Page 61 of Shattered Promise

Abby’s sittingon my living room rug, guitar balanced in her lap, Theo in front of her. She hums as she strums, low and easy, half a lullaby, half a story. I don’t recognize the song—it’s probably one she made up on the spot, something about bananas and blocks and how Theo’s the “mayor of this whole damn town.”

Her voice is soft, a little raspy. Real in a way most people would try to perfect. Theo claps and squeals with joy the whole time, and it kind of seems like he’s singing along.

I lean in the doorway and let myself watch.

There’s a moment, right before she sings the next line, when she glances up and catches me watching. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile blooming like it’s only mine to see.

It hits me harder than I expect.

This is what it’s been like for the last week—easy, natural, like she’s always belonged here. One minute we’re just two adults passing each other snacks and wet wipes. The next, she’s laughing so hard at dinner she nearly drops her fork, and I’m wondering what it would be like to wake up to that sound every morning.

We haven’t talked about it. Whatever thisfriendshipis. We’re just . . . here. In this rhythm. And it’s dangerous, how good it feels.

Maybe that’s why I’m not panicking like I should be. Why I haven’t let myself spiral like I usually do. Because I know she’s leaving.

It’s already written. Already scheduled. A Monday night flight. A return to a life that doesn’t include private concerts for my son or glances that make my lungs forget how to work.

There’s a weird kind of safety in that.

She’s temporary, borrowed.

Which makes it easier to let myself fall into this without trying to stop the landing.

Doesn’t mean I don’t think about kissing her every single second of every day. I do.

But it’s different now. Not just want.Wantis surface-level. This is something else. This is the feeling that creeps under your ribs and settles there, quiet and permanent.

She tips her head, singing something ridiculous about dragons and pudding, and Theo laughs so hard, he almost tips over.

I should go check on the food and set the table. Instead, I stay where I am, watching the way her hands move across the strings. Watching the way Theo leans into her knees, totally enraptured with her.

My throat goes tight. I swallow it down.

Let myself feel it, just for a second.

This isn't forever. But right now?

It feels like home.

I’mat the stove stirring the pasta when her phone lights up. Again and again and again.

It’s face-up on the island, the notifications coming in so fast, it looks like it’s short-circuiting. A sharp, rhythmic strobe. I glance toward the living room where Theo’s still babbling and wiggling around, and Abby’s just starting to stand, stretching her arms overhead as she walks into the kitchen.

“Trouble?” I call, nodding toward the island. “Looks like your notifications are having a meltdown.”

She freezes. It’s barely noticeable, but her steps slow, her smile slips. She crosses to the island, eyes trained on the screen, and something shifts in the air.

She picks up the phone like it’s made of glass and unlocks it. Her thumb starts scrolling. Scrolls again. Scrolls faster. Then she stops and stares.

“Three hundred and forty-two,” she mumbles.

My brow pulls. “What?”

Her thumb hovers over the screen. Her other hand braces on the edge of the island like she needs it to stay upright.

“Unread emails,” she says, barely above a whisper. “From the last two weeks.Jesus.” She says it again, quieter. “Three hundred and forty-two.”

A beat passes.