Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Harper

Lily’s school play was scheduled for the first Thursday of December, and by the time the day arrived, our entire family calendar had rearranged itself around a kindergarten production of “The Nutcracker” that Lily had described, with complete confidence, as “basically professional.”

“You’re sure Ethan’s coming?” I asked Damian that morning, watching him straighten his tie for what felt like the tenth time.

“He confirmed yesterday.”

“And you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’ve adjusted that tie four times in the last two minutes.”

Damian dropped his hands, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I’m nervous. This is the first time he’s spending real time with the family since everything with Hensley. I don’t want it to go badly.”

“It won’t,” I said, smoothing the collar he’d been fussing over. “Lily’s been talking about this for weeks. She wants him there. That matters more than anything else.”

“I know. I just don’t want to disappoint her if things get tense.”

I studied him for a moment, still occasionally amazed by how much this man had changed since the reckless night that started everything between us. The Damian I’d first met would never have worried about disappointing anyone, let alone admitted it out loud.

“You won’t disappoint her,” I said. “You’ve been showing up every single day since that conversation with Ethan. That’s not nothing.”

He smiled slightly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“I’ve had practice managing anxious Blackwood men.”

“Just the one, I hope.”

“For now,” I teased, earning myself a light swat before he pulled me into a proper kiss.

We arrived at the school an hour later, finding seats near the front of the auditorium beside Victoria, who had dressed for the occasion with the same formality she brought to actual corporate events.

“You didn’t have to wear pearls to a kindergarten play,” I said, amused.

“One always dresses appropriately,” Victoria replied, though the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “Also, Lily specifically requested I look ‘fancy.’”

“That sounds accurate.”

Ethan arrived just as the lights began dimming, sliding into the seat beside Damian with visible nervousness of his own. The two exchanged a brief nod, still awkward but noticeably warmer than the strained interactions from months earlier.

“Glad you made it,” Damian said quietly.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ethan replied. “She’d never forgive me.”

The play itself was chaotic in the specific way only kindergarten productions could be — costumes slightly askew, lines forgotten and improvised, one particularly memorable moment involving a toy soldier accidentally hitting another child with a prop sword. Lily, playing what she insisted was “the most important mouse,” delivered her three lines with the confidence of a Broadway veteran.

When the curtain finally closed and applause erupted through the auditorium, I glanced sideways at Damian, finding tears he was clearly trying to blink away before anyone noticed.

“Are you crying?” I whispered, delighted.

“No.”

“You absolutely are.”

“It’s dusty in here.”

“Damian.”

“She was the best mouse,” he said, voice rough with emotion he’d spent years suppressing. “Objectively. The best one.”

I laughed, squeezing his hand as Lily bounded off the stage moments later, still wearing her mouse ears, searching the crowd until she spotted us.

“Did you see me? Did you see my lines?”

“Every word,” Damian said, scooping her into his arms despite the awkward mouse costume. “Best performance I’ve ever seen.”

“Better than Broadway?”

“Much better than Broadway.”

Ethan crouched down once Damian set her back on her feet, offering an uncertain smile. “You were amazing, Lily.”

Lily studied him for a moment, something calculating behind her expression that reminded me uncomfortably of Victoria. “You actually came.”

“I did.”

“You’ve been busy lately.”

“I know,” Ethan said, something raw entering his voice. “I’m sorry about that. I’m trying to do better.”

Lily considered this seriously, the way only children could weigh sincerity without cynicism clouding their judgment. Finally, she extended her hand, small and solemn.

“Okay. But you have to come to my birthday party too. It’s got a unicorn theme.”

Ethan laughed, something genuine and relieved breaking through his earlier nervousness. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Watching the exchange, something settled warmly in my chest. Whatever fractures still existed within this family, healing seemed genuinely possible now, built patiently through small moments like this one rather than grand, dramatic gestures.

Damian

Later that evening, once Lily had finally exhausted herself from the excitement and fallen asleep clutching her mouse ears, Harper and I sat together in the quiet study, reflecting on the day.

“Ethan seemed different tonight,” Harper observed. “Lighter, somehow.”

“Therapy’s helping, apparently. He mentioned it briefly before the play started.”

“That’s good.”

“It is.” I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion mixing pleasantly with contentment. “I keep thinking about how different tonight would have looked a year ago. Ethan wouldn’t have shown up at all. I wouldn’t have known how to be present the way I was tonight. None of this would have existed without everything that happened between us.”

“The scandal, you mean.”

“All of it. The scandal, the fake marriage, the revenge plan that fell apart the moment you actually got to know me.” I reached for her hand, threading our fingers together. “I used to think chaos like that only destroyed things. I never considered it might rebuild something better in its place.”

Harper smiled, resting her head against my shoulder. “I think about that too, sometimes. How close we came to never actually finding this. If I’d succeeded with my original plan, if you’d pushed me away instead of letting me in—”

“We wouldn’t be here.”

“No,” she agreed. “We wouldn’t.”

We sat together quietly for a while, the house settled into peaceful stillness around us, holiday lights from the tree in the corner casting a warm glow across the room. Outside, the first snow of the season had begun falling steadily, blanketing the city in quiet white.

“Christmas is coming up,” Harper said eventually. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

“Something simple,” I said. “Family, actual family this time, gathered together without schemes or manipulation clouding everything.”

“Even Richard?”

“Even Richard,” I confirmed. “He’s been trying, lately. Slowly, but genuinely.”

“And Ethan?”

“Definitely Ethan.”

Harper smiled, something deeply content settling behind her expression. “I like this version of the Blackwood family. Messy, complicated, but actually trying.”

“Trying’s better than pretending,” I said. “I spent too many years perfecting the art of pretending everything was fine when nothing was. I’d rather have this. Actual effort, actual vulnerability, actual love, even when it’s difficult.”

“Even when it’s difficult,” Harper echoed, pressing a soft kiss against my jaw.

Whatever challenges remained ahead — rebuilding trust fully with Ethan, navigating Richard’s cautious redemption, watching Victoria’s continued thaw — none of it felt insurmountable anymore.

Because for the first time in longer than either of us could remember, we weren’t facing any of it alone.