Page 120 of At First Flight
“And the kids?”
My chest tightens. “More than I should.”
“There’s no such thing.”
I look down at my hands, the chipped polish on my fingernails, and how my skin still smells faintly of their shampoo.
“I just don’t know if he wants me anymore,” I whisper, the words raw in my throat. “If I’ve already broken too much for him to want the rest. All I’ve done since he’s known me is go back and forth in relationship ping-pong.”
Ashvi doesn’t look at me with pity, thank God. She just exhales, long and steady, like she’s been holding it in the whole time.
“That man?” she says, eyes sharp with knowing. “He’s probably out in that field right now, shirt half off, covered in sweat and pacing like a lunatic, kicking himself for letting you go.”
A laugh bubbles up despite the ache in my chest. “That’s oddly specific.”
She grins. “He told Rowan he’s just trying to be good enough. Said if he’s patient, if he stays steady, maybe you’ll come back to him.”
The fragile parts of me tremble at that. Because Dean was always good enough. He didn’t need to prove a thing. I was the one clawing at perfection, measuring myself against some invisible scale of womanhood that said I had to be one thing or the other.
Brilliant or nurturing. Independent or loving. Career-driven or family-focused.
But maybe… I don’t have to choose. Maybe I can be both.
Women all over the world are doing it—building empires, raising babies, loving deeply, and chasing dreams. I’vejust been so afraid of losing myself in someone else’s life again that I forgot I get to write this one. I get to choose how it looks.
Dean never asked me to shrink myself. He never asked me to give anything up. I did that all on my own out of fear. And when I handed him my worst, my jagged pieces, he didn’t flinch.
He held them with devotion.
And it could be that’s the thing. Love isn’t just soft and romantic, it’s resilient. Maybe I don’t have to compartmentalize myself to fit neatly into someone else’s world. Because Dean didn’t ask me to fit. He just made space.
It’s time I stop running and stop trying to be less. Because I can be brilliant and soft. Strong and supported. Fierce and deeply loved. And Dean? He’ll still be there, holding steady, just like he always promised he would.
Chapter Twenty-five – Dean
I’m rinsing off the cutting board, humming under my breath while the smell of garlic and tomato sauce lingers in the air. The kind of scent that clings to your skin and clothes and makes the house feel like a home. My mind drifts toward bedtime routines—bathwater, tiny pajamas, and storybooks read twice just because Evelyn insists the ending sounds better the second time.
Then I hear it. A sharp and high-pitched scream. But it’s not the kind that spikes your adrenaline, not the kind that means someone’s bleeding or hurt. It’s pure joy shouted at the top of small lungs.
Then I hear her name.
“LILA!”
I drop the dish towel. My heart doesn’t just race—it sprints. I’m halfway across the kitchen before I realize I’ve moved, drawn by instinct more than anything else. The screen door creaks as I shove it open.
And there she is.
Lila. Standing in the middle of the backyard, sunlight haloing around her, both of my kids wrapped around her legs like they might never let go again.
Oliver’s talking a mile a minute, hand flailing, face split in a grin that could light the whole damn town. Evelyn clutches Lila’s leg like a lifeline, little fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, her cheek pressed against Lila’s thigh.
My knees go weak. She came back. I didn’t expect her to.
I thought… God, I thought that was it. That she'd disappeared into the fog of my past, just another person I couldn’t hold on to. My true ghost girl. But she’s here. And everything inside me fractures under the weight of relief.
I don’t breathe until she looks up and sees me. Our eyes lock across the yard. There’s a tremble in her lips, something uncertain and fragile.
“I want to stay if that’s still okay,” she says, voice barely more than a whisper.
