Page 150 of Josephine and Clay

“He likes you,” Rose says gently.

I laugh once under my breath. “Sometimes.”

Faith winces. “Ah.”

“That bad?” Tessa asks softly.

I press my fingers against my water glass. “He can be sweet. Really sweet. And then suddenly it’s like he remembers he’s supposed to leave eventually. That’s the part I can’t seem to get past,” I admit. “I never know which version of him I’m getting. The man who looks at me like I matter or the one already halfway out the door.”

Rose’s expression softens. “Clay’s always been scared of staying still.”

“Why?”

Tessa and Faith exchange a glance.

“Because staying means people can disappoint you,” Tessa says quietly. “Or you can disappoint them.”

Something about that lands heavily in my chest.

I look away before anyone can see it happen.

“I don’t think he means to hurt people,” Rose says carefully.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think he does either.”

After dinner, we clear the plates together. I try to wash dishes, but Rose physically takes the sponge from my hand.

“You’re a guest.”

“I can still help!”

Faith points at me. “Sit.”

I sit, because there are three of them and one of me, and because arguing with kind women is surprisingly exhausting.

For the next half hour, they talk around me in a way that feels inclusive without demanding too much. Tessa checks on Hailey. Rose tells me about Ellie’s animal obsession and asks if the clinic ever needs volunteers, which I say I’ll think about even though the idea of a nine-year-old near surgical instruments gives me a mild stress rash. Faith tells me Lila has strong opinions about everything and once tried to create a household chore union.

By the time the sun dips lower, I almost forget what I came here to do. Then Tessa returns from the nursery, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Clay’s at the main house. If you want to see him.”

Fear twists low in my chest, sharp and familiar, but underneath it sits something steadier now.

Resolve.

I can’t keep waiting for a perfect moment that doesn’t exist.

Tonight.

No more almost. I have to tell him everything.

The walk to the main house is short, but the gravel crunches under my boots like it's announcing me personally.

The house rises warm and solid in the evening light, porch wide, windows shining. It looks like a place where people gather. Where babies are brought home. Where arguments happen, and forgiveness follows because everyone assumes there will be a tomorrow together.

I don't have places like that in my life.

Before we reach the porch, the front door opens.

Maggie McCoy steps out.