Page 10

T hat night I stayed in a hotel room. The frigid air cut through the thin sheets as I lay awake, replaying not just the events of the day but…

everything that had happened in my previous life.

How the Old Me had tried to build himself back up, but never succeeded.

The divorce. The twelve years of regret and anguish that ended in a car crash.

I died when I was a few years short of fifty, and the struggles of the Old Me felt so distant and irrelevant now.

My life had taken some unexpected turns. Brutally painful ones, honestly.

After the divorce and after the world had started to crawl back from the virus, I had fought to remain relevant in the building world despite having to start from scratch.

I'd worked myself to exhaustion, to the point where the drive to stay important was an obsession, despite the fact that those accomplishments didn’t bring me peace.

How could they? How could anything bring me peace after all that happened?

Liam got incarcerated. Violet, my baby girl… she had disappeared. Both of their absences left gaping holes so vast and incomprehensible that neither Sloane nor I knew how to recover .

A few years after our divorce had been finalized, Sloane remarried someone from her work.

She'd found a guy who worshipped her, fawned over her, doted on her.

It ate me alive knowing how much of a perfect match they were.

How much he helped her heal. How he loved her in ways I didn't know how. He did all of the things I could never do right. It sickened me, but I couldn’t be angry at him much less at Sloane.

All that anger, all that bitterness… faded into more pity, loathing, and regret.

It took countless therapy sessions filled with harsh truths to untangle the knots of my narcissism and to finally understand the scars I'd left on Sloane.

The worst part was how long it had taken me to realize that I was the one who had fucked everything up by not being a real father, or even a good partner.

I'd spent years working on myself before I'd made any meaningful breakthrough.

And by then? It was far too late. By the time I'd started trying to pick up the pieces of the life I had shattered, there was nothing left to repair.

Then Sloane’s husband committed suicide and her world crumbled all over again. The fragile threads of her life unraveled in front of me, and I wanted so desperately to help keep her together. What little grace I had been granted in her eyes, I grasped at with desperation.

In this new chaos, I was the one who was closest to her, and I couldn’t let her go. I focused on her, on her hurt and on the pieces of her that were breaking again. In her devastation, I saw an opening, a chance to inch closer. I wanted to be the one to help her heal this time.

I'd known it was selfish; to enjoy being needed by her.

But I hadn't felt important to her in such a long time, I could not help myself.

I was grateful for that time we had spent together.

It felt like some god out there had actually listened to my decade of groveling and given me a second chance to be near her again .

For a year before the car crash, she leaned on me.

I was dutifully there for her. I became the stable rock she needed, using every bit of the therapy I’d done over the years to support her.

She clung to me, and there was a twisted satisfaction in it.

I was there for her and, in a way, it felt like redemption.

Maybe it was my narcissism snaking back in, but I believed I was the only one who truly understood her heart.

We suffered through the shattering of everything we had built, lost so much we had both cherished and we'd survived it.

I convinced myself that no one else could see her the way I did.

That my familiarity with her pain gave me the tools I needed to help her heal.

I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could rewrite our story with a happy ending.

After everything, after all that had happened and the rising affection growing between us, I finally texted her one day. Simple and straightforward.

Hey, can I visit for lunch tomorrow? We need to talk about a few things. About us maybe?

Sure Levi. I'll be waiting.

When she agreed, my stomach flipped. It was like a flicker of light, a beacon that I had a chance to be part of her life again.

I'd stopped by a jeweler. A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest as the sales rep led me through the selection.

As she showed me a variety of glittering jewelry, the pit in my stomach deepened.

When she finally pulled out the ring, a 2-carat emerald cut, it felt like a symbol of every damn thing I still hoped for:a second chance for reconciliation and a future with Sloane.

The drive up to her house was surreal. Joy buzzed in me so fiercely that I must have lost myself in it…

must have also lost sight of the road. I' d been so focused on the idea of starting over, of making things right, that I didn't see the nightmare red truck barreling through the red light until it was too late.

