Page 57 of The One Who Changed Everything

Evan

The children’s reading nook looked worse than I remembered.

I ran my hand along the edge of a low wooden table, its surface scarred with scratches and faint crayon marks that had been partially scrubbed away over the years. The air smelled faintly of old paper and lemon-scented cleaner, though nothing could disguise the mustiness clinging to the aging carpet beneath my feet. The shelves, once painted a cheerful yellow, were chipped and faded to a dull, lifeless beige. A couple of stuffed animals sat perched on top, their fur matted and their seams stretched thin from decades of tiny hands tugging them this way and that. It wasn’t much to look at now, but I could see it—what it could be.

I muttered under my breath, crossing my arms as I took it all in. "Let’s turn you into something worth remembering."

This wasn’t just about sanding down furniture or slapping on a fresh coat of paint. This was for Sophia. For Samantha. For the life I wanted to build, one piece at a time. My chest tightened, but not in a bad way—not entirely. There was something else mixed in there, some spark of hope trying to claw its way past the doubt that always seemed to linger.

I pictured a little girl sitting cross-legged on a bright new rug, her face lighting up as she flipped through one of those oversized picture books kids love. Maybe other kids would sit beside her, giggling and sharing stories. And Samantha…she’d be there too. Not just watching, but smiling. Relaxed. Happy. That image—it stuck with me, made me stand a little taller. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

After my impromptu visit to the library, I went directly to Sam’s apartment. She opened the door, and for a moment, I forgot why I was there. She wore a simple navy sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, but there was something about the way she looked at me—her eyes full of happiness—that made me forget what words were supposed to sound like.

"Hey," she said, tilting her head slightly. "You’re early."

"Yeah, well." I cleared my throat, stepping inside when she moved aside to let me in. The faint scent of lavender drifted in the air, mingling with something warm and homemade—Mexican food, maybe? "Figured I’d leave room for traffic. You know how packed Minden gets on a Tuesday night."

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but not quite. "Sure. Traffic. Come on in."

The living room was neat and cozy, every corner carefully curated. A stack of library books sat on the coffee table next to a half-empty mug of tea. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, suddenly feeling too big and out of place in the small space.

"How’s Sophia?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"She’s good," Samantha replied, crossing her arms as she leaned against the arm of the couch. "She’s still over at Kelly’s house."

"Right." I nodded, pulling a folded photo from my pocket and holding it out to her. "I wanted to show you this. It’s, uh, something I’ve been working on."

She hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing mine briefly. I tried not to think too much about it as she unfolded the paper and scanned the three-dimensional rendering—a bright, colorful mural design, modular seating, shelves low enough for kids to reach easily.

"Wow," she murmured after a moment, her eyes still on the page. "What is all this?"

"Turns out the newly established Mercer Foundation has sponsored a renovation for Minden Public Library," I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. I’d been debating what to do with my trust fund ever since I had the blowup with my father. He couldn’t take the money back, and I was determined to put it to good use. A charity was the obvious choice. "But I’ve got help lined up. The guys from the station are pitching in. I just—I wanted you to know how serious I am about this. About being there for Sophia. For you both."

She looked up then, her expression unreadable. I braced myself for skepticism, for questions, for anything that might poke holes in the fragile confidence I’d built up on the drive over. But instead, she surprised me.

"Why the library?" she asked.

"Because it matters," I said simply. "It’s a place where kids feel safe, where they can dream a little bigger. And because…it’s your place. I wanted to do something that connected us, something that showed—" I stopped myself, realizing I might’ve said too much.

"Showed what?" she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That I mean it," I said finally, meeting her gaze. "All of it. You, Sophia, Minden. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere, Samantha. Not this time."

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Just stood there, holding the printout like it might slip through her fingers. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“It’s amazing,” she said. Relief flooded my limbs, so strong I had to remind myself to stay steady. Samantha’s approval mattered more than I’d let myself admit. I had worked on the library, not just as a way to prove I could be here for them, but as a tangible offering. Something real. Something solid. I wanted her to see that I wasn’t just making promises—I was building something that would last.

She reached out, her fingers brushing over mine where I still cupped her cheek. For a moment, I thought she might pull away, but she didn’t. She stayed.

“You’re sure? There’s still time to change anything you don’t like,” I said, brushing away the tear that was trailing down her cheek.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice softer, like maybe she couldn’t quite believe it herself.

I swallowed hard, my thumb absently tracing a line along her jaw. “I meant what I said, Sam. I’m here. Not just for Sophia, but for you, too.”

Her breath hitched, her lashes flickering as she searched my face, looking for any hesitation. Any sign that I didn’t mean it. But there wasn’t one. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.

She let out a slow exhale, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “Evan…”

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