“Hey.”
An awkward pause stretches between us.
“Come in,” she says, stepping aside. “They’re by the couch.”
I step inside, the familiar scent of her place hitting me. Vanilla candles. Clean laundry. My bet is it’s all a lie on the surface.
Wyatt’s presents are stacked near the sofa; the wrapping paper has dinosaurs and superheroes on it.
My chest tightens despite myself. “He’ll like those,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “Is he still obsessed with horses?”
“Yeah. Ain’t grown outta that yet. Any luck, he won’t ever.”
She smiles weakly. “Good.”
I pick up the bags.
“Coffee?” she blurts. “I just made some.”
I hesitate.Say no. Leave.
But Wyatt’s presents are here, and this is still his mom. And hell, she looks sad. I’m not a monster. I felt something for her once. Maybe she is turning a corner.
“Yeah. Alright. One.”
She moves quickly into the kitchen.
I sit stiffly on the couch, scanning the room. Framed photos line the shelves. Her parents. Friends. Her new boyfriend. No pictures of Wyatt.
That stings more than it should.
She comes back, handing me a mug. Our fingers brush, and she pulls back like she’s been burned. I can’t help but notice thattremble in her hand. The same she would have every morning before reaching for a bottle of gin.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
We sit in silence for a moment. I have nothing to say to her. And this coffee tastes like shit. So I set it down on the side.
Then she starts crying. Tiny little sobs like I won’t notice.
Goddammit.
“Ash—”
“I messed up,” she says, wiping at her cheeks. “I know that. You don’t have to say it.”
I stare at my boots. “You didn’t just mess up,” I say finally. “You left your kid.”
Her face crumples. “I was scared, Hunter. Everything felt… stuck. Like my whole life was already decided. That you didn’t really want me. You just wanted our son.”
I huff quietly. “Welcome to adulthood.”
She shakes her head. “No. You loved it. The ranch. The routine. I felt like I was drowning.”
Silence settles again.
“I miss you both.” She whispers.