Page 48 of The One Who Changed Everything

I exhaled slowly, my breath turning to mist in the evening air.

“She hated naps,” I said finally, my voice quiet with nostalgia. “Even as a baby. I used to drive her around the block just to get her to fall asleep.”

Evan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”

I smiled, just a little. “She also loved music. I’d sing the same lullaby every night, and she’d hum along—before she could even talk.”

His steps slowed. “What did you sing?”

Something in my chest tightened. “Cecelia and the Satellite,” I admitted. The song had played nonstop on the radio the year we’d gone to Florida. I could still hear it playing from the tiny Bluetooth speaker on a beach towel.

I glanced over at him, at the way his grip had tightened slightly on the books in his hand. He looked… wistful. Like he was trying to piece together a past he hadn’t been given.

“I sang her name in place of Cecelia,” I explained. The lyrics drifted through my mind and I hummed a few bars.

For all the things my eyes have seen

The best by far is you.

I froze when Evan’s voice crackled to life and he softly sang the last lines of the chorus.“I’d keep you safe, I’d keep you dry. Don’t be afraid, Sophia, I’m the satellite. And you’re the sky.”

And for the first time, I let myself feel it—not just the resentment, but the ache. The sadness that hehadn’tbeen there. I swiped at my eyes, wishing I could prevent the tears from falling.

“She took her first steps holding onto the coffee table,” I found myself saying. “Then let go and ran straight into my arms.”

Evan swallowed hard.

For a few steps, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt different—as if we’d stepped into uncharted territory and neither of us quite knew what to do with it.

"Did she ever go through a tomboy phase?" Evan asked, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Sort of," I answered, trying to steady my voice. "She was definitely more into climbing trees than playing with dolls. Always giving me mini heart attacks."

"She takes after her mom. Strong and determined."

The compliment caught me off guard, and for a split second, I wondered if his words were meant for me or just another extension of his affection for Sophia. It was a tightrope walk inside my mind, balancing between the desire to lean into this new dynamic with Evan and the instinct to keep him at arm's length. Was his growing attachment a sign of something more, or was I simply the gatekeeper to his daughter's world?

"Thank you, Evan," I said, my voice shaky with emotion. "But honestly, I think she's a lot braver than I am."

"Bravery comes in many forms, Samantha," he replied, his gaze never wavering. "And sometimes, it's a single mother doing whatever it takes for her child."

My breath caught in my throat at his words, resonating with a truth I often tried to ignore. Evan's unwavering attention told me he saw beyond the facade of the composed professional, into the depths of someone who fiercely loved her daughter but feared what opening up could mean. Could I let him in, allow those barriers to fall? Or would the act of trusting him prove to be my greatest vulnerability yet?

Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I nodded, hugging my coat tighter around myself as we reached my car.

He stopped beside me, shifting his weight like he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. “I know I missed a lot,” he said. “I can’t change that. But I want to be here now.”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening on my keys.

I wanted to believe him. I really did. And yet, the doubt gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, sharp and insistent.

Of course he wanted to be herenow. Now that he knew about Sophia. Now that he had a tangible reason to stay. But what if that was all it was? What if, without her, there would be no reason for him to stand outside my car, looking at me like I mattered?

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, my grip on my keys so tight the metal edges dug into my palm. “I know you do.” My voice came out softer than I intended.

His gaze searched mine, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

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