“Will not!”
“Tell you what,” Chloe says, leaning down to kiss Ava’s forehead. “If you’re still awake when I count to thirty, you win. Deal?”
“Deal…” she yawns through the word and I can see the snores coming.
Chloe starts counting slowly, her voice soft and rhythmic. By the time she reaches twenty, Ava’s breathing has evened out. At twenty-five, Mia’s asleep too.
Chloe finishes counting anyway, in a whisper. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. I win.”
She stands up, and I realize I’ve been staring at her the entire time. Watching her be gentle with my daughters. Watching her care for them like they’re hers.
It’s the most dangerous thing I could imagine.
“You’re good at that,” I say quietly as we step into the hallway, pulling their door mostly closed but leaving it cracked for the nightlight.
“I’ve had practice. I used to babysit in college.” She stretches, rolling her shoulders, and I absolutely do not notice the way her shirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. “They’re really sweet girls. You’ve done an amazing job with them.”
“I don’t feel like I have most days.” The admission slips out before I can stop it. “I feel like I’m constantly messing up. Forgetting things. Not being enough.”
Chloe stops walking, turning to face me in the hallway. “Jonah. They’re happy. They’re thriving. You’re more than enough.”
“Their mother didn’t think so.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and bitter. I don’t know why I said the words… the admission. Don’t know why I’m suddenly spilling my insecurities to a woman I barely know.
Except I do know her. Somehow, in just one month, she’s become the person I talk to. The person I trust.
“Their mother was an idiot,” Chloe says fiercely. “Anyone who could walk away from those girls, and fromyou, is an idiot.”
Something in my chest cracks open at the conviction in her voice. “You don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t need to. I know what I see. A dad who gets up at four in the morning to work his ass off so he can provide for his daughters. Who reads them bedtime stories even when he’s exhausted. Who’s patient with them even when they’re coveredin flour and arguing about who started it.” She takes a step closer. “You’re a good father, Jonah. Honestly, the best.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe her so badly.
“Rachel, my ex, she said I was selfish,” I hear myself say. “That I cared more about the bakery than I did about her. That I chose Valentine over her dreams.”
“What were her dreams?”
“She wanted to move to Seattle. Said there were better opportunities there, that she felt suffocated in a small town. She wanted me to sell the bakery, move the girls, start over.”
“And you said no.” I lean back against the wall.
“The bakery is my dream. Valentine is my home. I couldn’t—” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “She said if I really loved her, I’d choose her over everything else. But the twins needed stability. Needed family nearby. Needed...”
“You to be happy,” Chloe finishes softly. “Because kids need happy parents, not miserable ones.”
I look at her, this woman who’s been in my life for seven days and somehow understands me better than my ex-wife did in ten years of marriage.
“She left six months after that conversation,” I say. “Filed for divorce, signed away her parental rights, moved to Seattle with some guy she met online. Last I heard, she’s managing a tech startup and living her best life.”
“Without her daughters.”
“Without her daughters,” I confirm.
Again, I don’t hate her. I think the real pain, anger, and denial have worn down and I’m into acceptance. It is what it is and anymore I can’t imagine it being any different.
Chloe’s eyes are fierce, protective. “Then she doesn’t deserve them. And she sure as hell doesn’t deserve to make you feel like you’re not enough.”
