He turned the screen toward her. "A text from Linda and Tom to check my email. They are Amanda’s parents."
Claire’s smile faltered. "That’s... unexpected."
Jack opened the message, his breath catching slightly as an old ache stirred in his chest—a signal that this moment might carry more weight than he was ready for and a tightening building in his chest as he prepared for whatever memories the words might stir. It was brief, kind, and tinged with nostalgia. They’d heard about his move and wanted to reconnect, maybe visit. Instantly, an image of Linda’s lavender-scented hugs and Tom’s quiet chuckle as he bounced Chloe on his knee filled his mind. He swallowed hard, emotions swirling beneath the surface—grief, gratitude, and something he hadn’t quite let himself feel in years: longing for connection.
"It’s been years," he murmured. "They haven’t seen Chloe since she was a toddler."
Claire touched his arm gently. "Do you want to see them?"
Jack hesitated. "I think I do. I think it’s time."
They found another bench and sat, watching the kids build a sandcastle at the edge of the playground. Jack took a steadying breath, the image of Amanda’s parents flashing in his mind. "It’s strange," he said, "seeing their names pop up after all this time. Makes me realize how long I’ve been avoiding that part of my life."
Claire turned slightly toward him. "Do you think Chloe remembers them?"
"Bits and pieces," Jack said. "Mostly old photos. They were kind to her. And to me. When Amanda passed... they were shattered. I guess we all were."
Claire reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand. "Maybe this is a sign that healing comes in layers. That some connections still matter."
Jack nodded slowly. "I want Chloe to know that side of her family. But I want to do it the right way. Not out of guilt or obligation. Because it means something."
"They were a big part of our lives," Jack said. “And maybe there’s a way to keep honoring that part of Amanda without... holding onto grief the way I was."
Claire nodded. "Maybe it’s not about closing chapters. Maybe it’s about weaving them together."
Jack looked over at her, his eyes catching the warmth in hers. For a heartbeat, he held it, feeling something unspoken pass between them—a reassurance, a grounding. A quiet promise that whatever storms they’d weathered, they weren’t facing the future alone. "You always say the right things."
"Not always," she said with a soft smile. "But I try."
He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. The breeze picked up slightly, sending a swirl of leaves skimming across the path. From the sandpit, Chloe called out, "Dad! Gabe says we should build a moat!"
Jack cupped his hands around his mouth. "Then build the biggest moat in Seaview Harbor!"
Gabe chimed in, "It’s going to have turrets!"
Claire laughed softly. "Turrets? Where’d they learn that?"
Jack shrugged with mock seriousness. "Probably from all that historical documentary binging we do."
"Sure," she teased. "It has nothing to do with the three picture books about castles Chloe insisted on checking out last week."
They both chuckled as the kids resumed their sand engineering project with dramatic flair, Gabe outlining the perimeter with his foot while Chloe hauled damp sand like a pro.
"They make a good team," Jack said.
"They really do," Claire replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Just like us."
Claire squeezed his hand. "You’re a good dad."
"I’m trying. And I want to be more than that—to be here, really here. I’ve been talking to a clinic in town—had a good conversation with the director last week, actually. They need a part-time surgical consultant, and it would let me stay local, be around more for Chloe... and for all of us. No crazy hours. No late-night flights."
Her eyebrows lifted. "You’d really step back from your practice in the city?"
"I’d step forward into this one. Into this life."
Claire leaned in, her shoulder brushing his. "That means a lot."
He looked out at the kids. "They deserve a version of us that isn’t always leaving."
