I'm buckling Evan into his car seat when the driver's door opens.
And Wade Callahan slides in like he never left.
"Wade!" James shouts excitedly.
I jerk up so fast I hit my head on the roof, pain barely registering over the panic flooding my chest.
"What are you doing?" I demand, my voice sharper than I feel.
He doesn't answer me right away. Just grips the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the mirrors like he's watching for something.
"Get in, Lizzy," he says finally. Quiet. Urgent. "Please. I'll explain later. Just… trust me."
My heart stutters. The last time I saw him, he was on his knees, begging me not to walk away. But I walked anyway.
And now he's here, in my car. With my kids.
Oh god, is he trying to kidnap us.
Every instinct I have tells me to call the police.
I open the passenger door and reach for my phone but he grabs it first. Fear spikes, sharp and immediate.
Then he types something and turns the screen toward me.
It's not safe for you and the boys.
I'm taking you somewhere safe. Trust me.
I look up at him searching his eyes for some sort of explanation. He pushes my bag off the passager seat and taps the seat once.
"Please Lizzy, we have to go. Now."
And the thing that terrifies me the most?
He doesn't look like the desperate boy begging me to stay. He looks like a man who knows danger is coming and would do anything to protect us.
_______________________________________
A few weeks earlier
Lizzy pov
Why can't mornings in my house start gently. Instead they arrive all at once, loud and relentless, like something crashing into motion before I've had a chance to catch up.
"Moooom! Evan took my shoe!"
"I did not! It was my shoe!"
I close my eyes for a brief second, my fingers tightening around the edge of the kitchen counter as I draw in a slow breath. It doesn't calm anything, but it gives me just enough space to turn back around without snapping.
"James, your shoes are by the door," I say, already moving. "Evan, finish your cereal. We are not doing this today—we're late."
The kettle whistles behind me, sharp and insistent. Toast pops up. And then, exactly when I expect it, Evan knocks over his cup. Milk spreads across the table in a slow, creeping spill.
"Oh, Evan…"
"I didn't mean to," he says quickly, his voice wobbling.
"I know you didn't." I grab a cloth, wiping it up before it reaches the edge. "Just stay still, okay? I've got it."
One hand cleans while the other reaches for James's bag without thinking.
"Homework?"
"In there."
"Lunch?"
"You packed it."
Right. I always do.
By the time we're out the door, shoes on, bags zipped, jackets half on, I already feel like I've lived through a full day.
The drive to school is loud in the way that only belongs to children—arguments layered over laughter, music requests shouted like negotiations.
I let it fill the space.
Because when they're here, everything feels full.
"Mom," James says from the backseat, quieter now.
I glance at him in the mirror. "Yeah?"
"Is Dad coming home this Friday?"
My hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.
"He said he would.
A pause.
"Will he come to my game on Saturday?"
I hesitate, just for a moment.
"I'll remind him," I say gently.
It isn't an answer.
We both know that.
But neither of us pushes it further.
After I drop them off, the quiet settles slowly into the car. It feels heavier than it should, like something that doesn't quite belong but refuses to leave.
I sit there for a moment, hands resting in my lap, staring ahead.
Then I exhale and pull away.
The bell above the door chimes softly as I unlock it.
Juniper and Ink.
My shop.
The one place that still feels entirely mine.
It's small, but warm. Shelves lined with books, chairs tucked into corners, the faint smell of coffee lingering like something steady and familiar.
I flick on the lights and move behind the counter, already falling into the rhythm.
The machine hums. Cups stack. Pastries are set out.
Here, things make sense.
Here, I know what I'm doing.
By mid-morning, the shop fills with its usual crowd. Regulars who greet me like I'm part of their routine. Students settling in for hours of study. Someone flipping through a book near the window like they've nowhere else to be.
"Morning, Liz," Tom calls.
"Morning. The usual?"
"You know me too well."
I smile as I make his cappuccino, the motion automatic.
Here, I exist as something more than just a mother.
Here, people see me.
Even if it's only for a few minutes at a time.
The rush tapers off just enough for me to breathe.
I'm wiping down the counter when the bell chimes again.
"Good morning you gorgeous ray of sunshine" a bright calls out from the door
I look up, already smiling.
"Talia."
She walks in like she belongs everywhere she goes, sunglasses pushed into her hair, confidence effortless. In her hands is a bouquet of flowers, bright, vibrant, impossible to ignore.
"For you," she says, holding them out.
I blink, caught off guard before I take them.
"They're beautiful," I say softly. "You didn't have to do that."
"It's your birthday. Of course I did."
The word lands heavier than I expect.
It's my birthday. Also known as just another day.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
I turn, searching for something to put them in, giving myself a second to steady the feeling that rises unexpectedly in my chest.
"So," she says behind me, casual but deliberate, "we're going out on Friday."
I glance back at her. "We're… what?"
"Going out," she repeats. "You. Me. A few friends. Drinks. Music. Dancing." She waves her arms around to a tune only she can hear. "A night where you're not covered in milk and responsibility."
I huff out a small laugh. "Talia, I can't. I have the boys."
"I know," she says easily. "They're coming to mine."
I turn fully now. "What?"
"They're staying over. My place. My kids will be there, obviously. Mark's home, the nanny's staying, and Sarah's sending her kids too, with her au pair." She lifts a shoulder like it's no big deal.
"There will be more adults than children, which honestly never happens."
I stare at her, trying to process it.
"You planned all of this?"
"Of course I did."
"For me?"
"For your birthday," she corrects. "Which you were absolutely going to ignore."
"I wasn't ignoring it—"
"You were going to spend it at home," she cuts in.
I hesitate, the instinct to say no rising automatically.
"I don't know…"
"Lizzy," she says, softer now, but firm. "It's one night."
"I still have to check with Daniel."
She gives me a look.
"Have you heard from him today?"
I pause.
"No."
"Exactly."
There's no judgment in her tone.
Just fact.
"I'm not planning around him," she continues. "I planned around you. The boys will be taken care of. Properly. You don't need to worry about that."
My grip tightens slightly around the flowers.
One night wouldn't be that bad, right?
It shouldn't feel like this big of a decision.
But it does.
Because it's not just about going out.
It's about stepping outside of everything I've built my life around.
"I don't even know what I'd wear," I say, quieter now.
Talia smiles slowly.
"That sounds like a yes."
I let out a small breath, something in me shifting before I can stop it.
"Okay."
The word feels strange on my tongue. Like I'm signing up for something I might regret.
"Good," she says immediately. "I'll text you the details. And Liz?"
I look at her.
"Don't back out."
I huff a soft laugh. "I won't."
She studies me for a second like she's deciding whether to believe that, then nods.
"Friday," she says, already heading for the door.
The bell chimes as she leaves.
And just like that, it's decided.
I stand there for a moment longer than I need to, the flowers still in my hands.
And for the first time in a while I find myself excited about something other than my children.