Page 173 of When Love Takes Root

I folded the towel once.

Then again.

The words came out rough around the edges. “Can we step outside for a minute?”

Josiah turned off the faucet. Water clung to his hands before he reached for a paper towel. His eyes moved over my face, slow and searching, and something in my chest backed away before my feet could.

“Yes.”

We went through the back door to the patio. Evening had settled over the yard in layers: cut grass, warm brick, charcoal smoke drifting from somebody’s grill, the sweet bite of rosemary leaning from the planter near the rail. The porch light flickered once, throwing a weak gold pulse over the concrete.

Josiah looked up. “That one’s the bulb.”

A laugh tried to rise.

It broke before it became sound.

I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at the patio Jamal had pressure-washed every spring. Two chairs sat near the railing. One leaned slightly to the left because he’d sworn he was going to tighten the leg and never did. The girls’ chalk drawings stained the concrete in faded pinks and blues, crooked hearts, and hopscotch squares ghosted beneath our feet.

My house looked peaceful.

That almost made me angry.

Josiah stayed a few steps away. Close enough to catch me if I cracked. Far enough to make sure I knew catching me was my choice.

That man kept choosing the right distance, and I hated how badly I wanted to close it.

“I’m sorry about Kayden.”

Josiah’s hands rested at his sides. “He’s hurting.”

“He was rude.”

“Yes.”

The answer landed clean because he didn’t soften it.

My eyes burned. “He shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“No, he shouldn’t have.”

I nodded, but the motion felt brittle. Somewhere inside the house, one of the girls laughed at the television. The sound floated through the back door and faded before it reached the yard.

Josiah’s voice lowered. “I wasn’t embarrassed by him, Celeste. I was worried about him.”

My shoulders pulled back.

One sentence, and he’d reached the bruise.

Worried about him.

About Kayden.

About my son with his hard jaw, wet eyes, and grief sitting in his chest like a loaded gun. About the boy I’d been trying to keep together with school schedules, forced check-ins, therapy brochures he refused to touch, and prayers whispered in the laundry room because towels could catch tears without asking what happened.

Josiah saw me retreat.

He started to speak, then stopped abruptly, the words dying behind his teeth.