Chapter 472

(ARIELLE'S POV)

They say graduation is a milestone. Personally, I think they just want an excuse to make six-year-olds wear polyester caps and parents panic over gift baskets.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself while burning my fingers on the tiny iron-on badge that said “Class of the Year”. On Maverick’s cape. For his kindergarten superhero performance. Yes, that was a thing.

Jared walked in, shirtless and smug, holding up a child-sized bowtie like it was a surgical instrument. “Does this go on his collar or his forehead?”

I didn’t even look up. “Ask the man who just spent forty-five minutes trying to button his own shirt backwards.”

“That was fashion,” he said, kissing my temple. “Also, who designs shirts with buttons on both sides? That’s a trap.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my smile. A year ago, mornings like this felt like a fantasy.

Jared’s memory didn’t come back all at once, and it sure wasn’t just about me. I still remember the first time he looked at Maverick and didn’t seem lost anymore.

It was a quiet afternoon. Maverick was scribbling with crayons, completely in his own world. Jared sat beside him, just watching.

Then Maverick looked up and said, ‘Dad, look! I made you a superhero.’

And Jared smiled—a real, soft smile—like something finally clicked. He tousled Maverick’s hair and said, “Super Dad, huh? I guess that makes me your sidekick.”

I didn’t cry.

Okay. I cried a little. But only after Maverick did—he hugged Jared and said, “You finally back Daddy!”

Slowly, Jared remembered how to be Maverick’s dad again. And that was the start of him coming back to us.

Just as I was getting emotional, Ashley’s voice came through my phone on speaker. “Are you guys ready yet? You’re literally the last parents to check in. Do not make me FaceTime the principal.”

“I’m trying, okay?” I groaned. “My mom is still looking for her sunglasses, Michael’s too busy moisturizing to be helpful, and Jared thinks Maverick’s superhero cape is a napkin.”

“I used it as a napkin,” Jared corrected. “Big difference.”

I could already feel the chaos building, like one of those summer storms—you hear the thunder, you just don’t know which window it’ll shatter first.

Today was supposed to be about Maverick. But if history had taught me anything, it’s that when our family gathers in public, the event inevitably becomes a sitcom with too many guest stars.

By the time we pulled into the school parking lot, my mother had already called me twice—first because she thought we were going to “the other campus,” and then again because she saw a raccoon near the bushes and decided to chase it with her purse.

“Why is she like this?” I muttered, clutching my coffee like it was holy water.

“Genetics,” Michael offered lazily, stepping out of the car in a three-piece cream suit like he was arriving at Cannes instead of a preschool graduation.

Then he leaned over Jared. “Seriously though, you’re just… fine now? No more headaches, no more forgetting your pants?”

Jared shrugged. “I still forget where I park sometimes. But other than that, I’m okay. Might just need more time to be completely back.”

Michael nodded slowly. “You know the American Medical Research Association wants to study you, right? You scared the crap out of us, man.”

Jared grinned. “Miracle of love, baby. Also, cookies. Mostly cookies.”

Michael shot me a look and snorted. “Right. I take it back. U.S. healthcare’s a joke—my little sis’ pantry’s the real miracle.”

Ashley was already at the school entrance, frantically waving both arms and holding a phone. “You’re late! They’re lining up for the parade—Maverick’s supposed to be in the front because apparently he’s the star narrator.”

“What exactly is a star narrator?” Jared asked, lifting Maverick out of the car like Simba.

“It means he says four lines and then gets drowned out by the twins in the monkey costumes,” Ashley said.

Her daughter Charlotte, nearly two now, usually clung to her arm. Today, Ashley held her hand instead—she’d proudly told us last week that Charlotte could now walk steadily, trot even, kick a ball, and carry tiny things.

Though still small, the girl was bold and curious—she greeted every adult with a grin.

Jared watched with something like longing. As Ashley settled Charlotte back into her stroller, he slid his hand around my waist and murmured in my ear, “If we had a daughter too…”

My face flushed. “Don’t say that out loud! Everyone’s here.”

But something in my chest shifted. Because Jared—this time you might really get that wish.

Maverick squirmed in Jared’s arms. “Can we just go? My cape is making my back sweaty.”

