"Does she—" He turns back, and there's vulnerability in his expression. "Does she know? About the fire? About why I left?"
I shake my head slowly. "She knows you're a firefighter. She knows you lived in our town before. But the details? No. I thought… I thought you should be the one to decide what to tell her. When to tell her. If ever."
"Okay. Good. I just… I need to figure out how to explain it. In a way that makes sense to a seven-year-old."
"You don't have to do it alone," I offer. "When you're ready, we can tell her together."
He nods, and for a moment, we just stand there, two people who used to know everything about each other trying to figure out how to navigate this new, complicated reality.
"Goodnight, Sierra."
"Goodnight, Cade."
I watch him walk down the hallway, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of a day that changed everything. When he disappears around the corner toward the stairs, I lean back against the door and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
He took it better than I expected. Worse than I hoped. Somewhere in the complicated middle ground where real life exists, messy and imperfect and without easy answers.
But he loves Ruby already. I saw it in his face, heard it in his voice, felt it in every word he chose. Whatever anger he has toward me, and he has plenty of right to be angry, it doesn't touch his feelings for our daughter.
That's what matters. That has to be what matters.
I slip back into the room to find Ruby sprawled across her bed, her stuffed elephant, Mr. Trunk, the imaginatively named companion she's had since she was two, tucked under her arm. She's still fully dressed, her shoes still on, but her eyes are heavy.
"Is Dad gone?" she asks, stifling a yawn.
"Yeah, sweetheart. He'll be back tomorrow morning."
"He's nice." Ruby rolls onto her side, watching me as I sit on my own bed. "Nicer than I imagined. I thought he might be scary because he fights fires and that seems like a scary job. But he's not scary at all."
"No," I agree softly. "He's not scary. He's very brave, though. Fighting fires takes a lot of courage."
"Like me when I blocked that big girl in soccer?"
"Exactly like that." I reach over and brush her hair back from her face. "But maybe even braver."
Ruby considers this, her fingers absently playing with Mr. Trunk's worn ear. "Do you think he'll really come back tomorrow? Like, really really?"
My heart clenches at the question, at the uncertainty underneath it. "Yes, baby. I really really think so. He promised, didn't he?"
"Yeah." She yawns again, bigger this time. "Mom?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad we came. I was scared in the car, but now I'm glad."
"Me too," I whisper, and it's the truth. Despite the anxiety and the guilt and the complicated mess of feelings I have about Cade, I'm glad we came. Glad I finally did the right thing, even if I'm seven years late.
"Can I sleep in my clothes? I'm really tired."
"Let's at least get your shoes off and brush your teeth." I stand, holding out my hand. "Five minutes and then you can crash, okay?"
She groans but takes my hand, letting me lead her to the small bathroom. We go through the abbreviated bedtime routine—shoes off, teeth brushed, face washed. By the time I tuck her into bed, she's already half asleep.
"Love you, Mom," she mumbles, curling around Mr. Trunk.
"Love you too, baby girl. So much."
I watch her for a moment, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of approaching sleep, her face peaceful in a way that makes my throat tight. She looks so much like Cade it'salmost painful. Those same blue eyes now hidden behind closed lids, that same stubborn chin…
