Jack hesitated for a moment, then shook his head gently. "Not yet. Let’s let things unfold naturally. They already sense something, but I think we owe them the space to get used to it on their own terms."
Claire smiled, her eyes misting with warmth. "Agreed. There’s no rush."
Their embrace was quiet but firm, the kind that wrapped around more than bodies—it held promises. A future. Forgiveness. Understanding.
As they pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting together, Claire whispered, "I think this is the beginning of something beautiful."
Claire's breath caught at her own words, not from fear—but from the quiet realization of how far she'd come. A few months ago, she wouldn't have dared believe in something like this, let alone say it aloud. Now, wrapped in Jack’s presence and her own hard-earned courage, she finally meant it."
Outside, the children laughed, the golden light warming everything it touched.
And inside, their hearts beat a little lighter, a little stronger.
Together.
As the laughter echoed through the open window, Claire’s gaze drifted to the credenza near the front door—a familiar shape casting a long shadow across the floor. A chill traced her spine as her eyes locked on the envelope still perched there, its edges softened but its message unresolved. The other envelope—the one Derek had left—had still sat there since the day she'd tucked it away. Its presence felt heavier now, like a shadow from a chapter she’d nearly closed.
She knew she had not heard the last from Derek yet. A chill crept across her shoulders, the kind that came not from the breeze but from memory. Her fingers flexed against the cushion, tension prickling at the back of her neck. Something about the way he had vanished so easily made her stomach twist with unease. It was only a matter of time.
She reached for Jack’s hand again, her fingers curling around his as the contrast settled in—hope sitting beside uncertainty, past tangling with future.
But in that moment, she chose hope.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack
Thewindcarriedthescent of salt and blooming jasmine, weaving through the air with the faintest trace of grilled food and summer heat, a sensory echo of peace and belonging. It wrapped around them like a memory, familiar and soothing, grounding them in the simplicity of the moment.
For Jack, it felt like a reset—like standing on the other side of a storm he hadn’t realized he’d been weathering for years. This quiet, unremarkable evening felt more profound than any grand gesture—a sign that maybe peace didn’t have to feel so far away anymore.
As Jack and Claire strolled along the edge of the park, their hands brushing occasionally with the kind of easy familiarity that had taken root between them. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the trees, casting the playground in golden light as Chloe and Gabe took turns on the zip line.
"Do you think we’re moving too fast?" Claire asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
Jack glanced over at her, his eyes soft. "No. I think we’re moving at exactly the pace we’re meant to."
She smiled but didn’t answer right away, her gaze drifting toward the horizon as if searching for a shape in the fading light—something solid to anchor her swirling thoughts. "I guess I just worry about how fast things are moving," she admitted finally. "What if we mess this up like before?" She nudged a small pebble with the tip of her sandal, eyes following its path down the sidewalk. "It’s just... I never imagined this kind of peace. Not after everything."
"Same," Jack said quietly. "But I don’t want to take it for granted."
They paused near a bench beneath an old oak tree, where a handmade flyer for the town’s summer fair flapped against the wooden backrest. Jack reached for it absently, glancing at the list of vendors and activities. "Thinking we should volunteer for the bake sale?" he asked, holding it up with a crooked smile.
They both laughed, the kind of easy, genuine sound that had become more frequent between them lately.
Claire laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "Only if you promise not to bring store-bought cookies again."
"They were gourmet!" he protested with a mock-wounded expression.
"From the gas station." She raised an eyebrow.
"A gourmet gas station."
Their laughter blended with the distant chatter of children and the chirping of birds settling in for the evening. For a moment, the world felt small and perfect.
As they continued down the path, Jack’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned.
"Everything okay?" Claire asked.
