Gabe shrugged, taking another sip. "She liked Derek a long time ago. Now she smiles different when Jack’s around."
"Like when my grandma sees cake," Chloe said matter-of-factly.
Gabe burst out laughing. "Yeah. Kind of like that."
Chloe grinned and poked his arm. "Well, I think it's cool. Derek brings you comic books, and Jack builds lemonade stands. You're winning."
Gabe smiled, quieter this time. "Yeah. I think I am."
Unknown to the kids, Claire and Jack had been listening nearby. Their fingers intertwined on the porch swing, they exchanged a quiet glance, speechless and full of love and pride as the weight of everything they'd worked toward shimmered in their kids' laughter.
That night, over spaghetti dinner at Claire's, Jack showed her the first draft of the Amanda Grace Wellness Wing plans—an expansive community-focused initiative featuring maternal wellness classes, grief counseling rooms, and a pediatric therapy corner inspired by Chloe’s journey.
Each detail reflected Amanda’s gentle strength, her love for nurturing others, and Jack’s hope that Chloe would grow up knowing just how extraordinary her mother had been. As she ran her finger along the blueprint’s edges, he leaned in.
"I want you to help shape it," he said. "Not just the logistics, but the feeling of it. You’ve got an eye for comfort."
Her heart thudded. "Jack, I—of course. I'd be honored."
He smiled. "Claire, I want this wing to be where people feel safe. Cared for. A space that reflects not just Amanda, but also everything we believe in."
The following Sunday, they walked the harbor trail with the scent of briny sea air drifting on the breeze, the rhythmic slap of gentle waves against the rocks accompanying their footsteps, and the cries of distant gulls echoing across the sky, pausing as Chloe spotted something bobbing in the water. Jack reached down with a long stick, guiding it toward shore.
It was a glass bottle, sealed with a cork, sun-bleached and worn, the glass etched with the wear of countless tides. The sun caught its surface, scattering faint prisms across the sand. It made a soft clink as Jack set it on a driftwood bench nearby, drawing the kids in like it was treasure.
Claire twisted it open carefully, pulling out a yellowed scrap of paper—blank, save for one water-streaked corner.
"A message-in-a-bottle," Gabe whispered, wide-eyed. Claire smiled softly, brushing a hand over the glass. "You know, people used to send messages like this across oceans, hoping they'd be found by someone far away. Some believed they'd carry wishes or lost words to places they'd never go themselves."
"Or maybe," Jack said, taking the slip from her hands, "it’s a message waiting to be written."
That night, after Jack and Chloe had gone home, Claire found the paper resting on her pillow, now adorned with Jack’s careful handwriting.
This is just the beginning. Every chapter forward, I want to write with you.
Claire pressed the note to her chest, her breath catching as a soft tremor ran through her. The faint scent of ocean salt still clung to the page, and in that moment, every wall she'd ever built felt like it had quietly crumbled.
The page was no longer blank.
And neither was their future. Outside the window, a wind chime stirred gently in the coastal breeze, its soft notes drifting through the evening air—a quiet, hopeful echo of all they were building together.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jack
"Ihatetodothis,"Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the open suitcase half-filled on his bed. "But the hospital's executive board in Charleston rescheduled their case review, and now they want an in-person consultation tomorrow morning—it's tied to my advisory position, and one of the cases I used to oversee has gotten complicated. I'll be in Charleston. At least a week or two. Maybe more depending on the patient's recovery."
Though Jack had stepped back from daily hospital life, this trip to Charleston wasn’t simply routine. It was a call from his position as an advisor for the prestigious medical center he once helped lead. A complex pediatric case had arisen—one with legal and procedural challenges—and the current team had asked specifically for Jack’s insights.
It was the kind of case he used to handle regularly, and though he’d moved on, part of him still felt responsible. The team specifically requested his input and in-person guidance. Though he wasn't involved in daily operations any longer, his expertise remained invaluable, and this visit required his full attention.
The call had come that morning, a tense voice on the other end explaining the stakes, reminding Jack of the promise he made when stepping into the advisory role. He had hoped those on-call obligations were mostly behind him, but this truly was a life-or-death situation for the young patient.
Claire, having stepped in from her house next door, leaned against the doorframe, her arms loosely crossed as she took in the sight of the suitcase on the bed. A flicker of worry passed through her expression before she masked it with calm resolve, a quiet strength Jack had come to lean on more than he realized. Just the sight of her settled something in Jack's chest. Even in the midst of stress and looming travel, her presence anchored him—reminding him of the life he was building, and why he wanted to come back to it. "You don't have to convince me, Jack. I know you wouldn’t leave if you had a choice."
He exhaled, frustration twisting in his chest. "It’s just the timing. The clinic plans were finally coming together. We were just hitting our stride."
"We still are," she said, stepping into the room. Her hand reached out, landing gently on his arm. "A few days away doesn't erase momentum. We’ve built too much for that."
