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A fter that conversation with Sloane, I knew I had to do more than just show up now and then. I had to earn back what I’d broken.

I started with flower deliveries to the house. When I called a local florist, the warm voice of an elderly lady greeted me and introduced herself as Margot.

"Now, are these for a special occasion?" she asked. "A birthday, perhaps? Maybe an anniversary?"

"No," I said. "They're for… forgiveness."

There was a pause on the line before she said, "Blue hyacinths, then, are a good start. You see, they mean sorrow and regret. What else would suit?" I heard her clucking her teeth as she thought. "White roses, I feel, are a must if seeking forgiveness."

"Do they mean something, too?"

Margot laughed at that, a hearty and warm sound that reminded me of my grandmother. "Oh, dear. All flowers mean something. Yes, white roses are for sincerity and, sometimes, also new beginnings."

"Then that's perfect. Blue hyacinths and white roses. Every week. "

The day after that first delivery, I asked Sloane if I could swing by the house to walk Rufus during my lunch breaks.

Thankfully, she consented. In reality, it was just an excuse to ensure the house was clean before she got home with the kids: counters wiped down, floors vacuumed and mopped, dishes put up, laundry folded and put away, snacks for her and the kids prepped and waiting in the fridge.

Dozens of things the Old Me had never thought about to do on my breaks despite the business being only ten minutes away.

A week passed by and we fell into a new familiar pattern that I was appreciative of.

I went to board game night with Violet and on quiet drives with Liam.

I cooked celiac safe dinners for both Violet and Sloane.

I helped both of the kids with their school projects, relishing every second as if they were precious treasures.

Because they were. They always had been. Old Me was just too self-absorbed to see it before. It sickened me to remember all of the time Old Me had thrown into the gym, or a bar, or some inane meeting.

Despite those moments of respite, there was something else looming. Something only I knew was coming: the virus, the shut downs, the panic, and the chaos that approached. So between late nights at the business and early mornings checking numbers, I was making moves: fast and calculated ones.

I went to an estate attorney I’d worked with before, the one who had helped me and Sloane write up our wills.

I told him exactly what I wanted: two revocable trusts, one for Liam and one for Violet.

That part was easy for him. When we began discussing asset allocation, however, the conversation got tense.

He raised a brow as he scanned the portfolios I had already built for the kids: a struggling e-commerce company, the smallest of the pharmaceutical giants, a biotech penny stock, and a tech start-up that nobody had ever even heard of.

“This is a risky mix, Mr. Shaw. Especially for your children's futures. Are you sure these are the companies you want to invest all of this money in?”

“I’m sure."

He paused, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but he didn’t. He finalized the paperwork and I headed to the bank next.

As I turned out of the lawyer's office, I couldn't help but laugh.

I was sure he would tell his friends about the crazy client he saw today who'd insisted on pissing away half a million dollars.

I understood the man's hesitation. All of the companies I picked were either complete unknowns or were currently struggling to carve a place for themselves in today's market.

However, what I recalled from the upcoming pandemic was how much these select few stocks had soared.

The growth potential was astronomical. By the time Violet was in college, both her and Liam's accounts would easily be eight figures.

At the bank, I placed the trust documents in a safety deposit box, the key to which I'd planned to give to Sloane.While I was there, I added her name to the accounts: all of the accounts. What Old Me had used as a wall between him and Sloane, I had hoped to turn into a bridge. Giving her complete access to everything felt less like surrender and more like the kind of honesty I’d been starving for.

It was strangely liberating to lay everything bare.

That evening as Sloane and I sat on the couch, I expected her to view all of this with suspicion.

She was so accustomed to Old Me keeping his finances private, separate, and shutting her out of the innerworkings of the business.

I mean, Sloane wasn't stupid. She knew we were well off.

Old Me had constantly kept at least five thousand in our joint checking at any time, so she could pay the bills; how magnanimous of the asshole .

So she was aware that I had money saved up… but when she opened the banking app and saw the totals, she gasped.

“You have... how much?” she asked, gaze lifting to mine. The look on her face was equal parts disbelief and quiet confusion. “Levi, this is excessive. How do you have this much?”

I could feel the edge in her voice, a sharp flicker of anger for being kept in the dark. Old Me had locked her out for so long with excuses and lies. She had every right to be angry.

“I don't have this much, Sloane. We have this much. And if you look here, this one’s the business account. I’ve already told the accountant you have full access. He’s sending over a company card for you, too.”

“Company card?”

