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DYLAN

The diner smells like grilled onions and melted cheese, the scent that seeps into your clothes and ramps up your hunger tenfold.

We’re packed into a booth near the front window, Grace across from me with Junie pressed into her side, Barbie doll clutched tight in one hand.

Eli’s next to her, quieter, but her face lights up every time she smooths her doll’s tiny plastic braid that matches her own.

It’s loud in here with a chorus of forks clinking, old country music humming through the overhead speaker, and someone shouting for more coffee from the kitchen, but at this table, there’s peace. Grace has a way of settling everything by being present.

I thought twice about this outing, worried that it’s too much of a step in a direction I don’t even know if we should be traveling.

But after being together twice and seeming to move in the right direction, it feels necessary.

I’m not a man who fucks first and dates second, and even though this isn’t a date as such, it’s gotten us off the ranch for some quality time together, and it’s what I think we all need .

Junie waves her Barbie in the air like she’s mid-rodeo. “Her name is Princess Junie,” she announces. “And she owns a ranch and a unicorn, and she makes all the rules.”

Grace laughs and helps her adjust the doll’s hat. “I like a woman with a vision.”

Eli’s more careful with hers, brushing the braid-ends slowly and gently, like she’s worried it might break. Her doll has a pink jacket and boots, like the ones I left for Grace. Grace reaches out to brush a crumb from Eli’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My heart squeezes tight.

“I think I’m outnumbered,” I say, sipping my coffee, my voice low.

Grace grins across the table. “Welcome to my world, cowboy. How does it feel?”

“Like I need a special license to handle all this Barbie hair and cuteness,” I mutter, reaching for a ketchup bottle with a mock serious look.

Junie giggles. Eli leans into Grace’s side a little more.

And for a few perfect moments, it feels like my kids aren’t burdened by the loss of their momma, or paused, waiting for her to come back. They’re living in the moment, enjoying an afternoon out like normal kids.

When the bell over the door jingles, I look up from Eli’s small smile to find Nora in the doorway, framed in sunlight, her lipstick smeared, eyeliner smudged, and her glassy eyes searching, and for a second, I think I’m imagining the thing that could shatter everything, catastrophizing out of fear of losing again.

But it doesn’t take long for me to realize that my ex-wife has appeared at the worst possible moment, and shit is about to go down.

She looks like the shell of the woman I married, glazed by too many drinks and haggard from lack of sleep.

When our eyes meet, it’s like there’s a shift in barometric pressure, the air thickening as extreme emotion builds.

My body stiffens for a moment, then I’m on my feet, ready to prevent the car crash that’s heading in our direction .

When she sees the kids with Grace, her face scrunches, and she lurches forward, boots loud against the tile. “You asshole,” she slurs, voice pitched too high for a family place like this.

“Hey,” I say evenly, putting myself between the booth and Nora’s fast approach, one hand braced against the table.

“Nora. Not here. Not like this.” The stench of alcohol that hangs around her is almost eye-watering, mixed with stale body odor and cigarette smoke.

I flinch when it hits my nostrils, stabbed by the unfamiliar aroma of decline.

She ignores me, eyes narrowing past my shoulder. “And you—” she spits at Grace, “You think you can take my place…”

I turn to witness Eli stiffening and Junie curl tighter against Grace, small hands clutching the ends of Grace’s shirt.

Grace doesn’t flinch but wraps an arm around them both, holding steady.

They’ve missed their momma so much, but not this version of her, and the longing in their eyes breaks my heart, even as they withdraw.

“You need to go,” I say, voice firm now.

Nora’s eyes flick to the girls, and her expression softens for a moment, with recognition, regret, maybe shame, but it’s gone too fast. She reaches toward the booth.

“I want to see my girls.”

“Not like this,” I repeat, stepping in front of her fully, blocking her from their view. “You want to be their mom; you get yourself together first.”

“I am their mom!” she snaps, voice rising. A few diners glance our way. Someone drops a fork. The back of my neck heats as I realize how bad this looks.

“You’re scaring them,” I say quietly, hoping it’ll cut through.

Her gaze flicks past me again, and this time, she sees what I mean. Junie, trembling and halfway under the table. Eli, silent and pale, holding onto Grace like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

Something in Nora cracks .

“Fuck you,” she hisses, turning fast and storming out the way she came, louder than she entered, every eye in the place on her and then us.

The door swings to close behind her, but I’m striding in her wake, already close enough to grab it before it shuts.

I step outside into the thick heat of late afternoon.

The door swings shut behind me with a soft thud.

Nora’s halfway down the sidewalk, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and I call out for her, instinct driving every frantic action.

What am I even doing? This isn’t going to make a damn difference.

“Nora,” I call out again, hopeful regardless. Not for me, but for the kids.

She stops, spins. Her boots skid against the concrete.

“They’re my kids,” she snaps, eyes wild and rimmed red. “You can’t keep them from me.”

