Page 65 of Falling For Alaska

I fold my hands in my lap. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay.”

A breath catches in my throat. “I’m afraid…to disappoint you.”

“Sweetie…”

“Maybe you should sit, Mom.”

“Okay, okay.” She lowers herself beside me, resting her hands over mine.

“I never told you, but…” I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “For the last six years, since…the accident,” my eyes meet hers, “I thought I was the reason Matthew died. I thought it was my fault that I couldn’t break the ice in time.” My voice is calm, but my fingers brush the scars on my hands. “It never occurred to me that it was really just an accident, that I had tried my best.”

“Honey…” Her voice breaks. “Why didn’t you tell us? That was never your burden to carry.”

“I didn’t want you to think that after losing one child, your second was the reason you lost him.”

“We would have never⁠—”

“I didn’t know that,” I whisper. “I was so young.”

A small frown creases between her brows, “What made you realize it wasn’t your fault?”

I clear my throat, murmuring, “Jack.”

“I already like him,” she says with a gentle tone. “He seems like a good man, Alaska. I’m happy for you.”

“I am too, Mom.” A tear slips down my cheek. “I thought I didn’t deserve to be happy, but…I am now. I really am.”

She cups my face, brushing my tears away. “Then why are you crying, honey?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

Her brows crease. “Why?”

“Because…I think…I could almost have the life of my dreams, and it would crush me if you disapproved.” Her hand moves in slow, comforting circles on my back, the way she used to when I was little.

“And what is this dream?” I look down, hesitant to meet her gaze.

“You’ve always taught me to be independent, but deep down…I’ve always dreamed of being a stay-at-home mom.” The words come out in a breath. “I know you disapprove. I know it’s not what people expect in today’s world. But as much as I love my bookshop…there’s nothing I want more than to build a family and be at home with them.” I feel her attention on me, then she looks up at a photo of Matthew on his desk. It was his first piano recital when he was eleven. The first time he wore a proper white shirt. I still remember Dad teaching him how to tie the knot in the bathroom.

She stands and takes the frame in her hands, exhaling as her fingers trace its edges. “Your father was so proud that day,” she murmurs. “I remember him tightening Matthew’s tie over and over, even though…it was already perfect. He wanted him to look just right. To feel proud of himself.” I stay quiet, watching her. She turns back to me, her expression unreadable at first. Then, with a tenderness I wasn’t expecting, she reaches for my hands.

“I’ve always wanted you to be strong, to stand on your own, because…I wanted you to have choices.” Her thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles. “If this is your choice, if this is the life you want, then how could I disapprove?”

“You really… mean it?”

“Honey, I may have taught you independence, but I never wanted you to be trapped in it.” She squeezes my hands. “If being a mother, a wife, is what you dream of, then that is strength too.” She cups my face again, her touch soft, familiar. “No dream of yours could ever disappoint me, okay, love?” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. I press myself into her arms and she holds me close, her hand moving in slow motions on my back. After a moment, she pulls back just enough to look at me, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“So, when do we get to meet this Prince Charming of yours?” Her lips quirk into a smile. “I have a lot to say to the man who’s made you this happy.” A watery laugh bubbles from my throat, but she’s not finished, arching a brow. “Of course, a little sit-down to discuss how to protect your finances properly is non-negotiable. But…other than that, honey, your dad and I support you one hundred percent.” She kisses my temple, and I squeeze her tighter. “Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.” She studies me for a moment, something certain and knowing in her gaze.

“So…he’s the one?”

I hesitate for only a second before nodding. “I think so, yes.” I smile, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. Her expression melts into something tender, like the way she looks when she talks about dad.

“Then let’s make some tea,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “And you can tell me all about him.” I follow her into the kitchen, the scent of chamomile and vanilla curling through the air, wrapping around me like an old, familiar embrace. The house doesn’t feel as cold as I remember. It changed, or maybe I have. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I missed this, coming back to my childhood home. I move through it like an archaeologist uncovering a lost treasure I once believed was buried forever.

Only it was never truly lost.