“Yeah. As a business partner, you have the right to know where everything’s going and the freedom to make calls on expenses, vendors, whatever you think we need.

" I let that sink in before I said, "Obviously, I don't want this to conflict with your current career, but Master Builders is here if you ever want to join me.”

She stared at me then, still looking at me with that same confused skepticism. “Levi… you didn’t.”

“I did. He’s sending the operating agreement this week. You and I are fifty-fifty now. Full partners. The way it should have been from the start.”

She didn’t respond right away. I could see her processing before she laughed and said, "Levi I don't know the first goddamn thing about running a construction company. How the hell am I supposed to be a partner?"

Her expression shifted. I saw years of tension melt away. I knew she was trying to reconcile this version of me with the one who left her holding everything alone .

"Sloane, this isn't just about the money. It was about finally letting you all the way in where you've always belonged. I’d been too proud or too blind to see you were the reason for my success. I wouldn't be here without your own hard work and sacrifices."

Her eyes brimmed. She blinked hard, but one tear slipped down anyway.

“Thank you,” she said and then, just as quickly, she laughed a little incredulous. She wiped at her face and let out a small snort. “Well fuck, Levi… I didn’t realize we had millions. ”

I smiled, tension breaking in my chest like the first crack of sunlight through storm clouds. “Well, technically, Master Builders has millions. But yes, Sloane. We , as in you and the kids, are financially safe.”

She nodded. “I’m still mad at you.”

“As you should be.”

There was a pause as she took a few deep breaths. Then she arched a brow and asked, “But just to be clear, I still get half if I kill you, right?”

I coughed out a laugh. “Yes, but uh… can we maybe hold off on that until after tax season?”

She smirked. “I'll try my best.”

"There is one other thing."

"What, do we also own a yacht?"

I laughed and said, "Sorry. They were all out of yachts last time I was at the store."

"Damn."

"Sloane," I said as I held my hand out, "may I see your phone?"

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, but she handed it me. I sat our phones down next to each other on the coffee table and proceeded to work. She said nothing as she watched my fingers fly across the screens, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her and she leaned over .

"All done," I said as I handed over her phone.

"With?"

"I set it up so you can track my phone's location with this app. See?" I showed her how it worked and explained that it was only one-way; she could track me, but I couldn't track her. Not unless she decided to turned it on.

She didn't look very impressed. "Okay, Levi… but what stops you from just turning it off?"

I smiled, because I expected this exact reaction from my ever cynical wife. "I won't be able to. The GPS settings will be locked by a password that you will set and keep to yourself."

I watched it all sink in, saw her process the implications of the evening. It was, I imagined, disorienting for her to reconcile this man in front of her with the secretive Old Me she was accustomed to.

After a moment she nodded and said, "Well, this makes me want to kill you a little less."

"Only a little?" I asked.

"Only a little."

Afterward, Sloane was cordial in all her texts. Polite. Like I was a colleague arranging a lunch meeting, not the man who once shared her bed and ruined her capacity to trust. She let me know the time and place with clinical precision, and I never pushed. I didn’t have the right to.

But those brief moments of banter between us fueled me as I tried to be present in their lives.

I signed a short-term monthly lease on a small two-bedroom house in the same neighborhood so I could be close.

I told myself it was only for a month or two, just enough time to get my head on straight and give Sloane the space she needed.

But the moment I stepped through the door to that rental, I knew I had made a mistake.

It wasn’t home. Hell, it wasn’t even shelter in the emotional sense.

It was a shell. Beige walls and thin carpet that smelled faintly of someone else's regrets, pets, and cigarettes.

You don’t realize how loud life is until it’s gone, until the silence slams into you. Violet’s constant stories. Liam’s stomping down the hall with his headphones blaring. Sloane’s voice in the kitchen calling out that dinner was ready. All of it... evaporated.

I was in exile.

This is my penance for betrayal.

Angie hadn’t reached out since I first came back; that night I'd fled, panicked and nauseous, from her house.

From her. I'd blocked her on everything: phone, email, socials.

However, even though she was gone, the stench of what I'd done still clung to me like the cigarette smoke on those rental walls.

I couldn’t even pass the gym without feeling sick. That building had become a testament to the worst mistakes Old Me had made. It was where he'd fed his ego, let it grow until it devoured his common sense. Now it stood there every morning like a reminder: This is what you chose over them.

Then every night I came back to that empty house and it whispered the same truth: I lost my family the moment I stopped appreciating them. Getting them back, earning the right to be with them again? That was all that mattered.