I could live with that.
I had to.
I climbed onto my bike, the journal tucked inside my jacket, and headed back toward Trudy’s place.
Tomorrow I’d read that final entry. Tomorrow I’d face whatever else Christina had left for me.
But today, today I’d made a choice. To protect my daughter. To carry the weight so she didn’t have to.
And maybe that was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Trudy
I stood in front of my closet, staring at the dresses hanging there like they might suddenly make this easier. Harold and Edith’s anniversary party. Ten years. A milestone that used to mean something to me, a reminder that love could last, that commitment mattered. Now it just felt like a reminder of everything I’d lost and was terrified of losing again.
“You’re not backing out on me.”
I turned to find Stephen leaning against my bedroom doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, that look on his face that said he wasn’t going to accept any of my excuses. He’d been staying more nights than not lately, had basically claimed half my closet without asking, and was becoming increasingly difficult to say no to.
“I never said I was backing out,” I lied.
“You didn’t have to. I can see it written all over your face. You’re thinking of reasons why you shouldn’t go. Why it’s a bad idea. Why people will talk.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me. “Well, they’re going to talk anyway, Trudy. So you might as well give them something worth talking about.”
“That’s not helpful,” I muttered, turning back to the closet.
“Neither is hiding.” His voice was softer now, closer. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me againsthis chest. “You’re going to that party with me. You’re going to dance. You’re going to let people see that you’re happy. Because you are happy. Stop pretending you’re not.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him that happiness was a dangerous thing to hold onto, that it could be taken away just like everything else had been taken from me. But he was right, and I hated that he was right. I was happy. Terrified, confused, guilty about it, but happy.
“Fine,” I said, pulling out a midnight blue dress I’d bought years ago and never worn. “But I’m not dancing.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
The park was decorated with string lights and flowers; the Fosters had spared no expense for this celebration. Tables lined the perimeter with food and drinks, a small band played on a makeshift stage, and the whole town seemed to have shown up. I recognized most faces, people I’d served at the bakery, people who’d known Terry, people who were watching me with Stephen with carefully neutral expressions.
Let them watch.
Let them wonder.
Let them judge.
Stephen kept his hand on the small of my back the entire time we walked through the crowd, introducing me to people I already knew, making it crystal clear to everyone present that I was with him. There was something possessive about it that should have bothered me. Instead, it made me feel safe. Claimed. Like I was worth fighting for.
“I’m going to grab us some drinks,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”
I found a picnic table away from most of the crowd and sat down, watching the party unfold around me. Couples danced. Children ran in circles. The band played something slow and romantic, and I felt that familiar ache in my chest, the longing for what I’d lost mixed with something new. Hope, maybe. Or the terrifying possibility of hope.
“Mind if I join you?”
I looked up to find Cash standing there, a sleeping infant in his arms. He was dressed up by biker standards, leather cut worn over a nice button-down, his hair combed, a softness in his expression that I recognized from watching him with Kytten.
“Of course.” I gestured to the bench across from me. “Is that Sampson or Markus?”
“Markus,” Cash said, settling into the seat carefully, like he was afraid any sudden movement would wake the baby. “Sampson’s with Rosie. She’s probably spoiling him with ice cream by now.”
I laughed, and it surprised me how easily it came. How good it felt.
