Page 6 of Shattered Promise

“I’ll think about it,” I say finally. It’s not a yes. But it’s not a no either.

“That’s all I’m asking.” Her voice softens further. “I know you’re doing your best, Mason. And it’s enough.You’redoing enough.”

I swallow hard. She means it. I know she does. But it doesn’t land the way she wants it to.Enoughhas never felt like something I could count on. Not when it came with conditions from the people who were supposed to give it freely.

Theo makes a content noise around the last of his puréed fruit. I glance over. His cheeks are smeared, his clothes are a mess, but he looks proud as hell about it. A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth despite everything.

“I gotta go,” I tell her, voice rougher than before. “We’ve got a full morning.”

She doesn’t push. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll stop by later with some freezer meals.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Gratitude warms the hollow cavern beneath my ribs.

“Give my grandson some love from me. Love you, Mason."

I chuckle at the sentiment. It's the same thing she says every time she's about to hang up. “I will. Love you too, Ma.” I hang up and glance at the screen still glowing in my hand.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I swipe into the thread with Abby. Her message from two days ago still sits there, like it’s been waiting for me.

A photo of a cherry-red ’69 Camaro, restored within an inch of its life, taunts me.

I stare at it for a beat too long, thumb hovering over the screen. Talking to her has become . . . easy. Familiar and nice. A kind of lifeline these past few months, even if I’d never say it out loud.

It started with a thank you text after Beau called her when Theo was sick and Ma was out of town. One message turned into two, then five. Updates about Theo. A pediatrician recommendation. A picture of Theo passed out with a graham cracker in his fist. It stayed in safe territory—Theoterritory—which made it easier to pretend I wasn’t looking forward to her replies.

I type out the start of a reply.

Me: That thing looks better than it did when it rolled off the line.

Theo lets out a sharp, frustrated cry from the high chair. I glance over to find him frowning at his tray and the one lone Cheerio left, betrayal written all over his face. He smacks both hands down with a frustrated grunt.

“I got you, bud,” I mutter, slipping the phone into my back pocket and grabbing one of the fruit-and-veggie packets off the counter. “Your favorite packet incoming.”

He reaches for it with both hands, eager but clumsy, his grip too tight. The packet squelches between his fists and I lunge in time to stop it from bursting across his pjs.

“Whoa, easy,” I say, prying his fingers back gently and twisting off the cap. "We’re not turning breakfast into a finger-painting session today.”

He babbles something in response and kicks his feet happily, satisfied now that food is in motion.

I lean my hip against the counter, watching him. Just watching. His hair’s starting to curl at the ends. His cheeks are red from sleep and teething. And he’s mine.

God help me, he’s mine.

My phone is still warm in my pocket. Her message still open. My reply still unsent.

Across the room, the fridge hums softly. The baby monitor lights flicker. Outside, the yard waits—grass too long, fence half-fixed, a rusted workbench in the barn that needs sanding before the rain moves in.

But for now, I hold the packet while my son eats. And I let it be enough.

The weight of him in this moment? It’s the only thing that makes me feel steady.

3

ABBY

The bellover the Coffee Shop door jingles just as I step inside, and for a second, I just breathe. Cozy warmth hits me in the face, the scent of blueberry muffins and espresso curling into my lungs. There’s a soft murmur of conversation beneath a mellow acoustic playlist, and sunlight spills through the tall windows like honey.

It feels good to be back in Avalon Falls.

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