“You’re right. I’m going to say what I should have said months ago.” She squeezes my hand firmly enough that I can’t pull away. “I know my son better than anyone. And if there’s one thing I can say with certainty, it’s that he’s never been good at hiding his feelings. You might be a stone wall, Sydney—but that man wears his heart on his sleeve.”
I stay silent, preparing for the words I know are coming.
“Should I tell you how he came to stay with me after last New Year’s? He was suffering and heartbroken, but he refused to talk about it. And yet, there he was. Engaged.”
Tears spill down my cheeks, freezing in the cold air.
“Shall I tell you how often he mentions you, how often he asks about you? It wasn’t until I saw you two together yesterday, until he brought up the festival on our drive from the airport. His face said everything he wouldn’t say out loud. That’s when it clicked.”
I let my tears spill freely. Let her see how deeply she and her son have broken through all my defensive layers.
“My experience with my ex-husband taught me a painful truth: guilt is a heavy burden. Yes, I regret the years I stayed, the moments I should have left. And the way it ended… with James… that’s a scar I’ll carry forever. But life is about change. We make choices, sometimes the wrong ones, but we don’t have to be chained to them.”
She brings a gloved hand to my face, gently wiping away tears. “I understand how much heavier these choices are when you have a child. But choosing your happiness, Sydney, is not selfish. In fact, it’s essential. You can build the life you want and still be an incredible mother. They’re not mutually exclusive.”
Her green eyes, a soft seafoam color, are filled with a depth that tells me she’s lived all of it. She knows about the murkiness clouding what’s right and wrong.
And maybe that’s the answer.
That we don’t always have to be right; we just need to be willing to feel what’s real.
To live untethered from the illusion that life is easy, that choices are ever simple. That sometimes there isn’t an answer without pain.
We stand in the snow, her words settling in deep.
“Thank you. I… I’m going to keep walking and think about what you said. Go back inside, you’re freezing.” I give her one last squeeze before continuing on my own.
As time and miles stretch on, I let Vera’s words take root. They echo in the stillness, each one a gentle nudge toward the truth I’ve been circling for years. All this time, I’ve been asking the wrong question—fixating on what I might lose if I leave.
But this choice isn’t about loss. It’s about what we’ll gain.
Because what we’ll gain is far greater than what we have now. Anna’s life will be filled with joy, with the kind of steady love James brings by being himself. He won’t be a wound she has to learn to live around. He won’t disappear or disappoint. He’ll show up, again and again, with laughter and stories and arms always open. Anna has always recognized that in him. Loving him without apology, choosing him. It’s been me holding us back.
She’ll grow up knowing she’s loved, even if I’m not always there. Because in our home, love won’t be questioned or withheld.
She might be away from me at times.
But she’ll know I’ll always be ready to welcome her back.
I reach a frozen pond and study my reflection. The woman with bright cheeks and clarity in her eyes staring back isn’t the same woman who spent years shrinking herself, folding into shapes to meet the expectations of others. This isn’t the woman who’s buried her desires.
No. She’s done with all of that.
And there’s no going back.
Thirty-One
Fateappearstobeconspiring against me.
In all our years of early mornings and late nights, James and I have never struggled to find time to talk. But now, it’s as though the universe has decided we can’t be trusted alone together.
Every time I find him, someone is there. We’re never given a moment.
Waking up early for a run? Ivy’s already lacing up her shoes, smiling brightly as she insists on joining. Staying up late, hoping for a chance encounter in the sunroom? She’s there too, with fingers looped tightly through his arm, her face placid as she follows him into the room with a new book—Dune,of all things.
I just need five minutes. Even a text feels impossible under Ivy’s constant surveillance, especially considering Mason’s vindictive tendencies if he were to discover something in writing when I finally ask for our separation.
Every time James meets my eyes across the crowded room—beyond the chaotic swirl of family, beyond Ivy’s grip, beyond final wedding preparations—his gaze holds a single, unmistakable question. The same one he’s been asking for years:Choose me.He’s still here, mechanically going through the motions of a wedding we both know is wrong and waiting for the one word that will end this whole charade:yes.
