Page 72 of Broken Destiny

We watchedFinding Dory, then went to the Tipsy Cow for lunch, where Emma happily drank her “shake-shake,” and Lucas got a snow cone from Will.

On the drive home, I had planned a trip to the water park for the next day and made a mental note to invite Elle and her family.

Back at home, I played with them in the backyard until they both fell asleep on me beneath the tree.

And then I saw him.

Standing at the window.

Watching us.

Even though he had come to apologize, forgiveness felt far out of reach.

The things he had said… they had cut deeper than he realized. The assumptions he had made about my character had reopened wounds. I had believed he had grown, that time and experience had softened him, that he had learned to see beyond his own anger and pride. But that day had made one thing painfully clear—he still carried the same doubts about me.

And he probably always would.

Now, standing in the kitchen beside Geeta, helping her cut vegetables and chicken, I glanced toward the backyard.

Lucas was laughing again with his friends. Running. Playing with Caleb.

A smile touched my lips before I could stop it.

And that scared me.

I didn't want him to become attached to Caleb again only to bedisappointed later. It had taken so much time for Lucas to find himself after Cole's death. He had grown quiet and withdrawn, his laughter replaced by silence, his confidence replaced by uncertainty. The same thing had happened when I moved him to this village, uprooting his world.

“I’ll check on Emma,” I said to Geeta, wiping my hands on a towel.

Walking upstairs, I pushed open the bedroom door and saw my daughter stirring beneath her blanket, rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists.

“Did you sleep well, my little pumpkin?” I asked gently, looking at her.

“Yes, Mama,” she replied, stretching her arms above her head. “Playtime now.”

“Okay,” I said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, “but only for an hour, and then it’s bath time.”

Emma’s lips pushed forward into a stubborn pout. “No bathy today.”

I crossed my arms and mirrored her expression. “Then no playtime, Emma.”

She narrowed her eyes, calculating her next move.

“Fine. Mama win.”

A laugh escaped me as I scooped her into my arms.

Emma looked so much like Caleb. The same blue-green eyes that caught the light in a way that made them sparkle. The same peaceful expression when she slept. Sometimes the similarities startled me. Other times they appeared in unexpected ways, like her dislike for cauliflower, which she rejected with theatrical disgust every single time it appeared on her plate. She carried pieces of both Caleb and me within her, but there was no denying how much of him lived in her features.

And tonight, she would be having dinner with her biological father.

Should I tell him? Would he believe me? Or would he doubt me again and assume the worst, just like he had before?

I held my daughter a little tighter, drawing comfort from her warmth, before pushing those thoughts aside.

Not tonight.

I carried her downstairs and stepped back into the kitchen.