Claire straightened. “What I want is peace. And what Gabe needs is consistency. Neither of which you’ve managed to offer.”
He scoffed. “I made mistakes, Claire. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“Caring requires effort. Calls. Presence. Not unexpected drive-bys to make yourself feel better.”
Derek stared at her for a moment, and for once, he didn’t have a comeback. “So I can’t see him?”
“I’ll talk to Gabe tonight and you can call me tomorrow,” she said, her voice quieter but firm. “But you don’t get to walk in and out of his life anymore. He deserves better than that.”
He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve changed.”
“I’ve grown,” she corrected.
As he turned to leave, Jack returned to the foyer, as if sensing it was time. Derek looked between them again and shook his head. “Well, good luck.”
Claire closed the door gently behind him.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked, reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "That looked intense."
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Yeah. Actually… I think I am.”
Jack hesitated. “If he comes back—”
“I’ll handle it,” she said. “But thank you for stepping in without stepping on me.”
He smiled. “You held your own. I just wanted to stand beside you while you did.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what had passed settling between them.
Claire finally said, “You want to help me make pancakes? Gabe will be hungry soon.”
Her shoulders dropped as the tension of the last few minutes finally began to dissolve. The steady hum of the house returned, wrapping around her like a warm blanket after a storm—Gabe's faint laughter, the scent of brewing coffee—and Claire realized how much lighter she felt with Derek gone and Jack still beside her. The invitation to make pancakes wasn’t just about breakfast; it was about reclaiming peace.
Jack grinned. “Sure, but full disclosure—I’m better at ordering breakfast than cooking it.”
“That’s okay. You can be in charge of flipping,” Claire replied, pulling a mixing bowl from the cabinet.
From the living room, Chloe called out, “Only if he doesn’t flip them onto the floor!”
Jack laughed. “Challenge accepted.”
Claire smiled, pouring flour into the bowl. “We’ll see how cocky you are when it’s time to whisk.”
“Lead the way,” Jack replied, his expression warm and steady.
As they moved around the kitchen island, Claire stole a glance at the closed front door, feeling lighter than she had in years. The past might still knock, but it didn’t have to come inside.
And Jack—steady, present Jack—had quietly drawn a line in the sand with her.
Later that morning, as she wiped syrup from Gabe’s chin and laughed at one of Chloe’s made-up jokes, Claire realized something had shifted.
Not just in her home.
In her heart.
The next time the past tried to return, she wouldn’t be shaken. She had roots now. She had love.
And she wasn’t going back.
