Ciarán’s lips parted. His eyes glossed over. He whispered her name like it was scripture.
“Olivia…”
Something inside me cracked right then.
Because I thought I didn’t have anything left for him. I thought I hated him. Thought time had hardened me past softness.
But watching his face shift... watching him say her name like it was sacred?
I wanted to stay angry with him. I wanted to yell at him, hit him.
But my heart wasn’t participating.
And I wasn’t even mad anymore.
That scared me.
Because...how do you build a future on a foundation of four years of silence? What do we do now?
Fifty one- Oak
The front door clicked shut, soft behind me. The house was quiet, lit by a single golden light over the stove that Jordin always kept on. I dropped my keys in the bowl. The day was over.
I stepped into the living room and my eyes landed on Jordin and Olivia, curled up together on the couch, fast asleep. Olivia’s head was on Jordin’s chest, her little hand still holding a juice box. Jordin’s arm was wrapped around her. A familiar warmth bloomed in my chest. Watching them sleep felt sacred—like I’d be committing a sin just by disturbing them.
I just watched them breathe for a beat.
When I turned to head upstairs, I found Ciarán sitting in the armchair in the corner, still as a ghost. Intense, like he was trying to memorize this moment forever. I had chosen to work on a Saturday so he could spend time with Olivia alone for the first time.
I met his eyes and tilted my head toward the back door.
He unfolded himself from the chair and followed me without a sound.
We stood on the deck, looking out on the dark backyard he’d run from six months ago.
“Jordin said you got a place nearby,” I said, breaking the quiet.
Ciarán nodded, leaning his weight on the railing, his gaze fixed on the dark water. “Yeah.”
I gave a low, quiet chuckle. “That’s gonna be interesting.”
I noticed how different he was now. Less confident. Reserved. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of something that wasn’t quite pity—it was closer to recognition. He, like me, had been humbled by his own mistakes. Now he was trying to find his footing on ground he’d broken himself.
I cleared my throat. My voice was low, but clear. “I’m not fighting you, Ciarán. Not for Olivia. Not for Jordin. And I’m not going anywhere. This is my life.”
“I’m not fighting you either,” he said, his voice rough. “You stayed. I ran. I know how this works.”
“We’ve both made our mistakes,” I acknowledged. “But you helped me once. After the accident. You showed up for her, which helped her take care of me. So I’ll give you the same grace now.”
He finally looked at me then and arched a brow.
“You gonna show me a video of you fucking her and move me in? I’m all for the second part, but keep the video to yourself, old man.”
The laugh that escaped me was real, but it faded into something more profound.
“What I’m saying is... I won’t get in the way of what makes Jordin happy. Even if that includes you.”
He nodded.
