Chapter Fourty

Kyla

The gravel crunches beneath the tires, and before the car fully rolls to a stop, I can already feel the shift in the air. Fresh. Wide. Open. The countryside has always been different,it breathes differently, carries a quiet that feels alive instead of empty.

“Mommy, look!” Elias shouts, his little face pressed against the window. “There is so much space!”

The car jerks to a stop, and both my children explode with energy. The back doors fly open before I can tell them to wait, and suddenly Chanel and Elias are tumbling out, laughter spilling into the still air.

“It’s huuuuge!” Chanel spins in a circle, curls bouncing wildly as her eyes sweep over the sprawling yard, the long porch, the trees stretching behind the house like guardians. “Mommy, it’s like a castle!”

Elias doesn’t even wait for me to answer. He sprints across the driveway, arms flapping like wings. “I call the biggest room!” he yells, already plotting how to stake his claim like they weren't going to share a room anyway. 

I can’t help it despite everything, despite the knot of nerves twisting tighter in my chest, I smile. Their joy is contagious, a reminder of why I have kept going all these years.

The driver door shuts, and I glance sideways. Jake is already out, walking around the car with that steady, purposeful stride that hasn’t changed a bit. He opens my door without asking, without looking at me, but his presence fills the space like gravity itself.

“You shouldn’t move without help,” he says simply, extending his arm.

My pride flares. For a second, I want to refuse, to tell him I’m fine, that I can handle it. But the truth is brutal: I can’t. My legs still tremble if I try to stand too long. My balance is shot. And right now, with my kids darting around like firecrackers, the last thing I need is to collapse in front of them.

So I nod, swallowing my pride, and place my hand on his arm. The contact jolts me. His warmth seeps into my skin, the familiarity of his frame unnerving. Memories rush in before I can stop them nights when this hand was my anchor, mornings when his arm was the first thing I reached for.

I shake it off, forcing myself to focus on my steps.

One at a time. Slow. Careful. Jake matches my pace perfectly, patient but silent. He doesn’t glance at me, doesn’t offer small talk. The only sound is the squeals of my children, echoing off the walls of the house.

“Mommy, come see!” Elias’s voice booms from the porch as he jumps up and down. “woow, there is a swing too, this is awesome!”

Chanel bounces beside him. “And the door is sooo big! Can we open it? Please mommy?”

I want to laugh, to tell them to calm down, but my throat tightens. They look like they belong here already. Too comfortable, too at home. Because in reality, this is there home. 

We build it, decorated it everything here is designed for them. 

Jake’s grip shifts slightly, adjusting to steady me as we climb the last step. My chest pounds, not just from the effort, but from the weight of being here this house, this man, this unspoken storm brewing between us.

Inside, the air smells faintly of cedar and something clean, like the windows had been opened just this morning. The kids dart from room to room, their voices ricocheting down the hall.

“It’s like a maze!” Chanel squeals.

“I’m faster!” Elias shouts, already chasing her.

Their footsteps thunder on the wooden floor, and I flinch before I can stop myself. Too loud. Too much. But Jake’s low voice brushes my ear.

“They are safe. Let them be kids.”

Something in his tone makes me ache because he is right, and because it reminds me how often safety wasn’t a luxury in my own childhood.

By the time we reach the master bedroom, my legs feel like lead. Jake lowers me carefully onto the bed, his hands firm but gentle, his movements deliberate. I sink into the mattress with a shaky breath.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. He just stands there, looming slightly, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity I can’t read. It’s not pity, not exactly. It’s something heavier.

I clear my throat, desperate to cut through the silence.

“Jake” His name slips out softer than I intended. His gaze sharpens, locking on mine. My chest tightens.

“Can we, talk about this?” The words are fragile, trembling on my lips. About what happened. About why you are doing this now. About the kids. 

For half a heartbeat, I think he might stay. That he might lower himself to sit beside me, open the floodgates we have both been guarding. His jaw works, a muscle twitching.

Then he straightens abruptly, his face shuttering.

“I better check up on the kids,” he says, his voice clipped, almost mechanical.

The rejection lands like a blow. He turns without another glance, his broad back retreating as quickly as he’d appeared. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone in the echo of silence.

My hands clutch at the sheets, my body trembling with exhaustion and something sharper fear, anger, heartbreak. I don’t even know which anymore.

From the hallway, my children’s laughter rings out, bright and innocent. It should soothe me. Instead, tears sting my eyes, blurring the ceiling above me.

Because I know this isn’t just about today. This is the beginning of a storm I can’t keep at bay forever.