He kisses me when he walks through the door.Pulls me close while we’re cooking dinner just because he wants to feel me in his arms.Calls me Honey in that deep voice of his like the word was invented for me alone.
I have never felt so loved.And I have definitely never had so much attention.
He makes me feel happy, vibrant, energized, which is saying something, considering my husband is built like a mountain and apparently has the stamina of a professional athlete.I shift slightly in my seat and hide a smile behind my hand.
But it hasn’t all been perfect.The attempted kidnapping shook all of us.
Especially me.
For a few days afterward, I couldn’t take my eyes off Evan without imagining every terrible possibility in the world.I caught myself hovering—asking too many questions, checking on him too often.
Hell, I was practically smothering him with maternal concern.J.T.noticed immediately.He always does.And he knew exactly what to say to ease my mind.
“You gotta breathe, Honey,” he told me one night while we were standing in the kitchen watching Evan do homework at the table.
“What if?—”
“He’s safe,” J.T.said gently.
And the way he said it made me believe him.Because J.T.doesn’t say things lightly.And he protects Evan like the boy is his own.
Which, I guess, he is now.
The way they’ve bonded in such a short time still amazes me.Evan hangs on his every word—whether they’re feeding the goats, fixing something in the barn, or just sitting on the couch watching baseball together.
Sometimes I catch them laughing about something and my chest aches with how right it feels.
It makes me love J.T.even more.
I haven’t told him yet.Not in those exact words.
But I will.
Soon.
Because keeping it inside feels wrong somehow—like I’m holding something back from him that he deserves to hear.
And J.T.Lawrence deserves honesty.
He deserves everything.
A few days pass.Then suddenly we’re back in family court.
The courthouse feels just as suffocating as it did before.
Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.Old wooden benches.A handful of other families sitting quietly in the hall, waiting for their lives to be picked apart by strangers.
This is family court.
Where people come when everything is falling apart.
Mike is already seated at the table when we enter.
His parents sit beside him, stiff and composed, their posture screaming respectability even though the situation they’ve dragged us into is anything but.
Together they present a united front.
Mike doesn’t even look at me at first.
