She took a slow sip of her coffee, letting its warmth anchor her. She understood hesitation. She understood the fear of trusting again, of believing that happiness wasn’t just a fleeting illusion. Her own past had taught her that lesson well.
The memories pressed in before she could stop them—late nights waiting for a husband who rarely came home on time, the quiet unraveling of a marriage built on half-truths and betrayals. She could still remember the chill of sitting alone on the couch at midnight, the sound of the front door not opening.
The way he would walk in without apology, offering vague excuses and an empty smile. "You worry too much, Claire," he had once said, brushing past her, already halfway gone.
The gut-wrenching moment when she’d finally realized love wasn’t enough to hold together something already broken—when she had stood in their kitchen, staring at the man she once trusted and realizing he was a stranger.
She drew in a shaky breath, the air catching slightly in her throat, and pressed a hand to her chest, willing the ache to ease. There was no point in dwelling on wounds that had already scarred over, but some nights, the echoes of betrayal still crept in, uninvited. Did she feel anger? Maybe. Regret? Not anymore.
What she felt most was relief—because leaving had been the bravest thing she had ever done. Because now, sitting here in the morning light, she had proof that there was life beyond heartbreak, and she would never let the past steal her future again. That life was behind her now.
She and Gabe had made a new home here, a fresh start in Seaview where laughter replaced loneliness, and hope didn’t feel quite so dangerous. Gabe smiled more now, chatted about school freely, his words no longer guarded or cautious, and had even stopped asking when they were going back to the city.
She saw it in the way he ran ahead of her on their walks, his eyes bright and curious. Seaview wasn’t just healing her—it was healing him too. Like the first time they walked along the boardwalk, Gabe racing ahead, his laughter mixing with the ocean breeze.
Or the afternoon they spent at the local café, where Claire had been welcomed with warm smiles and easy conversation. Even Jack—despite his walls—had given her glimpses of something real, something unguarded, making her feel, for the first time in a long while, that she belonged.
Gabe’s voice rang out from inside the house. "Mom, I can’t find my other shoe!"
Claire chuckled, setting her coffee down and stepping inside. "Did you check under the couch? That’s where your shoes seem to disappear to most of the time."
A moment later, Gabe emerged from the hallway, victorious. "Found it! Can we go to the beach after breakfast?"
She ruffled his hair, smiling. "Of course, bud. Let’s get through some pancakes first."
As they cooked together, Claire felt a familiar warmth settle in her chest. "Mom, do we have to flip the pancakes exactly when the bubbles pop?" Gabe asked, holding the spatula like a sword.
Claire laughed, tapping the pan lightly. "That’s the trick! But if you wait too long, you might end up with a burnt disaster."
Gabe wrinkled his nose. "No pressure, huh?" He hesitated before attempting a dramatic flip, the pancake landing slightly off-center but still intact. He threw his hands in the air. "Nailed it!"
"Chef Gabe at work!" Claire cheered, nudging him playfully. "Think we should open our own breakfast café?"
He smirked. "Only if I get to be the boss."
Claire grinned. "Deal. But I get to name it. How about ‘Mom & Gabe’s Pancake Palace’?"
Gabe snorted. "Yeah, okay, but only if I get unlimited chocolate chips."
As they laughed and continued cooking, Claire couldn’t help but soak in the moment. The sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the kitchen, mingling with the faint saltiness of the sea breeze drifting through the open window. Golden morning light filtered in, casting warm streaks across the countertops, illuminating the dusting of flour on Gabe’s nose.
He didn’t seem to notice, too focused on flipping another pancake with exaggerated precision. Claire smiled, memorizing this moment—one of comfort, love, and the simple joys of their new life. This was their life now—simple, joyful, steady. She wanted that for Jack too, but she knew better than to push.
He had his reasons for keeping his distance. He wasn’t ready to share his past, and she wasn’t about to demand answers. Instead, she would do what she did best—offer kindness, patience, and a quiet space for him to step into when he was ready.
Later that evening, after Gabe had gone to bed, Claire curled up with her journal, flipping to a fresh page. She had started journaling years ago, first as a way to process her emotions when her marriage had begun to crumble, then as a record of her new life as a single mother. Some nights, she wrote about her dreams, her fears—other nights, it was just a place to vent.
But tonight, she hesitated, the pen hovering over the page as she debated whether to write about Jack. Was she reading too much into things? Was it foolish to hope that someone so closed off might be willing to open up to her?
Her past had taught her not to put too much faith in what wasn’t spoken aloud, but something about Jack felt different. And yet, putting her thoughts on paper made them real. Writing his name meant acknowledging that she cared more than she wanted to admit—that she wanted something she wasn’t sure he could give.
Vulnerability had cost her before, and a part of her still feared what it might cost again. She had never been one to shy away from challenges, and she wasn’t about to start now. With a quiet exhale, she put pen to paper, letting the words come naturally, this time without second-guessing herself.
She tapped the pen against her lip, letting her thoughts settle. Her chest felt tight—not with fear, but with the quiet pressure of possibility. Was she ready to be honest, even on paper? She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and began to write.
Some people build walls to keep others out. Others build them hoping someone will care enough to tear them down.
She hesitated, then added another line beneath it.
