Chloe leaned into his side. "I think she'd like Claire, too."
Jack swallowed the lump rising in his throat and gently squeezed her shoulder, a rush of warmth radiating through him. Her words echoed deeper than she knew, conjuring vivid memories of Amanda—her laughter, her quiet strength—and awakening something tender in Jack’s chest. It ignited a hope he hadn’t dared name. He remembered quiet evenings spent wondering how he could ever move forward, whether Chloe would be okay without her mother—and whether he’d ever open his heart again. And now, here was his daughter, unknowingly giving him permission to step fully into something new, something real.
A tear threatened at the corner of his eye, and he blinked it away, brushing his hand across his face as if swiping at the breeze. His throat tightened. "Yeah. I think she'd love her."
Across the lot, Claire stood talking with a local reporter from SeaView Living. She laughed at something the woman said, brushing windblown hair from her face, and Jack felt the weight of how much had changed. Once, his focus had been all business, all the time. His days had been measured by patient charts and procedural checklists, his evenings lost to hospital corridors and glowing screens.
Now, every choice he made was with this life in mind—this town, these people, this family. He thought back to that opening day in Charleston, when he'd stood alone in a gleaming hospital atrium, nerves buzzing, ambition fueling every heartbeat. The marble had shone, the applause had echoed—but nothing had ever felt as right as this simple moment, surrounded by those he loved most.
As the event began, Jack took the mic to welcome everyone. He kept it brief, thanking the town for embracing the clinic and honoring Amanda's memory. "The Amanda Grace Wellness Wing will serve families, especially mothers and children, with expanded access to mental health support, prenatal care, youth outreach, and new community initiatives like a parent support group and an after-school creativity club," he said. His gaze kept finding Claire's, a silent acknowledgment that the new roots he was laying weren’t just professional. They were personal, too.
Later, as the crowd thinned and the folding chairs scraped gently against the pavement, Jack found himself walking beside Beau along the boardwalk.
"You did good today," Beau said. Jack exhaled a soft breath, letting the weight of the day settle into his chest. "It’s not easy building something that matters," he murmured, the words tasting truer now than they ever had. He remembered the sterile perfection of Charleston's hospital walls—how he'd mistaken prestige for purpose. Here, with the sun warming his face and the scent of grilled food lingering from nearby picnic tables, meaning felt tangible. Not built from accolades, but from laughter, from community, from family.
Jack nodded. "Feels different than it used to. For a long time, success meant spreadsheets and staff meetings. This…this means something else."
"You mean it feels like home?"
Jack smiled. "Yeah. Exactly."
That evening, they hosted their first Sunday dinner—a mix of potluck dishes and home-cooked warmth. The aroma of garlic bread and roasted vegetables filled the air. Claire moved easily between conversations, and Chloe roped Gabe into a game of charades that had everyone in stitches—especially when Gabe guessed "a flying sandwich" for Chloe's wild arm-flapping interpretation of an eagle. Jack stood watching, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, realizing how natural this all felt now. Like breathing. Not long ago, he'd come home to silence—reheating takeout and answering Chloe’s questions with half-hearted nods while his mind raced with patient charts. But now, laughter filled his kitchen. Claire’s smile crossed the room like sunlight. He hadn’t realized how starved he’d been for this—routine, warmth, connection.
After dessert, he stepped out onto the back deck to clear his head. The stars hung low over the harbor, and the air buzzed with cicadas and laughter drifting through the windows. The wooden planks were cool beneath his feet. Claire joined him with two mugs of tea, her presence as grounding as the tide. The warmth of the mug seeped into his palms.
"You okay?" Claire asked, her voice soft but steady.
Jack nodded, his throat tightening as the weight of the moment caught up to him. "Better than okay. I was just thinking—about how far I've come."
"Breaking habits can be hard."
He chuckled. "You have no idea."
She leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his, and gently placed her hand over his heart. "I might have an idea."
Inside, Chloe called out from the living room. "Dad?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"I love our family," Chloe said, her voice steady and full of sincerity.
Jack's chest swelled, emotions tugging at every corner of his heart. He knelt beside her and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, the same shoulder he used to steady when she was much younger, wobbling down hospital halls waiting for him to finish one more call. A memory flashed—Chloe, no more than three, asleep in his office with a crayon drawing clutched in her fist that read "Daddy, come home." The ache that moment once caused had dulled, replaced now with warmth.
"I love our family too," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment. That was it. The sea of doubt, the pressure of old expectations—they all quieted. He let go of the belief that strength meant going it alone, that grief had to remain locked behind a composed facade. What remained was something quieter, steadier—an openness he hadn’t known he was capable of until now. The sea of doubt, the pressure of old expectations—they all quieted. His grip on Claire's hand tightened as his heart swelled.
Claire squeezed his hand again, and together, they watched the night settle gently over the town that had become their home. Jack's arm slipped around Claire’s waist, drawing her in close. The scent of saltwater drifted in on a breeze, mingling with the warmth of her skin against his. From inside, the sounds of laughter echoed softly through the open windows. Jack’s chest rose and fell with contentment, his gaze lifting toward the twinkling lights above.
The stars twinkled, the moon smiled, and two souls—once guarded and grieving—stood wrapped in quiet hope, in awe—they had finally found one another beneath the quiet canopy of Seaview’s sky.
The scent of the sea drifted through the air, and the lanterns glowed like stars above them. It was quiet, steady, and full of hope.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Claire
Theblanketflutteredinthe ocean breeze, and Claire paused, the scent of salt and sea grass curling around her like an old friend. The warmth of the sand beneath her toes grounded her, steadying her breath and settling something tender and hopeful inside her. There was peace here, layered with gratitude—a sense that, after all the storms, she'd finally found safe harbor.