I duck my head, staring at the sidewalk, inhaling deep, and praying for patience. “You left,” I say. “You left, and we had no idea where you went. Where have you been, Nora?”

She shakes her head. “I’m their momma, Dylan.”

I take a deep breath, anger and sorrow fighting a war in my chest as memories of Nora from the past, fight against the version in front of me.

I could yell at her for breaking all our hearts.

For leaving us without a backward glance.

For letting everything I helped her fight before we were married come creeping back in until it won.

But what would be the point? People can’t fix what’s broken in others.

They have to want to help themselves, and Nora doesn’t.

“The kids need you sober. Stable. Present, Nora.”

“Who is she?” she spits, stepping toward me again and ignoring everything I’m saying. “The one in there playing house in my seat? You let her tuck them in now?”

“She’s showing them what kindness looks like,” I say. “That’s all.”

Her jaw tightens. “You think I don’t miss them? You think I wanted this? ”

“No,” I say honestly. “I think you’re hurting. But so are they. And they need a mom who doesn’t show up like this.”

Her face twists, but I can’t recognize the emotions behind it. She stumbles a step back and steadies herself on the building. Then she laughs in a hollow, broken way that echoes and draws the eyes of the people walking past.

Without another word, she storms off down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the weight of her own choices.

I don’t follow. I’m frozen with my hands fisted at my sides, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest and the sharp crack of guilt I know I’ll always carry. I believed I could be enough to make her better, and it’s an arrogance I’ll always feel ashamed of.

When I step back into the diner, it feels like walking into another world, the one I’ve been trying to build from the rubble of the past. Grace is still in the booth, tucked against the window, but now both girls are in her lap.

Junie’s got her face buried in Grace’s neck.

Eli is sitting stiffly, blinking hard, trying to hold back tears.

Her jaw is tight, the same as mine, and her small hands are still clutching the table edge.

Grace’s eyes meet mine, warm and sorry for everything that’s happening to our family. I crouch beside the booth, laying a gentle hand on Eli’s back, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Hey,” I say softly, “it’s okay. Mom had a rough day.”

Eli looks at me, her big brown eyes searching mine for something I don’t know how to give. “Why is mommy always mad now?”

The question guts me.

I draw both girls into my arms, Grace letting them go without hesitation.

My cheek rests against Junie’s hair, and my hand smooths down Eli’s back as I kiss her cheek.

They smell like their momma, and it breaks my heart for them to be separated from the woman who grew them inside her, giving me the most important gift of my life.

“Because sometimes,” I say quietly, “people get sick on the inside, too. Not the sick a doctor can fix, and it makes everything feel hard. But we’re gonna be okay. I promise. And one day, I hope Mommy will, too, okay?”

I glance up, meeting Grace’s eyes that are glossy.

The sympathy in her expression threatens to undo me more than the moment already has because having her here with me and the kids makes Nora’s absence so much easier to bear.

I’m not alone, and neither are the kids.

Having her support means everything. I give her a small nod. It’s all I’ve got.

“Let’s finish our burgers,” I say, trying for lightness, “then I’m ordering us the biggest chocolate sundaes this place has ever seen.”

Grace raises an eyebrow, doing her part to play along. “With extra whipped cream?”

“Mountains of it,” I say.

“And chocolate sprinkles with extra fudge sauce?”

“Anything you want.”

“Banana,” Junie says softly. “I want banana.”

“What about you, Eli?” Grace asks, touching her scrunched hand tenderly.

She shrugs. “The same.”

The waitress returns as if she’s been watching from the kitchen for a moment so we can accept our order.

The food’s hot and quick to eat, with fries and ketchup and greasy wrappers that somehow make everything feel a little more normal.

The girls eat like they didn’t just have their hearts torn out.

That’s the thing about kids. They break quickly, but they mend as fast if you give them something solid to come back to.

I tell them the old story about how Cody once tried to milk a bull because he “didn’t check under the hood,” and the corners of Eli’s mouth twitch. Then Junie giggles, loud and wild, making all of us laugh, and the booth feels warm again.

Grace watches it all happen, one hand still resting on Junie’s back, and it hits me how easily she fits here. Like she’s always been part of this picture, adding to it in a way that makes space for everyone to breathe, including me.

Outside, the sun has dipped behind the diner’s roofline, and Eli yawns so hard her eyes water.

Junie hums something soft under her breath, probably a nursery rhyme Grace taught her.

I open the truck door and let them climb in.

Grace leans over to buckle Junie in, brushing my little girl’s hair back and whispering something that makes her smile.

It’s second nature to her now and watching her do it makes hope twist low in my chest.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get it right with their mom. I don’t know if the ache she left behind will ever stop feeling like failure. But maybe all I have to do is give my kids something steady and real.

I climb in, settle behind the wheel, and as I reach for the keys, my hand drifts toward Grace. She takes it without hesitation and slides her fingers into mine like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

I let myself believe, for one quiet, borrowed moment, that maybe this is the start of something that won’t break.

Maybe this is the beginning.