She Said, “I’m Pregnant. He Left Me.” I Replied, “You’re Not Doing This Alone.”
The foreclosure notice was stapled to her front door like somebody wanted the whole street to read it. Rain came down hard, cold enough to sting. I stood on Alina Mercer’s porch with my toolbox in one hand and a bundle of trim in the other, staring at that paper and the fresh waterline running down the siding.
Then I looked at her. She was barefoot on the wet boards, one hand braced on the door frame, the other resting low on her belly like she could keep the world from touching it. Her hair was loose. Her face was pale. Not crying, not yet. Just trying to hold herself together. The driveway was empty.
He took the car, she said, voice so quiet I had to lean in to hear it over the wind. And the savings account. My jaw clenched. Derek. She nodded once like it hurt to move her head. He said he’s not ready, she added. He said I trapped him. Her throat worked. Me at 36. I set the trim down. The wood hit the porch with a dull thud.
“You okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Her eyes flicked to my boots, then up to my face. “No, that was it. One word, no drama, just truth.” She tried to straighten. “Principal Mercer, the woman who could calm a cafeteria of sixth graders with one look. The woman who could handle a schoolboard meeting like a knife fight.” But right then, she looked like she’d been hit from behind.
I can’t pay you for the rest of the renovation, she said. I’m going to have to sell. Before the bank takes it, the wind shoved cold rain under the porch roof. It slapped her bare shoulder. She flinched and then pretended she hadn’t. I stepped in close enough to block some of it. You have a roof that still leaks and stairs that aren’t safe.
I nodded at the notice. That paper doesn’t get to decide anything tonight, Knox. I’m finishing the job, I said. We talk money when you’re warm and dry. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue. Instead, she swallowed and looked past me at the empty driveway again. He said he’d be back after the meeting, she whispered. He never came home.
I saw it then. Not just heartbreak, panic, practical panic, bills, insurance, due dates, a house that wasn’t finished, a baby that didn’t care about any of that. I took my cap off, ran a hand through my hair, then put it back on. “You’re not selling this place today,” I said. She let out a shaky breath.
“Why are you doing this?” I didn’t reach for her. I didn’t touch her. I kept my hands where she could see them. “Because you’re standing out here in the rain,” I said. “And nobody should be alone in a moment like this.” Her eyes went wet. One tear slipped free and cut down her cheek. She wiped it fast like she hated that I saw it.
I’m not asking you to save me, she said. I’m not saving you, I replied. I’m fixing a house I already started. She stared at me like she didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved. Go inside, I said. I’m going to get that notice off your door before the paper turns to mush. She didn’t move right away. Then she stepped back slow, making room for me.
That was the first time she let me in. The storm got worse before it got better. By dusk, the wind had teeth. It snapped branches in the yards behind the houses. It shoved rain sideways until it found every weakness I’d been planning to fix tomorrow. I was halfway up a ladder on the side of her house when the first big gust hit.
The ladder rattled. The gutter groaned. The smell of wet cedar and old leaves filled my nose. Knoxelina’s voice cut through the wind from the porch. Get down. I looked up at the roof line. Water was pushing under a loose section of flashing. It ran along the underside like a finger tracing where it didn’t belong.
If I don’t tarp it, your ceiling is going to give up. I shouted back. You can tarp it tomorrow, she yelled. And there was steel in it now. You can’t fix a broken neck. Fair point. I climbed down fast, but careful boots slipping on mud. As soon as I hit the ground, the porch light flickered then went out. The whole block went dark.
Alina was at the door wrapped in a cardigan bare legs showing beneath it eyes tight. “Powers out. Stay inside,” I said automatically. She lifted her chin. “It’s my house.” I nodded once. Then stay behind the glass. I went to the side gate and checked the fence line. The wind shoved the latch. The gate banged twice.
I fixed it with a quick twist of wire and a spare screw from my pocket. When I came back, Alina had a flashlight in one hand and her phone in the other. No panic, just facts. County says Cruz won’t come out until morning, she said. Lines are down. Okay, I answered. Do you have candles? She pointed at the kitchen drawer by the stove.
She moved like she had a plan, even when she didn’t. That was her thing. Control even when her hands shook. I walked the house perimeter, checking every window. The one I’d repaired earlier in the week held, but the frame still flexed when the gusts slammed it. I pressed the trim with my palm. Felt the give. “This one needs another pass,” I muttered. I found thestorm door latch loose, fixed it.
Then I checked the back steps. One plank creaked under my weight. I marked it with a strip of tape so I wouldn’t forget. When I got back into the kitchen, Alina had the candles lit in a pot on the stove. You shouldn’t be standing this long, I said. She didn’t look up. If I sit, my backlogs. I opened the pantry and found a can of soup.
You eat. She finally looked at me. I’m not hungry. You’re pregnant, I said. That’s not how it works. Her mouth tightened like she wanted to snap at me. Then she exhaled and turned the burner lower. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll eat.” The wind hit hard enough to rattle the windows. A sharp sound came from the sunroom like a clap of wood. Alina flinched.
I set the can down and grabbed my flashlight. Stay here, Knox. I’ll be right back, I said and meant it. The sunroom window had shifted. One corner of the frame had popped loose. Water was coming in thin and steady, already darkening the hardwood. I didn’t swear. I didn’t waste time. I pulled a towel off a chair, shoved it under the leak, then braced the frame with my shoulder while I drove a screw through the trim.
My drill whined in the dark. The smell of wet sawdust rose up the second the bit bit into wood. When it finally held, I tested it with my palm. No give. I stood there for a second, breathing hard. Behind me, