Page 104 of At First Flight
I nod.
She doesn’t say I told you so. Doesn’t press. She just sets the book aside and listens.
“He thinks I’ve lost my mind,” I add. “Thinks this is some… escape fantasy. That I’m endangering the kids by not living in a high-rise and sending them to boarding schools.”
“And what do you think?” she asks.
I look out over the fields, the sunlight catching on Oliver’s hair as he runs. Evelyn’s giggling, her shoes kicked off in the grass, dancing with a butterfly she insists is named Bacon. Soon we’re going to run out of breakfast foods to name the damn things.
“I think I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”
Her smile is small but full of something that looks a lot like belief. “Then let him be wrong.”
I want to kiss her.
I want to thank her for being the first person in years who doesn’t look at me like I’m broken or reckless.
But before I can say anything else, my phone buzzes again.
This time, it’s worse.
Attorney:
Guardianship petition officially filed. You’ll be served this week. Hearing date TBD.
My jaw tightens, and I close my eyes, counting to three.
When I open them, Lila is standing. She’s already read the message over my shoulder, and her hand finds mine without hesitation.
“Whatever he throws at you, we’ll handle it,” she says. “You’re not alone in this.”
I want to believe her, but I’ve been alone so long, I’m not sure I remember how to let anyone carry the weight with me.
Still, I squeeze her hand back. Because I want to try.
By late afternoon, the sun hangs low and heavy in the sky, casting a golden sheen over the dock. The kids are knee-deep in a makeshift mud kitchen out back. Oliver’s in charge of stirring with a stick, Evelyn is yelling about the need for “unicorn spice.” Lila crouches next to them, laughing with that unguarded sound that makes my heart hitch every damn time.
I’m not sure how I got this lucky.
I lean against the deck post, arms crossed, soaking in the scene like a man about to lose it all. Because I know it’s only a matter of time before the papers arrive. Before my father makes good on his threat and rips a hole straight through the life I’ve built here.
And I also know something else, something worse: the person who makes this feel like more than survival—the one who walked into my house with hesitant hands and a fierce heart—could walk out just as easily.
No matter what feelings are involved inside either one of us, I’d never ask her to give up her dream.
Lila looks up and catches me staring. Her smile falters, just slightly, like she knows what I’m thinking.
She makes her way over, wiping mud from her hands on her shorts. “You look like a man who’s bracing for impact.”
“Feels like it,” I admit.
She stands next to me, our shoulders nearly touching. “You said your father never did this before. Never tried to take the kids when your sister would leave them with the nanny.”
I nod. “He used guilt. Shame. He didn’t need court documents. He used her.”
She’s quiet for a moment, processing.
“And now?”