The impact was instant. A violent, blinding flash of metal.

Then nothing.

But now that I was back, here and in this moment, I had to accept that I had been given a strange gift.

I knew that I could spend every moment of the rest of this life pondering the how and the why of it all, and I would never have an answer.

So, neither the how nor the why mattered.

Not really. Not to me. All that mattered was that I was given a chance to fix the worst parts of what had gone wrong not only in my life, but in the lives of my loved ones.

Would it have been better if I had come back before I had ever met Angie and made the worst mistake of my life?

Obviously. But that wasn't the hand I'd been dealt, so I had to focus on the positives: Sloane hadn’t started dating her future husband yet in this new life; Violet hadn't vanished; Liam hadn't started using; and Rufus, that damn dog, was still alive.

The Old Me would have only focused on the pain he'd caused and wallowed in his self-loathing before spiraling into one self-destructive habit or another.

However, the New Me? I found myself grateful that I had this chance.

I stared out the window of the hotel room, letting the lights blur into a haze. I knew I wasn’t the man I used to be and I wasn’t sure if Sloane would ever forgive me… I didn't know if I even deserved her forgiveness. But I knew one thing: I was determined to do anything and everything to earn it.

The next morning, I sent Sloane a message asking if I could stop by for lunch. My fingers hovered over the screen longer than they should’ve, each word typed with the caution of a man who’d learned too late what carelessness could cost.

When she replied with a short “That’s fine,” I exhaled, tension still coiled in my chest.

The irony wasn’t lost on me as I backed out of the hotel parking lot and eased into traffic. Every intersection I approached, I slowed… looked twice, thrice. My knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. I kept seeing the crash in my mind: the warped metal, the flash of light, the finality of it.

Only it hadn’t been final.

Now, every green light felt like a dare. Every yellow was a warning. By the time I pulled onto Sloane’s street, the weight of the second chance I’d been given pressed down hard. I took a few grounding breaths and did my best to visualize what I wanted. Redemption .

I knew she was waiting and I had to walk in there not as the man who left, but as the one trying, desperately, to stay.

I used my key to let myself in. Anxiety laced my steps as I rounded the corner into the open-concept kitchen and living room where the smell of homemade bread hit me: warm, welcoming, and filled with memories.

Sloane's eyes flicked up when I walked in, noting my clean shaven appearance and gave a small nod toward the living room.

“Hey,” she said as she curled into the corner of the couch. She skewered me with a scrutinizing gaze as she hugged a pillow, as if it was a shield to protect her from me. “You wanted to talk Levi?”

I sat on the edge of the couch, far enough to not crowd her. I could hear the kids’ faint laughter in the background upstairs. Good. They didn’t need to hear this.

“I pulled out of the Key West project,” I said .

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away. “That deal was worth millions you said?”

“A little over two after everything,” I said. “I told Jose we’re not expanding. We’re going to focus on local builds. Smaller scale. I already called the lawyers.”

"Didn't you say you already had investors?"

"I did."

"Won't they be pissed?"

"They will."

She leaned back against the cushions, squeezed the pillow in her arms. “That's pretty goddamn ballsy of you. Why are you telling me this?”

I knew I had to be honest. “Because it’s not just about the business,” I said. “It’s about what I’ve been using it for. I buried myself in it. Avoiding home. Avoiding us. I was chasing some version of success that kept me from sitting still long enough to see what I was destroying.”

Her mouth twitched like she was biting back a bitter laugh. “And now what? You think scaling down means I should let you back into this house?”

I fucking loved her snarky attitude. She was everything I’d ever wanted in a woman. She wasn’t afraid to call me out when I was fucking up, but she could still uplift me when I was drowning in my own mess. It was a balance the Old Me never fully appreciated.

But I did. I knew that she didn’t just put up with me, she challenged me. She made me face myself, even when I didn’t want to. The Old Me resented her for it, but the New Me understood how I needed that .

