Page 45

T he light filtered in through the living room windows in soft golden streaks, painting the couch and floor. The blanket had slipped halfway off during the night, and I stirred first, opening my eyes to silence.

Sloane curled around me, her leg draped loosely over mine, one hand resting where my chest rose and fell. Her face nestled in the crook of my shoulder, her hair spilled like silk across us both.

I lay motionless, soaking in the faint whir of the fridge, birds chirping outside, the muffled sounds of Liam and Violet moving upstairs.

This moment? I know I didn't deserve it. But I cradled it, held it close to me, knowing how fragile it was.

Fuck, she is beautiful like this. Peaceful. I could stay here forever, just watching her breathe.

She shifted, eyes fluttering open. A moment of confusion crossed her face before her gaze locked with mine. Her lips curved upward.

"Morning," she said, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear .

We remained there, not rushing back to reality. No awkwardness, just calm. A stillness between us that had been missing for so long. Not empty. Just... quiet.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep down here," she murmured, stretching slightly without moving away. "The couch isn't exactly luxurious."

"Best night of sleep I've had in weeks," I admitted.

She smiled faintly and nestled her head back on my shoulder, fingers tracing my shirt seam. "I didn't think I'd ever feel okay waking up next to you again," she whispered. "But I do."

My breath caught. I stayed still, silent, giving her space to continue.

"I know we've been with each other multiple times," she continued, eyes fixed on my chest. "But last night... for the first time, it felt right, almost perfect."

My hand found hers, squeezing gently. "It was perfect in every way."

She exhaled slowly and finally met my gaze.

"I want to try, Levi. Not just counseling.

I want to try us. " She paused. "But I need to go slow.

And I need you to be honest with me. Every time.

No matter what. I've laughed with you more than I ever have.

I know we've explored so many new things in the bedroom and I've trusted you with myself.

I want all of you Levi. The Good. The Bad. "

After everything I've done, she's willing to give me another chance. Don't you dare fuck this up.

I nodded, throat tight. "You'll get nothing less."

Sloane leaned up and pressed her lips to mine.

We stayed tangled together until footsteps thundered down the stairs, Violet's laughter mixing with Liam's groans: "She's hogging the bathroom again!"

Sloane's laugh vibrated against my neck and it felt like sunshine breaking through clouds .

"I should make breakfast," I said, not budging.

"You should," she agreed, equally still.

Eventually we peeled ourselves off the couch, took showers and brushed teeth before bumping hips in the kitchen as we cooked gluten-free pancakes and scrambled eggs, cartoons and sibling bickering filling the house.

Later that afternoon, I walked in to find Sloane at the dining table, her laptop open from her virtual therapy session. The kids occupied the other room; Violet working on an art project while Liam scrolled on his tablet.

Sloane looked up with red-rimmed eyes but a peaceful expression. The usual tightness in her face had softened.

I approached carefully. "Hey… how'd it go?"

She offered a small, tired smile. "It was good. Hard. But good."

I sat across from her, hands folded, waiting. Pushing would only make things worse.

Sloane gazed out the window briefly before turning back to me. "She said something interesting. The therapist. She said sometimes people can't say what needs to be said, especially when there's hurt. So she suggested I try writing."

"Like journaling?" I asked.

She shook her head slightly. "Love letters. But not the sweet kind. Letters filled with everything. The pain. The betrayal. The confusion. The love that still lingers. She said if I write to you, even if I never give them to you, it might help me process everything."

My throat dried. "Will you... give them to me?"

Every wound I caused, inked out in black and white.

Letters about how much I had hurt her. I was terrified to read them, but I knew I would need to… if she would allow me the privilege .

Sloane studied me, weighing whether she trusted this version of me. I couldn't blame her hesitation. It was a leap of faith.

"I might," she finally said. "If you're willing to read them without getting defensive. Without trying to fix or explain away every emotion I have."

I nodded. "I won't defend myself. I won't interrupt your truth."

She raised an eyebrow. "Even if it hurts?"

"Especially if it hurts," I said, voice low. "Because I caused that hurt. And I can't rebuild anything with you unless I face it all."

Sloane glanced away, blinking rapidly. "Okay," she said softly. "Then I'll start. One letter at a time."

Liam appeared in the doorway, hovering uncertainly. His expression mixed curiosity with protectiveness. I knew he was still figuring out my place in his mother's heart.

Sloane noticed him and smiled gently. "Hey bud. Want to come sit for a sec?"

He joined reluctantly, sliding into the seat beside her.

"I did a therapy session today," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "And I talked about how everything's been affecting me. And about your dad."

Liam nodded slowly. "Was it... weird?"

"A little," she admitted with a soft laugh. "But good. My therapist suggested I try writing love letters to your dad. Not mushy ones. Real ones. About what it felt like. What changed in me. What still hurts."

Liam turned to me, eyes narrowed. "You gonna read them?"

I answered before Sloane could. "Only if she wants me to. But yeah, I'll read every word. As many as she writes. I'll even let you write me letters as a freebie. "

He laughed before his expression sobered. "You really are trying your best dad."

My son. My boy. Fuck, I almost lost him too.

"I'm trying," she said. "And that doesn't mean I've decided everything. It just means I'm willing to explore what healing could look like."

Liam sat back, quiet for a moment. Then he said, "That's cool." The teenage equivalent of approval.

I chuckled. "Well, maybe therapy is something we can all use, to build the tools we need to emotionally regulate and process."

And I meant it. The tools I had learned from years and years of therapy in my previous life were one of the main reasons I was able to admit my mistakes and grow. It's one of the traits that separated the Old me from… me.

Tears welled in Sloane's eyes as she pulled him into a hug. "I love you." Her words carried so much raw emotion. I saw the strength she'd built in herself. I loved her even more for the woman she'd become, desperate to join her on that journey.