This Dean looked…unarmored. As if whatever he’d been holding in had finally cracked.
The sight of him like that—unguarded in the afternoon light—hit her harder than any well-crafted apology ever could. Because she knew what he looked like at his most vulnerable. She’d seen it in slivers in the early morning before his first coffee, in the soft quiet of their honeymoon, in the seconds after Nora was born.
But she hadn’t seen it in years.
But there it was again. And not just for a flicker. The softness she thought he’d buried for good was exposed for all to see.
For a split second, neither of them moved.
She swallowed hard.
“Dean,” she said, her voice steady but just barely.
His eyes locked onto hers. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, they weren’t hard. There was no veneer, no carefully measured tone. No quiet resentment simmering just beneath the surface. Just bare, unspoken emotion—fragile, unsure. Like he didn’t quite know how to stand in front of her without all the armor he’d worn for years.
A heaviness settled against her chest, tightening her throat.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
And just like that, the summer was over.
But something else—unfamiliar and tentative—was just beginning.
“Dad?” Even Nora seemed to sense it, her voice cutting through the hush as she stepped around the car with a mixture of surprise and caution.
“I’ve missed you guys so much.” Dean’s voice cracked as he crossed the porch. He didn’t hesitate with Nora. She flew into his arms, her laugh light and surprised when he hugged her close, the both of them trying to make up for all the weeks he’d been absent, even before they’d left.
Then he turned to Leanne, and she caught sight of a day’s worth of stubble on his chin. The man who would sometimes shave twice a day just to keep his face smooth…
They stood in front of each other, silent for a beat too long. The air was thick with everything they hadn’t said, everything they didn’t know how to say.
“I’ve got to go call—uh—Kelley,” Nora said suddenly, her voice a little too loud. She grabbed her bag and rushed inside, giving them privacy in a way that felt too practiced for an eighteen-year-old. She knew. She’d always known.
Leanne lifted her gaze, searching his. “You’re not wearing shoes,” she said—the only words that made it out.
He glanced down and then back at her with a faint, self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. Weird, right?”
“I just…can’t remember the last time I saw you barefoot,” she murmured.
He took a deep breath, the movement visible in his chest. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. On the phone.”
Leanne’s hand tightened on her purse handle. She hadn’t said much. Nothing revolutionary. Nothing directive. Just that they’d talk when she got back. That things needed to change. Her tone had carried more than her words. Maybe that was what had stayed with him.
“I should’ve been there,” Dean said, his voice breaking the silence again. “For the phone calls. For everything.”
Leanne said nothing.
Because finally, he was talking.
“Even more than that…” Dean’s voice was low, almost like he was speaking to himself. “I should’ve been with you. In this car. Driving across the country, helping you find your mom. I’m deeply sorry that I put my job above you. Above Nora.”
Leanne stayed still. Watching. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Dean apologize for anything in his life—certainly not about work. The silence stretched between them, soft and strange, like a familiar song played in a new key.
“I think…” she hesitated, her voice gentler than she expected. “I think it’s good you weren’t.”
His brows lifted in confusion, but she went on.
“Nora and I”—she smiled faintly—“we really needed this. My mom and I did too. This trip wasn’t just about finding her. But seeing each other again. All of us. Of finding ourselves.”
