Chương 6
Noah stared at the broken piece.
I immediately started apologizing.
"I'm sorry, buddy."
He looked at the broken plane.
Then at me.
"It's okay."
I blinked.
"You’re not mad?"
"No."
He shrugged.
"My uncle broke one before."
The relief I felt embarrassed me.
A child had forgiven me for breaking a toy.
The larger thing was still waiting.
Lily was different.
She was quieter around me.
She asked questions that seemed random but were not.
"Do you like pancakes?"
"Yes."
"Do you like dogs?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how to braid hair?"
I looked at Samantha.
She was putting dishes away and pretending not to listen.
"No."
Lily nodded.
"Mom doesn't know either."
Samantha turned around.
"Excuse me?"
"You said Grandma's hair is easier."
Samantha laughed despite herself.
It was the first time I had seen that expression on her face in years.
Not the polite smile she used with strangers.
A real one.
For a second, I remembered why I had fallen in love with her.
Then the moment passed.
Because love did not erase damage.
One evening, I was helping Noah with homework when my phone started ringing.
It was my attorney in Vancouver.
I had ignored several calls already.
The situation with my company needed attention.
A project I had been managing was entering a critical stage.
Before returning to Chicago, I had planned to transition everything remotely.
That plan had been built around a life where my biggest responsibility was my career.
Now every decision felt different.
"Ethan?"
Samantha looked over.
"You can answer."
I stepped into the hallway.
The call lasted fifteen minutes.
When I returned, Noah was coloring at the table.
Samantha was watching me.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
"No."
I knew that look.
"Say it."
She leaned against the counter.
"You looked more comfortable talking about work than you do talking to your children."
The words irritated me.
Mostly because they were true.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
Her expression softened slightly.
"Neither do they."
I looked toward the table.
Noah was carefully staying inside the lines of a drawing.
"You think I should quit my job?"
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"Why not?"
"Because running away from one life to prove you care about another is still running away."
I stared at her.
"You always talk like that?"
She smiled faintly.
"No."
"What changed?"
She looked down.
"Life."
That answer was so simple it almost hurt.
Later that night, I called Chloe.
She answered quickly.
"Hey."
Her voice sounded tired.
"I miss you."
The silence after that was painful.
"I miss you too."
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"How are we doing?"
She laughed quietly.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A bad one."
"Yes."
At least she was honest.
"I don't know how to fit into this."
I looked at the floor.
"I know."
"No, Ethan."
Her voice became firmer.
"You know that you have a problem."
She paused.
"You don't know what it feels like to stand beside someone while they discover they have another family."
I closed my eyes.
"I never wanted you to feel like that."
"I know."
"And I love you."
"I know."
"But?"
She took a long breath.
"But I don't know if love is enough when your heart is trying to catch up with five years you lost."
I had no answer.
Because I was asking her to wait while I figured out a life that should have existed before she entered it.
A few days later, Samantha received a letter.
I knew something was wrong because she stood by the mailbox for almost a minute without opening it.
She came back inside holding a white envelope.
"What is it?"
She looked at me.
"Nothing."
I knew immediately it was not nothing.
"What happened?"
She sat down.
"It's from the hospital."
My stomach tightened.
"Are the kids okay?"
"Yes."
She opened the envelope slowly.
"It's an old billing issue."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
She looked uncomfortable.
"When I had them, there were complications."
I waited.
"Insurance covered some things, but not everything."
"How much?"
She did not answer.
"Samantha."
She folded the paper.
"Twenty thousand."
The number sat between us.
I looked at her.
"How did you handle that?"
She gave a small shrug.
"Payments."
"For five years?"
"Yes."
I felt anger rise.
Not at her.
At the fact that she had carried things I never knew existed.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked at me.
"You weren't there."
The sentence was quiet.
But it ended the argument before it began.
"I can help."
"No."
"I wasn't asking."
"I know."
She stood.
"I know you want to fix it."
"I should help."
"You should think."
I frowned.
"What?"
She looked tired.
"Every time you find something painful, your first instinct is to throw money at it."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Because I remembered the divorce.
The apartment.
The expensive gifts I bought instead of having difficult conversations.
Samantha saw the hesitation.
"I'm not saying money is bad."
She sat back down.
"I'm saying your children don't need a person who pays for things."
Her voice softened.
"They need a person who stays."
That night, I transferred money anyway.
Not to Samantha.
To the hospital payment account after she reluctantly gave me the information.
When she found out, she was furious.
"You don't listen."
"I helped."
"You made a decision without me."
"I was trying to do the right thing."
She looked at me.
"That is exactly the problem."
The words stopped me.
"What?"
"You keep deciding what the right thing is."
She shook her head.
"You did it five years ago."
I looked away.
"You decided leaving was better."
"You decided hiding the pregnancy was better."
She pointed toward herself.
"And now you decided paying the bill was better."
Her voice cracked.
"Do you understand what all three things have in common?"
May you like
I did not answer.
"You made choices for other people because you couldn't handle the uncertainty."
