Those three words nearly undid me.
I had not earned them. Not yet. But she gave them anyway, not as forgiveness, but as a first small bridge across five years of ruin.
Lucas looked at her tears and frowned. “Mom, do you need orange juice?”
She laughed through a sob. “Maybe later.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand before Lucas could see too much.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
I looked at Hannah.
She inhaled slowly. “It means Jake was someone very important to me a long time ago.”
Lucas looked at me. “Are you still important?”
The question found the center of me.
“I would like to be,” I said carefully. “If that’s okay with you and your mom.”
Lucas thought about it. “Can you fix bikes?”
“I can learn.”
“Can you make pancakes shaped like dinosaurs?”
“I can definitely learn.”
He looked at Hannah. “He learns.”
Hannah smiled faintly. “Apparently.”
For a moment, something almost warm settled between us. Not peace. Not yet. But a glimpse of what could have been, and maybe what could still grow if handled gently enough.
Then my phone rang.
My mother’s name lit the screen.
The warmth vanished.
Hannah saw it. “Don’t answer.”
I declined the call.
A text appeared immediately.
Where are you? Your father said he saw your truck at Kroger. Call me before you make a mistake.
I showed Hannah.
Her face went pale. “Your father saw you?”
“He lives near here now. They moved from Brentwood last year.”
“I know.”
I looked at her sharply. “You know?”
She pressed her lips together. “Your mother came to my house six months ago.”
The world seemed to narrow again.
“What?”
Hannah glanced at Lucas.
He had returned to his airplane, but his eyes were listening.
“She came when Lucas was at preschool,” Hannah said quietly. “She said she had heard I was back in Williamson County. She told me it would be better for everyone if I moved again before you found out.”
My hands tightened around the water bottle until the plastic crackled.
“She knew about him?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”