When I stepped inside, the house felt unnaturally quiet.
No soft music playing from the radio. No off-key humming drifting in from the kitchen. Just the steady tick of the wall clock and the low buzz of the refrigerator—ordinary sounds that suddenly felt deafening.
On the counter sat the half-finished cake. Dark frosting streaked the bowl, as if someone had stopped in the middle of spreading it. A knife leaned against the sink. One lonely balloon hovered near the ceiling, its ribbon snagged on a cabinet handle.
“Jess?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.
Silence answered.
I moved down the hallway, my limp more noticeable as my pulse quickened. The bedroom door stood open. Jess’s side of the closet was empty—only her floral hangers swaying slightly. Her suitcase was gone. So were her shoes. The air felt thick in my lungs.
Evie slept peacefully in her crib, one small hand wrapped around her stuffed duck, her breathing slow and steady. Beside her was a folded note, written in Jess’s familiar handwriting.
Callum,
I’m sorry. I can’t stay anymore.
Take care of our Evie. I made a promise to your mom, and I had to keep it. Ask her.
—J.
I stood there, frozen, the words refusing to make sense. The room still smelled like chocolate frosting. Just an hour earlier, music had been playing. Jess had been in the kitchen, hair pinned back, a smudge of icing on her cheek as she worked on Evie’s birthday cake.
“Don’t forget,” she’d said with a faint smile, “she wants the doll with the glittery wings.”
“I’ve got it,” I’d replied, tapping my leg to shake off the nerves. “Big, sparkly, probably terrifying.”
Evie had laughed. Everything had felt normal. Safe.
Five minutes later, I strapped Evie into her car seat and drove straight to my mother’s house. She opened the door before I knocked, her face draining of color the moment she saw me.
“She left?” she whispered.
“What did you do?” I demanded, my voice shaking. “What promise did you make her give you?”
The kitchen light glowed warmly. Aunt Marlene stood by the counter, dish towel in hand. One look at me and she froze.
My mother led us into the living room and sank onto the couch.
“After you came back from rehab,” she said, twisting her hands together, “Jess came to me. She was overwhelmed. You were hurting—angry, in pain she didn’t know how to reach.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“She told me she’d been with someone else while you were gone,” my mother continued. “One night. A mistake. She found out she was pregnant the day before your wedding.”
The words struck like a blow.
“She didn’t know if Evie was yours,” she said quietly. “And I told her the truth would destroy you. I told her to go forward anyway. To let Evie be your second chance.”
Aunt Marlene sucked in a breath. “Addison,” she said sharply, “that wasn’t protection. That was control.”
I looked down at Evie, warm and trusting in my arms, and felt something inside me fracture.
“She left her child,” I said, steady despite the pain. “Whatever she felt, that doesn’t justify walking away.”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. “She said she couldn’t take Evie from you. She said Evie looks at you like you’re her whole world.”
“And you let a promise replace the truth,” I said quietly.
Aunt Marlene grabbed her purse and paused at the door. “I’m ashamed of you, Addison,” she said softly before leaving.
That night, after Evie fell asleep beside me, I sat in the dark, listening to her breathe. The house felt hollow without Jess’s quiet presence. On impulse, I opened my nightstand drawer. Hidden inside a paperback was another letter.
Callum,
If you’re reading this, I couldn’t say it out loud. I was scared. I don’t even remember his name. I was lost, and then you came home, and I wanted to believe the past didn’t matter.
Your mother told me you’d fall apart if you knew. I believed her.
But the lie grew. I watched you become a father—patient, loving—and I couldn’t live inside the question anymore.
Please protect her. Let her stay little. I left because staying would have broken what was still whole.
I love you. Just not the way I used to.
—J.
The next morning, Evie stirred against my chest.
“Where’s Mommy?” she asked sleepily.
“She had to go somewhere,” I said, brushing her hair back. “But I’m here.”
Later, as I removed my prosthetic, my leg aching and raw, Evie climbed up beside me.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“A little.”
She leaned close and blew on it gently, just like Jess used to. Then she set her duck beside my leg so it could “rest” too.
We stayed like that for a long time.
That afternoon, sunlight poured into the living room as Evie played with her doll. I braided her hair slowly, clumsy but careful.
“Mommy might not come back for a while,” I said softly. “But we’ll be okay.”
She nodded without hesitation. “I know. You’re here.”
We were smaller now. Quieter.
But we were still a family.
And I wasn’t going anywhere.