Page 7 of Where We Belong

I squat down, heart sinking at the sadness in her little voice. Her vulnerability pierces my soul, and I wish I could conjure up her heart’s desire with a snap of my fingers.

“What do you want to do tomorrow, pumpkin?” I gently inquire.

Bernie’s lower lip trembles. “See Co-ee, pwease,” she pleads, and her words tug at my heartstrings like a desperate melody.

I’m tempted to text Cory and demand she come to visit. How dare she disappear without a backward glance? Bernie misses her as much as I do.

When I moved to Paradise Bay, it seemed so simple—Bernie would be embraced as family by the Spearmans, just as they welcomed me all those years ago. I never counted on one complication: Cory. Kind, big-hearted Cory, who my little girl grew to adore. The woman Bernie started seeing as a mother figure. Oh, how I wish that dream could be real, but the harsh truth is far different.

Bernadette's real mother was a cold, calculating woman I made the mistake of becoming involved with briefly. Little did I know, she was married. When she found herself pregnant, her husband gave her a choice: she could keep the baby, as long as it was his. If not, she had to find a way to get rid of it or risk divorce and ruin. Though terrified at the prospect of becoming a father, the second I met Bernie, I fell hopelessly in love.

She’s my life and my everything. If there’s something I would love to give her, it’s a mother who would love her as much as I do. Cory would be the best person. Except, I can’t have Cory.

So the day when Bernie called her Mama, I had to stop everything. It was so fucking hard to remind her that Cory is like an aunt, never a mother.

And that’s why Cory leaving was for the best, I repeat like a mantra. She doesn’t belong with us.

But it is so hard to believe it.

The lines between friendship and motherhood were dangerously blurred. As much as Bernie saw Cory as Mom, it could never be reality. Cory has her own path to follow, her own love story waiting to unfold with someone who doesn’t carry as much baggage as I do.

Attempting to distract Bernie from her yearning, I pull out my best silly faces and antics between spoonfuls of oatmeal. When I glance at the time, I realize we’re running late. As I leave the bowl and spoon behind to pour myself some much-needed coffee, the air fills with the clatter of her delight.

When I turn back, my little artist has transformed herself into a masterpiece of oatmeal. Her chest puffs with pride at her messy creation. A stifled laugh escapes my lips. “Somebody needs a bath.”

Bernie claps, giggling gleefully beneath her messy oatmeal costume. As I lift her up, I recall my talk with Piper and Finn. I need closure for myself and Bernie. There’s a part of me that died or at least disappeared after my daughter came to my life. It’s not her fault, but somehow it happened between changing my future, late nights, and moving to another state.

But that has to stop. My girl deserves the best of me. Somehow, I have to find that man—or a better version of him—for both our sakes.

* * *

By noon, I’m finishing up with my last patient. Before heading home, I stop by the ruined inn. It’s a crumbling shell of its former glory. Half-demolished walls sagging, broken windows gaping sadly. Maybe it’s best to dismantle it fully and start fresh with a new building.

This place deserves a new slate, just like us.

There are a lot of decisions I need to make, and maybe the first one is contacting Cory. She’s still in Paris, so it’s best if I text her. She can respond on her own time or ignore me until she returns home.

I take a deep breath and type.

Ben: Hey, I hope it’s not too late there, but I wanted to run some ideas about the inn by you.

I stare at the screen for several seconds, expecting an answer, or at least the dancing dots acknowledging that she’s seen my message, but nothing. I rotate my neck before I send a second one.

Ben: As you know, Paradise Bay needs a hotel. We own the old inn, but we haven’t done anything with it in years. I was thinking about tearing it down and building a hotel.

Finally, a reply pops up.

Cory: No. A generic hotel would be soulless, impersonal. Paradise Bay deserves better than that.

Ben: What if we modeled it after a French château among the vineyards? It’ll have more rooms than the inn, but it will still be charming.

Cory: I don’t have time for some big project.

I sigh, then type.

Ben: Then, sell me your part, and I’ll take care of it.

Cory: It was MY idea to buy it and renovate it. You can’t just steal it like…

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