“You’re a hero, sweetheart,” I told him as I tried to fix the Velcro. “Heroes sweat.”

“Heroes should get AC,” he muttered.

We finally made it past the gauntlet of proud parents and balloon arches and found our seats in the front row. My mom had somehow ended up chatting with Jared’s mother, who looked surprisingly amused for someone who usually blinked like joy was a rumor.

“I gave her a chamomile drop,” Jared whispered. “We might get a full hour of peace.”

“Thank God,” I said. Then immediately regretted it.

Because the moment I sat down, the smell of cotton candy and hot plastic chairs hit me—and I had to press the back of my hand to my mouth.

“Are you okay?” Jared asked, leaning closer.

“Yep. Totally fine. Just… overly emotional about kindergarten,” I said through gritted teeth, eyes watering.

Ashley peered over, suspicious. “Are you hungover? You don’t drink.”

“I’m not hungover,” I said, my voice climbing a suspicious octave. “I’m just… hot.”

“You’re never hot,” Michael muttered. “You have a broken internal thermostat. You bring scarves to the beach.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, then smiled sweetly at the teacher passing by, like I hadn’t just contemplated throwing up into a gift bag.

Jared reached over and rubbed my back gently, a soft worry in his eyes. He didn’t push—but I could tell. He knew something was off.

And I’d tell him.

Just… maybe not today. Not yet. Not while our son was busy announcing the story of a turtle who made friends with a dandelion in front of a hundred people.

No, today was about Maverick.

The rest of it—surprises, changes, maybe even tiny heartbeat-shaped secrets—I’d save for tomorrow.

Ashley leaned closer and handed me a juice box from her oversized mom-bag. “Here. Sip something before you faint again. Or throw up. You’ve been acting twitchy.”

“You know I don’t faint.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You do get weirdly dramatic when you’re hiding a secret.”

“Coming from you?” I snorted.

“Hey. I managed to hide an entire pregnancy from my boss for six months. I'm practically MI6.”

“You had his child, Ash.”

“Details,” she said, nonchalantly wiping baby drool off her shoulder. “Speaking of which, Roman might show up. Just… FYI.”

I blinked. “Roman as in… your Roman?”

She glanced around casually. “He said he wanted to ‘talk.’ Whatever that means. Probably a business debrief. Or a kidnapping. Hard to say with him.”

The ceremony started exactly seven minutes behind schedule—which, according to kindergarten standards, counted as a military-grade success.

The first act involved a heartfelt speech from the principal, a balloon release (one popped mid-countdown and scared three kids into tears), and a musical rendition of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” that featured recorders, finger cymbals, and one very committed tambourine.

Then it was Maverick’s turn.

He marched to the center of the stage in his pint-sized tux and superhero cape, chest puffed, eyes scanning the crowd like he was about to recite the Gettysburg Address.

“My name is Maverick Smith,” he announced into the mic, a beat too loudly. “And once upon a time, a turtle named—uh—Tuddle met a… um…”

He blinked.

Pause.

More blinking.

“...a plant.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

I watched Jared sit up straighter, visibly sweating from secondhand stage anxiety. Michael muttered, “This is why I told you to bribe the drama teacher,” while Ashley was filming with both phones now.

But Maverick rallied. “The plant said hello, and the turtle said: ‘Do you want to be best friends forever and build a treehouse?’ And the plant said: ‘I am a treehouse.’”

Awws broke out across the room.

And just like that, he won everyone over.

I didn’t cry. Not officially. But I did start blinking a lot, and Jared quietly handed me a tissue like he knew my ego wouldn’t survive asking for one.

As the kids lined up for their little paper diplomas, the crowd shifted. I caught sight of someone entering from the back—a tall figure in a black button-down and sunglasses, carrying a small bouquet of wildflowers.

Dwayne.

My heart gave a tiny, uninvited jolt.

I hadn’t expected to see him today.

He’d been busier than ever lately—Ever since Jared’s memory returned, rumors of a power struggle at Smith Enterprises were everywhere. But no one expected what actually happened—Dwayne stepped down without a fight, handed everything back to Jared, and walked away.

