Page 11 of The Temporary Wife

“I told him he was wrong and that you are my real mom because you make my lunch and help with homework, and you came to all my soccer games even when it was raining.” His voice was fierce, protective.

“But then he said his big sister heard their mom talking, and that you only married Dad because of some grown-up problem.”

I closed my eyes, feeling sick. The rumors were spreading, just as I’d feared they would. And now Luca was caught in the middle of adult complications he shouldn’t have to understand.

“And then what happened?”

“I pushed him,” Luca admitted in a small voice. “I know I’m not supposed to, but he was being really mean about you and I got mad.”

“Oh, honey.”

Principal Martinez appeared beside us, a kind woman in her fifties who’d worked at the school for decades. “Mrs. Marshall, thank you for coming. I’ve already spoken with Tommy and his parents. There will be consequences for both boys, but I wanted to talk with you about the underlying issue.”

I nodded, still holding Luca close.

“Children pick up on more than we think they do,” she continued carefully. “And unfortunately, adult conversations sometimes make their way to the playground. Luca was defending his family, which I understand, but we need to make sure he has better tools for handling these situations.”

“Of course. What do you recommend?”

“We’ll work with both boys on using words instead of physical actions when they’re upset. And it might be helpful to have some simple responses ready for Luca when other children ask questions about his family.”

After we left the school, I took Luca for ice cream even though it was barely two o’clock on a school day. He needed comfort food, and I needed time to process what had happened before Colby got home.

“Mom?” Luca said around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie dough. “Are you mad at me for pushing Tommy?”

“I’m disappointed that you used your hands instead of words,” I said carefully. “But I understand why you were upset.”

“He was wrong, wasn’t he? About you not being my real mom?”

The question I’d been dreading, asked with such innocent trust that it made my chest ache. How could I explain that legally, biologically, technically, Tommy Morrison was right? How could I tell this child who loved me so completely that our family was built on legal documents and necessity?

“What makes someone a real mom?” I asked instead.

He considered this seriously, licking his spoon. “Taking care of you when you’re sick. Making your favorite foods. Helping with scary things like homework and doctor visits. Loving you even when you’re in trouble.”

“Do I do those things?”

“Yeah. And you smell good, and you give the best hugs, and you always remember to cut the crusts off my sandwiches.” He paused. “Tommy’s mom forgets the crusts all the time.”

Despite everything, I smiled. “Well, then I guess that makes me pretty real.”

“That’s what I told him. But he said his dad said you only married Dad because of court stuff.” Luca’s voice got smaller. “Is that true?”

The direct question from this innocent child who trusted me completely felt like a physical blow. I could lie, deflect, change the subject. Or I could find a way to tell him a version of the truth that wouldn’t destroy his sense of security.

“Sometimes grown-ups get married for complicated reasons,” I said finally. “But the important thing isn’t why people get married. It’s whether they love each other and take care of each other afterward.”

“Do you love me and Dad?”

“I love you more than all the stars in the sky,” I said without hesitation. “And I love your dad too.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, but once they were spoken, I realized they were completely true.

Despite all my fears and doubts, despite the complicated circumstances of our marriage, I loved Colby Marshall.

Not because of proximity or convenience or shared responsibility, but because of who he was when he didn’t think anyone was watching.

“Good,” Luca said, satisfied. “Because we’re a family, and families love each other.”

By the time we got home, Colby’s truck was in the driveway. I found him in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear and worry lines creasing his forehead.

“She’s here now,” he said when he saw us. “I’ll call you back.”

He hung up and crossed to us in three quick strides, pulling Luca into a hug. “Hey, buddy. Are you okay? The school called, but I was in the middle of?—”

“I’m okay,” Luca said. “Mom took me for ice cream, and we talked about real moms and court stuff and why Tommy Morrison is stupid.”

Colby’s eyes met mine over Luca’s head, and I saw my own worry reflected there. “Court stuff?”

“Kids talk,” I said quietly. “Luca heard some rumors.”

His jaw tightened. “What kind of rumors?”

“The kind that make six-year-olds get in fights defending their families.”

Luca pulled back from his father’s embrace. “Dad, you didn’t marry Mom just because of court stuff, did you? Because I told Tommy that was dumb.”

Colby knelt down to Luca’s eye level, his expression gentle but serious. “I married your mom because I wanted her to be part of our family forever. Because I love her, and she loves us.”

It was a beautiful answer, one that satisfied Luca completely.

But I caught the careful way Colby had phrased it, how he’d avoided saying he’d married me for love rather than legal reasons.

The distinction was subtle but important, and it reminded me of all the uncertainty that still existed between us.

After Luca went upstairs to play, Colby and I stood in the kitchen facing each other across the familiar distance that had become our default.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For what you told him.”

“I meant it.”

“Did you?”

He moved closer, close enough that I could see those silver flecks in his eyes that mesmerized me. “Every word.”

“Even the part about loving me?”

He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. “Especially that part.”

“Colby—”

“I know we agreed to stick to the arrangement. I know we decided what happened between us was a mistake. He reached up to cup my face in his hands. “I can’t pretend anymore, Gianna. I can’t pretend this is just convenience or proximity or whatever logical explanation we’ve been using.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m in love with you. Really, truly, completely in love with you.

And it has nothing to do with custody cases or convenience or needing someone to help with Luca.

” His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones.

“It’s because you make everything better just by being here.

Because you love my son like he’s your own.

Because when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I want is to see your face. ”

Tears spilled over despite my efforts to contain them. “What if you change your mind? What if when this is all over, you realize?—”

“I won’t.” His voice was fierce, certain. “I’ve spent three years fighting these feelings because I was too scared to risk losing you. But I’m more scared of living without you.”

“Colby . . .”

“I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’ve made mistakes with other women, pushed people away when things got real. But you’re not other women, Gianna. You’re the love of my life, and I was just too stupid to see it before now.”

Before I could respond, he kissed me. Not the tentative, questioning kiss from a few nights ago, but something deeper, more desperate. A kiss that tasted like hope and promises and years of suppressed longing finally set free.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“I love you too,” I whispered against his lips. “I’ve loved you for so long I can’t remember what it felt like not to love you.”

“Then why are we fighting this?”

“Because I’m scared.” The admission came out broken, vulnerable. “I’m scared of being another woman you get tired of. I’m scared of loving you and Luca so much that losing you would destroy me.”

“You won’t lose us.” His forehead rested against mine, his voice quiet but steady. “We’re not going anywhere, Gianna. We’re home.”

The simple word broke something open in my chest. Home. Not the house or the arrangement or the legal documents, but the feeling of belonging somewhere completely. Of being part of something bigger than myself.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Now we stop pretending this is temporary. Now we build something real, something that lasts.” He smiled, and it was like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Now we stop being afraid and start being happy.”

Outside, while it had started to rain, a soft October shower that drummed against the windows and made the kitchen feel cozy and warm, Colby and I held each other and finally admitted what had been true all along: this had never been about convenience or custody arrangements or legal necessity.

This had always been about love.