“What?”
“This doesn’t mean everything’s okay,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for keeping secrets. Or that I’m not still scared. It just means... I’m willing to try.”
“That’s all I’m asking for,” Derek said. He turned his hand over, palm up, and I slowly placed mine in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and steady. “I’ll prove it to you, Kat. Every single day. I’ll prove I’m worth the risk.”
I looked down at our joined hands, feeling the calluses on his palm, the strength in his grip.
“I hope so,” I whispered.
Frankie shuffled into the kitchen, still half-asleep. She stopped short in the doorway, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene. Derek and I sat at the table together, our hands linked, two cups of coffee steaming between us.
“Derek?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
He pulled his hand back slowly, but his eyes stayed on me for just a moment longer. “Hey, Curly Sue.”
“You’re here.” She looked between us, her expression shifting from surprise to cautious hope. “You’re... here. In our kitchen.”
“I am.” Derek glanced at me, uncertain. “Is that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Frankie’s face split into the brightest smile I’d seen in days. “This is the best morning ever.”
I felt something loosen in my chest. A knot of tension I’d been carrying since the moment I’d thrown him out of the house.
“Derek and I are going to see Haizley together,” I told her.
Frankie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really.” I took her hand. “We’re going to try to work through this. To see if we can make it work.”
Frankie threw her arms around me, squeezing tight. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”
I held her close, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, feeling the weight of her trust.
“I’m trying, baby,” I whispered. “I’m really trying.”
“I know.” She pulled back and smiled at me. “And that’s all that matters.”
Derek’s hand found mine under the table, his fingers threading through mine. I looked at him, and he looked back at me with so much hope and fear and desperate love that it made my chest ache.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For letting me stay.”
“Thank you for showing up,” I whispered back.
Frankie watched us with a knowing smile. “So can we have pancakes?”
Derek laughed. A real laugh, warm and genuine.
I stood, squeezing Derek’s hand before letting go. “Stay for breakfast?” I asked him, moving toward the kitchen.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’d like that.”
I pulled out a skillet and butter, acutely aware of Derek and Frankie at the table behind me. The morning light caught the edges of their profiles as they talked.
I whisked the eggs, butter sizzling in the pan, and watched them over my shoulder. Derek was looking at Frankie like she hung the moon, hanging on her every word. Frankie vibrated with excitement as she talked to him. She was planning a future with him, asking questions about what they could do together, her face lit up with the kind of genuine happiness that only comes from finally having something you’ve desperately wanted. A small future, maybe, but a future, nonetheless.
This was real.
This fragile, tentative, terrifying thing we were building—it was real.