Jared, still recovering, became a hands-off boss. And Dwayne? He stayed behind, tying loose ends, cleaning the mess without complaint.

I had a feeling he was trying to wrap things up cleanly. He’d once said he’d go back to Italy when it was all over.

I just hadn’t wanted to believe he meant it.

He walked in quietly, stood near the wall instead of finding a seat, and waited. I thought maybe he’d just drop off the flowers and go. But as the ceremony ended and the crowd began to scatter, he made his way over.

“Hey,” he said with a warm, calm smile. “Didn’t think I’d make it on time.”

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I admitted.

He offered the flowers. “For the graduate. Or you. Whichever of you cries first.”

I laughed, and I looked up at him more carefully then, because something was different.

This wasn’t the same Dwayne I knew—the one who used to look at me like I was something to win, to possess, to stake his life on. There was no burning edge in his emerald eyes now.

Just… calm.

Maybe even surrender.

“You’re really going,” I said, not as a question.

He nodded. “Yeah. For good this time.”

“I thought you'd stay in the city, maybe even stay involved with the family.”

“I already handed things back over to Jared,” he said. “The Smith name’s his. It always was.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.”

“I know. That’s why I stayed while he couldn't remember who he was. But he remembers now.”

Dwayne took a breath. “He remembers you.”

The way he said it wasn’t bitter. Not angry. Just… factual.

“You are now the letting-go type?” I smiled.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I still think about torching his wine cellar on my way out.”

I blinked.

“But I also know if I stay any longer, I’ll start making stupid promises again. Like giving him a second chance just to steal you back.”

“Would you?”

“Only if he messed up badly enough,” Dwayne said. “And if he does, tell him I’ll make sure he dies slowly and dramatically. Like, operatic level.”

I laughed—and I know he meant it.

He stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. “I’m not built for peaceful endings, Arielle. But you are. And that boy—he deserves a family that doesn't come with blood on every page.”

A pause.

“Tell Mav his uncle loves him.”

“I will.”

He smiled faintly. “And the ostrich ought to know too.”

I returned the smile. “She always did.”

Then he pulled me into a hug—solid, warm, unhurried. A goodbye with weight in it. He turned toward the gate.

But before he could leave, Jared appeared and stepped forward, stopping him with a hand on the arm.

“Hey,” Jared said, “you don’t have to disappear to prove anything. We all want you to be happy, Dwayne. Arielle does. Just—don’t vanish like you were never here.”

Then, softer, “You deserve a life that’s more than just walking away from things.”

Dwayne didn’t reply at first.

I couldn’t hold back my tears anymore. I pulled him into another hug, tighter this time, whispering, “Never be cruel, Dwayne, never be lonely. Find someone.”

Dwayne didn’t answer, but I felt the curve of a quiet smile against my shoulder before I let go.

He and Jared locked eyes for a brief second.

And then he turned and walked toward the gate.

I watched him go, heart heavy but not aching. He didn’t look back.

And that’s how I knew—it was real this time.

Jared and I stood there for a long moment, silent. Then we held each other and finally walked hand in hand toward the gate.

Just before we stepped out of the courtyard, I caught sight of someone tall, sharply dressed, and very much not a regular parent.

Roman.

Leaning casually against the fence, murmuring something to Ashley while reaching out a finger to Charlotte’s hand.

The girl gurgled and grabbed it.

Ashley rolled her eyes—but didn’t pull away.

I raised a brow. Jared caught my look, and one corner of his mouth twitched.

Interesting.

By the time we got home, Maverick had already passed out in the backseat, still clutching half a cupcake.

Jared carried him to bed while I collapsed on the couch, still wearing heels and holding my sanity together with the strength of a single bobby pin.

Then I remembered.

The thing in my purse.

I pulled it out slowly—still in its discreet paper bag—and looked at the faint pink plus sign I’d already seen three times this week.

I smiled.

Not a nervous smile. Not even a “how do I tell him” smile.

Just… a soft, quiet, yes kind of smile.

I tucked it back into the bag and hid it behind the coffee mugs in the cupboard.

Tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow.

Right now, I had a husband humming Toy Story songs in the hallway and a kid snoring with frosting on his nose.

Right now, was perfect.