"You think she still might have feelings for him?"
"I think she loved him once. Before Scott fucked everything." I meet her eyes. "I want her to have the choice, you know? To decide for herself if she wants to reach out. After everything she's been through, she deserves that."
Nora's quiet for a moment, then asks, "Do you want company? When you go see her?”
I consider it. Part of me wants her there—wants her hand in mine, wants her steady presence beside me.
But another part knows this is something I need to do on my own.
"I think I need to do this alone," I say finally. "But after..."
"I'll be here," she promises immediately. "Waiting."
She says it with such certainty, such complete conviction, that something in my chest settles.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She leans up to kiss me, soft and sweet. "I'm not going anywhere, remember?"
"Good," I murmur against her lips. "Because I'm never letting you go again."
That's all I need to hear. That and when I come back she'll be here.
I driveout to meet Nick at the marina. He's leaning against his truck, sunglasses on, coffee already half gone, and he takes one look at me and grins.
"You look like a man who slept," he says.
"I did."
"Miracles really do happen." He smirks.
“Shut up.”
We sit on the tailgate, watching the water catch the sun, and I tell him about Dom. About the conversation, about giving him the tour, about the choice I'm making to try. Nick listens without judgment, the way he always does.
"Forgiveness doesn't mean letting people off the hook," he says eventually. "It means taking your hands off the rope."
I glance at him. "You rehearse that?"
He smirks. "Alfie used to say it."
That lands, settles somewhere deep.
My chest tightens with the truth of it.
"You've already survived the worst of it," Nick continues. "Now you get to decide what you carry forward. That's the part people forget."
I let that settle in my chest, mix with the contentment that's been humming through me all morning.
"You're doing alright," he adds. "Don't lose sight of that."
I actually believe him.
Later,I drive to the lake house to see Mom.
She's in the kitchen when I arrive, sleeves rolled up, humming while she rinses strawberries. The house smells like vanilla and sugar. It's the smell of home—not the one I grew up in with Scott, but the one Mom created after.
She looks up when I enter, and her whole face lights up.