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think this buys forgiveness. I just… I want you to know I’m not hiding anymore. Not behind work. Not behind excuses. I’m done feeding my ego and calling it ambition.”

She didn’t blink as she studied me. I could see a conflict of emotions.

“You spent years coming home late and ignoring the mental load I carried. Then, when I finally couldn’t hold it all up anymore, you didn’t ask how to help.

You found someone else. Am I supposed to thank you?

” It wasn’t anger in her voice. It was a truth spoken simply that carved me open.

My chest tightened, constricted by the brutal accuracy of her words.

I had to tell her this next truth, even if she wasn't ready to hear it and even if I wasn't ready to say it. She needed to know. “I did not cheat because you were not enough,” I said. “I cheated because I wasn’t man enough to face my own emptiness. Angie wasn’t a person. She was a broken mirror I let convince me I was something more than the selfish liar I’d become. ”

She looked down at her lap, her fingers absently working a loose thread on her sleeve. When she finally looked back at me, her eyes were dry, but I could see how weary she was behind them. “So what now, Levi?”

What now? I could kiss you. The thought hovered as I stared at her lips, unable to look anywhere else, as the urge burned harder with every second.

I wanted to throw myself before her, press my lips to the hollow of her neck where her pulse beat beneath the sensitive skin there, and whisper the words I knew she needed to hear.

Sweet devotions that should have been said long ago with promises I had failed to keep.

The urge was overwhelming, a tide of longing that threatened to drown me but I knew better than to act on it.

Not now. Not when the space between us was so fragile .

“I'm going to add you to everything,” I said. “The accounts, the business, all of it. No more hiding things. No more leaving you in the dark. And I am going to face myself Sloane.”

She didn’t respond, but I saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes.

“I will find a rental to stay at that's not too far away,” I continued. “I show up when I say I will. I go to Violet’s and Liam’s games.

I help with school projects, with packing lunches, with homework, with bedtime routines.

I show up as their dad. The dad I should’ve been from the start.

” My throat tightened, but I didn’t stop.

This next part was going to be the hardest. “I give you space. Real space. No guilt, no pressure. And if somewhere down the line you still want me gone…” I swallowed hard.

“I’ll go. Without pushing back or fighting you.

If you tell me to fuck off? I'll fuck off. Forever.”

My voice cracked on that last part, but I kept my eyes on hers.

I was no longer aiming for control, for comfort, or for a shortcut back to her heart.

I was simply desperate to be worthy of standing in front of her again.

I hoped that Sloane would see this for what it truly was; not a plea for forgiveness but a vow that I was ready to finally grow the hell up.

She didn’t respond at first. We sat in silence for awhile before she said, “Fine. You can stop asking for one more chance and just… change. Don’t talk about changing. Change.”

The small opening I needed. I nodded. “I will.”

I stood, my legs stiff and nerves frayed. “Tell the kids I’ll see them later. I just wanted to talk about the business with you.”

“Levi, why tell me now? You never liked talking to me about the business.” She sounded resigned.

The question hit me hard. In that moment, I saw it all: how I’d kept her at arm’s length, and how I’d built walls around everything that mattered.

My pride and arrogance had made me blind to how much she had contributed.

How much she had built with me and I felt the sting of the realization, sharp and bitter.

The Old Me had been a narcissistic asshole. Too consumed with his own image to see how much she’d poured into our lives. I swallowed hard as I recalled her attorney’s voice arguing during the divorce: " She deserves half. She helped you get to where you are."

Damn right she had. This woman had poured everything of herself into those around her and I wasn’t going to let her slip away, unnoticed in the chaos I’d created.

“You helped me build it: both the business and this life we have. Hell, Sloane… nothing is mine and everything is ours. I couldn't have done any of this without you,” I said.

Sloane nodded, a brief acknowledgment of something she had known all along. “Thank you for that.”

I smiled and said goodbye.