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She steps back first. “I should check on Abby.”

“Quinn—”

“Don’t,” she says, but it’s not angry. Just fragile.

She walks away, and I’m left holding the toolbox.

I’m standing in the light but feeling like I’m still in the dark.

I take a breath, forcing my pulse to settle, and lean against the wall for a second. My hand tightens on the metal handle of the toolbox, but my mind’s still on her voice in the dark. The way it cracked, just slightly. The way she asked, "Why now?" as if she didn’t already know I’d been asking myself the same question since the day I left.

She’s not the kind of woman you forget. Not the kind you replace. And maybe I thought time and distance would blunt the edges of what we had—but it didn’t. It sharpened them. Made me realize how badly I messed up.

A clatter of laughter filters down the hallway, and I glance back toward the dining room. Jake’s giggling, probably at another badpun from his dad. Violet lets out one of her squealing giggles that echoes through the walls like a song.

I set the toolbox on the hallway bench and return to the kitchen just as Abby is rocking Violet on her hip, bouncing her rhythmically as the baby tugs on her necklace.

“She’s gotten big,” I say softly.

Abby brightens. “Isn’t she? She’s seven months now. Already wants to do everything Jake’s doing.”

“She looks like you,” I say.

Abby smirks. “Beckett’s convinced she has his eyebrows.”

Jake runs into the room with one sock missing and a crayon in his hand. “Uncle Wes! Did you see my drawing?”

He thrusts a wrinkled paper at me—it’s a stick figure with a hockey stick and flames coming out of his skates.

“That’s me?”

“Duh,” Jake says proudly. “You’re the fastest. And you shoot fire goals.”

I laugh and ruffle his hair. “I’ll hang it in my office.”

Quinn steps back in then, eyes falling on Jake and me. Her expression softens for a blink, but then shutters. She joins Abby by the sink, taking Violet, who immediately grabs a fistful of Quinn’s hair.

“Hey, Violet,” I say, keeping my voice light. “You don’t remember me, huh?”

She stares at me with enormous gray-blue eyes. Then she drools and offers me a fistful of mashed peas that she has somehow secreted since dinner.

“Well, that’s a start,” I murmur.

“She likes you,” Abby says, watching from the corner of her eye.

Quinn doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t pull Violet away either. Just holds her, rocking gently, while Violet hums and chews her fingers.

“I should probably go,” I say, not really meaning it.

“You sure?” Beckett asks. “We’re about to break out the peach cobbler.”

I glance at Quinn. Her mouth twitches at the corner, but she says nothing. I take the maybe as a stay.

“Okay,” I say, grabbing a plate. “But only if I get the crispy corner.”

Jake cheers, and Beckett hands me a scoop big enough to fuel a Zamboni.

Whatever this night was supposed to be, it turned into something else. Not perfect. But maybe… a beginning.