Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Quinn is at school.
Tucker is in the kitchen, fixing something on the cabinet hinge that doesn’t even need fixing anymore. I sit at the table. And open it. Legal documents slide out first. My hands shake as I read.
Termination of parental rights.
Clint’s name.
Signed.
Filed.
Final.
My breath catches.
“What is it?” Tucker asks, his voice already shifting.
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. The words won’t come. Because beneath the documents is a letter.
Handwritten. I unfold it slowly. And read.
Lucy,
I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But I need you to know I see it now.
The damage. The fear. The way I broke something in you I had no right to touch.
I told myself for years it was love. That I was protecting you. Keeping you close. But that wasn’t love. That was control.
I did love you. In my own way. But it wasn’t the kind of love you or Quinn deserved.
And I know now I can’t fix that. So I’m letting you go. Legally. Completely. No more running. No more looking over your shoulder because of me.
Take care of her. Be better than I was.
—Clint
I don’t realize I’m crying until the paper blurs in my hands. Not sobbing. Not breaking. Just quiet tears. The kind that come from something finally ending.
Tucker is beside me before I even look up. “What is it?”
I hand him the papers. He reads fast. Efficient. His jaw tightens slightly. But not in anger. Not like before. Something else. Something controlled. He sets the documents down carefully.
“He signed them.”
I nod. “He gave up his rights.”
Tucker watches me closely. “How do you feel?”
I laugh softly through the tears. “I don’t know.” Relief. Sadness. Closure. All tangled together.
“He wrote a letter,” I say.
Tucker nods once. “I figured.”
I look at him. Really look. And something clicks. Something I’ve been circling around without naming.
“You did this.” It’s not a question.
He doesn’t deny it. “Part of it.”
“How?”
His gaze holds mine. “By making sure he understood.”
“Understood what?”
“That he doesn’t get to touch your life anymore.” The way he says it is calm. Certain. Absolute.
My heart stutters. “You made him sign this.”
“I made sure he knew it was the right choice.”
I stare at him. “You said it was your job.”
“It is.”
“To do what?”
He steps closer. His hand comes up to my face, brushing away the last of my tears. “To protect you and Quinn always.”
The words settle deep.
“But more than that,” he says quietly, “it’s my job as the man who loves you to make sure you and Quinn breathe easy for the rest of your days.”
Everything stops. The world. The room. My heartbeat.
“You love me?”
The question comes out barely above a whisper. Like if I say it too loud, it might disappear.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Just like that. No fear. No second-guessing. Just truth. And something inside me breaks open completely.
Because I feel it too. I’ve been feeling it. I just haven’t said it out loud.
“I—” My voice shakes. I take a breath. Try again. “I love you too.” The words feel fragile and powerful all at once.
Like something I’ve been carrying for a while without realizing how heavy it was.
Tucker’s hand stills against my face. His eyes darken. Not with anger. Not with control. With something deeper. Something steady. He pulls me into him then, holding me tight. Not like I’ll break. Like I belong there.
And for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel like I’m bracing for something to go wrong.
I just feel safe. Completely. And I realize something as I hold onto him.
This isn’t just about surviving anymore. It’s about building something. Something real. Something lasting. Something that finally feels like home.
EPILOGUE
MELLOW
Three months later, life feels so damn good it almost makes me suspicious. Not in a bad way. Not in the way that has me looking over my shoulder for the other shoe to drop. I’m comfortable in the way a man who’s spent most of his life half-ready to move on notices when he finally doesn’t want to.
I’m standing in my backyard with a wrench in one hand and sawdust on my jeans, looking at a swing set I built with Gainz, Stunt, Chux, Riot, and a lot of shouting, and for the first time in my life, I know exactly what all this work is for. And I feel good about it.
This is for Quinn. For Lucy. Us.
The backyard looks different now. The whole place has a different feel to it. A house I bought as an investment and maybe for a future, but never really allowed myself to settle into now feels like a place with purpose. A backyard that used to be just grass, a few old oaks, the fence line, and a stretch of open space I never used for anything besides looking at and telling myself maybe one day I’d put in a firepit or a bigger garage.