn’t she?”
The question makes my blood run cold. I don’t answer, can’t answer, but my silence is confirmation enough.
“I thought so.” His expression softens slightly. “Congratulations. All of you.” He opens the door, then looks back one final time. “Be smart. Be careful. And for God’s sake, be happy.”
Then he’s gone, leaving the three of us sitting in stunned silence.
I stare at the door, my mind spinning through everything he just said. The mercy he’s shown us. The warning wrapped in understanding. The knowledge that we’ve been given something precious and rare, a second chance we don’t deserve but desperately need.
Marcus makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Did that just happen?”
“I think so.” Elijah’s voice is shaky. “I think the Bishop just…blessed us?”
I can’t speak past the lump in my throat. Can’t process the magnitude of what just occurred. We were prepared for condemnation, for separation, for the destruction of everything we’ve built. Instead, we’ve been given permission to keep loving her. To keep being a family, however unconventional.
The door opens again, and my heart stops.
Charlie stands in the doorway, her hazel eyes wide with fear and hope in equal measure. “What happened?” Her voice trembles. “I’ve been waiting…”
I stand before I can think, before I can remember all the reasons I’m supposed to be careful, my feet carry me across the office then she’s in my arms, her body warm and soft against mine. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the vanilla scent that’s become as necessary as air.
For the first time in weeks, I don’t care who might be watching.
46
CHARLIE
I find Isabella in the empty church, sitting in the third pew from the front where she used to sit with Marcus years ago.
The afternoon light streams through the stained glass windows, painting her dark hair in jewel tones.
She doesn’t look up when I slide into the pew beside her, she just stares at the altar with an expression that makes my chest ache.
“I know you’re here to ask me not to use these.” Her voice is flat as she pulls a manila envelope from her purse, setting it on the wooden seat between us. “The photos I took through the rectory window.”
My stomach drops, but I force myself to remain calm. “Can I see them?”
She opens the envelope, spreading the photographs across the pew. My breath catches. There I am, visible through Adrian’s window, my body pressed between all three of them. The angles are intimate, damning, impossible to explain away as anything innocent. Isabella’s hands shake as she arranges them.
“I could destroy you with these,” she says quietly. “Send them to the diocese. To the media. Make sure everyone knows what you’ve been doing.”
I look at her profile, at the pain written across her beautiful face, and something in me shifts. “You could. And maybe I deserve it.” I take a breath. “I tried to steal from this church, Isabella. Five thousand dollars from the collection plate because my grandmother was dying and I was desperate. Father Cross found me with the money in my hands, and instead of calling the police, he showed me mercy I didn’t deserve.”
She turns to look at me, her dark eyes widening slightly.
“I was broken,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “Completely broken. And these three men looked at me like I was worth keeping anyway.” My throat tightens. “They saw all my failures, all my mess, and they chose me. Not because I’m special or sophisticated. Just because I’m me.”
Isabella’s hands tighten on the photographs. “You don’t understand what you took from me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” I meet her eyes. “But I’m asking you anyway. Will destroying us heal your pain? Will watching Marcus lose everything make you feel better?”
She stares at the photos, her jaw working. “I wasted fifteen years waiting for him. Building a fantasy in my head about what we could be. I convinced myself that if I just waited long enough, if I became perfect enough, he’d choose me.” Her voice cracks. “But he never did. And now he’s chosen you instead.”
“He didn’t choose me instead of you,” I say quietly. “He chose himself. The man he wants to be instead of the man he was running from.” I watch her face, see the tears gathering in her eyes. “You deserved better than someone who was using you to escape his own failures.”
