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“Got it from his mom,” Delia chimed in helpfully. “The stubborn part. The impossible is all him.”

That broke the tension, both of us stepping back like we’d just realized how close we’d gotten. How heated the argument had become.

“I should go,” Tyson said, grabbing his house keys. “Mom, you coming?”

“In a minute. Sam and I were discussing the Baptist bake sale situation.”

He looked between us, clearly torn between escaping and not leaving his mother to share more embarrassing stories.

“She’s safe with me,” I promised. “I’ll only ask for your baby photos, not the teenage ones.”

“I have both on my phone,” Delia said brightly.

Tyson fled.

Delia stayed another twenty minutes, and by the time she left, I’d been thoroughly mothered, gently interrogated, and somehow signed up to help with the fall festival planning committee in a few months.

“He’s a good man,” she said at the door, no longer teasing. “Been through hell and came out kinder for it. Not many can say that.”

“Yes. I can see that.” I smiled softly, feeling the need to make everything clear. “But really, we’re just neighbors.”

“Honey, I’ve been married for decades. I know chemistry when I see it, and you two could power the eastern seaboard.”

My entire face was on fire. She was stepping off the porch when she turned back, and her expression shifted from warm busybody to something quieter. Maybe that was why I suddenly said, “I don’t doubt Tyson is great, Delia, but… I don’t think I’m ready for anything. I - I can’t trust anyone for now.”

“Can I tell you something, Sam? And I mean this with all the love in my nosy, interfering heart.”

“Sure.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about letting someone off the hook. It’s about putting the knife down so you stop cutting yourself.” She squeezed my arm. “You don’t ever have to forgive whoever hurt you. But you do have to stop carrying them with you, or they’ll take up all the room where the good things are trying to grow.”

I stood in the doorway long after she left, her words settling into my bones. Not because they fixed anything, but because they named the thing I hadn’t been able to articulate: I wasn’t holding on to Garrett or Sophie. I was holding on to the knife.

She’d also left me with her casserole, which turned out to be the best thing I’d eaten in weeks. I was halfway through my second helping when I remembered I’d never gotten my wallet from the car.

Night had fallen properly by the time I made it outside. The street was quiet, porch lights casting small pools of safety in the darkness. I’d parked at the curb, the driveway was too cracked to trust, and approached my car with the casual paranoia that had become my default.

The note under my windshield wiper changed casual to acute.

I recognized the handwriting before I even unfolded it fully. Garrett’s careful script, the same way he’d written me notes in the past, back when they’d been sweet instead of terrifying.

“I drove seven hours to see this house, baby. I know where you are. I will ALWAYS know where you are. Come home, please. I’m sorry.”

My hands shook. Holy fuck. He was here. He drove to tuck this note under my wiper and who the hell knew what else. Definitely to make sure I knew he could reach me whenever he wanted.

I looked around the empty street, suddenly seeing shadows everywhere. Was he still here? Watching? Waiting?

My feet moved without conscious decision, carrying me next door. I knocked harder than necessary, probably looking insane standing on his porch clutching a piece of paper.

Tyson answered in sweats and a t-shirt, hair damp from a shower. His expression went from surprised to concerned in about two seconds.

“Did you see anyone around my car today? A man, mid-thirties, probably in a rental?”

“No.” His frown deepened. “Why? What happened?”

I held up the note. My hand was still shaking, which was embarrassing, but fear and rage were fighting for dominance in my system.

He took the paper, reading quickly. I watched his face change, that easy warmth draining away into something I hadn’t seen before. A cold and controlled expression that reminded me he was a man who’d rebuilt his life from catastrophe too.