“Because men like him don’t call unless something’s gone wrong and they need somewhere to dump the anger.”
Lucy turned to him.
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough. From what you’ve told me. From how the kids talk about him. Or don’t.” He paused. “Take care of yourself, Lucy. Men like that can be dangerous when they feel cornered.”
Saturday was bright and sunny. Eric arrived on time—for once. He looked rough: thinner, red-eyed, shirt wrinkled. The children ran out and hugged him. He held them tightly, almost desperately. Lucy watched from a distance and felt a strange mix of pity and detachment.
“Dad, are you staying a long time?” Ben asked hopefully.
“All day, buddy. We’ll go to the park, ride the rides.”
“Yes!”
The children ran inside to get ready. Eric stayed in the yard, looking over the house.
“Nice setup,” he said with a crooked smile.
“I had help.”
“From the sailor?”
“From his mother. Margaret.”
“Right. Sure.” He looked over the tidy yard, the solid house, the new swing set Mike had put up for the kids. “Quite the upgrade.”
“Eric, don’t start.”
“What? I can’t have an opinion? Four months ago you were crying, saying you didn’t know how you’d survive. Now look at you.”
“I work. I earn money. I raise my children.”
“Living off other people.”
“No. I pay my share of the utilities, I buy groceries, I work in this house and outside it. Margaret doesn’t charge me rent because I help her.”
Eric gave a short laugh.
“Convenient arrangement.”
Lucy felt anger rise in her chest—the kind she had swallowed for years.
“You know what, Eric? Take the kids and go. Bring them back by seven, like we agreed. And if you don’t, I’ll call the police.”
He stepped back as if she had slapped him.
“You’ve changed.”
“Yes. You’ve mentioned that.”
The children came running out onto the porch—dressed up, excited, oblivious to the tension between their parents. Eric pasted on a smile and led them to the car. Lucy watched until they disappeared around the corner.
“You okay?” Mike came out onto the porch and stood beside her.
“Yes. Just… tired.”
“Want to go somewhere? While the kids are with him. Clear your head.”
Lucy looked at him—at his calm face, kind eyes, the hands she suddenly wanted to hold.
“Where?”
“There’s a lake outside town. Pretty this time of year.”
They drove mostly in silence. Trees, fields, little houses slipped by outside the window. Lucy watched the road and thought how strange life was. Six months ago she had thought everything was over. Now she was sitting beside a man who looked at her in a way Eric never had.
The lake was small and quiet, ringed with old willow trees. They got out and sat on a fallen log by the shore.
“I used to come here as a kid,” Mike said. “With Mom and my sister. After my father left. Mom used to say you could leave the bad stuff here and take only the good home.”
“Did it work?”
“Sometimes.”
He turned to her and took her hand. Just took it. No speech, no drama.
“Lucy, I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I’m shipping out soon. Three months.”
Her heart tightened.
“When?”
“Two weeks.” He paused. “I want you to know something before I go. You matter to me. A lot. And when I come back, I’d like us to see if this can be something real.”
“Something real?”
“Yes. Not just housemates. Not just friends.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not asking for an answer now. I just want you to know, and think about it while I’m gone.”
Lucy said nothing for a while. She looked out at the water, the clouds reflected in it, the willow branches trailing at the edge.
“I’ll think about it,” she said at last.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
The two weeks flew by. Lucy kept catching herself counting down to Mike’s departure and dreading it at the same time. Dreading being alone. Dreading what she felt.
The night before he left, they sat again on the porch. The children were asleep, Margaret had gone to bed. The warm May air smelled of lilac and fresh-cut grass.
“I’m leaving you power of attorney,” Mike said. “For the business matters. If you decide to try your hand at it, go ahead. If not, just keep things steady.”
“What if I ruin everything?”
“You won’t.” He smiled. “I believe in you.”
Lucy turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
“Why are you so good to me?”
“Because you deserve it.”
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough. I know you’re strong, honest, and kind. I know you’ve been through hell and didn’t break. I know I’m at peace when I’m near you.” He paused. “And I know three months without you is going to feel very long.”
He left the next morning. The children stood on the porch to see him off. Maddie cried. Ben tried not to. Paige stood silent, lips pressed tight. Mike hugged each of them, ruffled their hair, promised gifts from faraway places.
“Take care of your mom,” he whispered to Paige.
“I do. You take care of yourself.”
“You’re a good kid.”
The SUV disappeared around the bend. Lucy stood on the porch watching until the bright morning sun made her eyes ache.
“Mom, are you crying?” Ben tugged at her hand.
“No, sweetheart. Just got something in my eye.”
“Uncle Mike’s coming back, right?”
“Absolutely.”
The first days without him were hard. Lucy had gotten used to his presence, his voice through the wall, his footsteps on the stairs, the smell of his aftershave. Now the house felt empty, even with Margaret and the children in it. But there was no time for missing him. Lucy made her decision: she would try to manage the business. Not because she was sure she could. Because Mike believed she could, and she didn’t want to let him down.
Her first day at the office of the local real estate firm was one she would never forget. Small building on the edge of town. Three offices. Smell of coffee, printer toner, and old carpet. Five agents, an office manager, a bookkeeper. They all looked at her with suspicion. Who was this woman? What was she doing here?
“My name is Lucy,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ll be overseeing things while Mike is away. I’m not here to turn everything upside down. I just want to understand how this place runs.”
Silence. Then one of the older agents, a gray-haired man named Sam, gave a little grunt.
“You ever sold a house?”
“No,” Lucy said. “But I do know how to keep records straight, return calls, solve problems, and make sure people get paid on time. That’s a start.”
Sam grunted again, but this time there was a trace of respect in it.
“Fair enough. We’ll see.”
She learned on the fly. Contracts, listings, closings, taxes, client calls. She stayed late over spreadsheets and reports. Called lawyers, accountants, county offices. She made mistakes, fixed them, made new ones. Margaret helped with the children—picked them up from school and preschool, fed them lunch, supervised homework. Without her, Lucy never could have done it.
“You’re running yourself ragged,” the old woman muttered. “When did you last sleep like a normal person?”
“When things settle down, I will.”
“When things settle down, you’ll be in the hospital from exhaustion.”
But Lucy couldn’t stop. For the first time in her life, she felt she was doing something that mattered. That people depended on her—not just her children, but employees too. That she was capable of more than cooking soup and folding laundry.
Eric showed up at the end of June without warning, without a call. Just appeared on the porch.
“Can I come in?”
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
He looked better than the last time: shaved, clean shirt, more put together. But the emptiness was still there in his eyes.
“Are the kids home?”
“At Margaret’s friend’s place.”
“Then all the better.”
They sat in the kitchen. Lucy did not offer coffee. She didn’t want to.
“I’m listening.”
“I want to come back.”
For a second she thought she had misheard him.
“What?”
“I want to come back. To you. To the kids. Start over.”
Lucy stared at him. Six months ago he had walked out without a backward glance. Now he sat at her table asking to be let back in.
“Why?”
“Because I was wrong. Regina… that was a mistake. I thought I wanted freedom, a new life. Really, I was just scared. Scared of getting older. Scared of routine. Scared of responsibility.”
“And what changed?”
“I changed. These months alone… they taught me a lot.”
Lucy said nothing. A year ago, even six months ago, she would have thrown her arms around him. Forgiven everything. Believed every word.
“No,” she said.
“What do you mean, no?”
