Page 25 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

Isabella's eyes light up. "Sold three pieces! And the owner wants to feature my work in their summer exhibition."

"That's amazing, sweetheart."

Pride swells in my chest. Five years ago, she arrived in Cedar Falls with nothing but a wedding dress and broken dreams. Now her little art studio downtown is thriving, her paintings selling in galleries across the state.

"Mom painted me and James today," Sophie announces, finally tearing herself away from the TV. "But she won't let us see it until it's finished."

"It's a surprise for Father's Day," Isabella explains, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth. "Which I wasn't supposed to mention."

I laugh, shifting James to a more comfortable position. "I'll pretend to be surprised."

"Dad," Emma says suddenly, "did you tell Mom about the college recruiter who came to my game yesterday?"

Isabella sits up straighter. "What recruiter?"

"From Oregon State," I explain. "She was impressed with Emma's pitching. Wants to track her progress over the next few years."

"My baby, the future college athlete," Isabella beams, reaching over to ruffle Emma's hair. The casual gesture—and the fact that Emma allows it—speaks volumes about how far they've come.

"Mo-om," Emma protests, but she's smiling. "I'm not a baby anymore."

"No," Isabella agrees softly. "You're growing into an amazing young woman. Just like your mom would have wanted."

The mention of Claire doesn't bring pain anymore. Just a gentle ache of remembrance and gratitude. We keep her memory alive in the family, her photos still hanging on the walls alongside newer ones. Isabella made sure of that, understanding that love doesn't have to be diminished to make room for more.

"Speaking of growing," Sophie pipes up, "when is the new baby coming? James needs someone to play with."

Isabella rubs her barely-visible bump. "Still about four months to go, honey. These things take time."

"It's a girl," Sophie declares with absolute certainty. "I can tell."

"Oh you can, can you?" I tease. "Like you could 'tell' James was going to be a girl?"

Sophie shrugs, unperturbed. "I was practicing my prediction skills then. I'm better now."

"Your mother called today," Isabella tells me, changing the subject. "She's coming for a visit next week. Says she needs to spoil her grandchildren before the new one arrives."

My mom had taken to Isabella immediately, recognizing in her the same strength she'd always admired in Claire. She'd been instrumental in helping us navigate those early days of blending our family, offering wisdom without judgment.

Isabella's own mother had taken longer to come around. She'd missed our small wedding ceremony, though she'd sent a lovely but impersonal gift. It wasn't until James was born that something shifted. Maybe it was seeing her daughter truly happy, or maybe it was just the primal pull of grandmotherhood, but she's been making slow steps toward reconciliation ever since.

Her father remains distant, though Isabella seems at peace with that now. "You can't make someone love you the way you need to be loved," she told me once. "Sometimes the kindest thing is to let go."

"Daddy," James mumbles against my neck, pulling me from my thoughts. "Story?"

"Bath first," I tell him, standing. "Then story."

"I'll help," Sophie volunteers, always eager to assist with her little brother. "I can do all the voices better than Dad anyway."

"True," I admit, following her toward the stairs. "But I do better sound effects."

"Mom does the best voices," Emma calls after us. "Remember when she did the entire cast of Frozen?"

"That's because your mom is talented at everything," I call back, hearing Isabella's laugh in response.

Later, after James is bathed and storied and tucked into his big-boy bed, after Emma has finished her homework and Sophie has finally run out of things to tell us about her day, after the house has settled into its nighttime quiet, I find Isabella in our bedroom. She's standing at the window, one hand resting on her small bump, looking out at the stars.

"Penny for your thoughts," I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

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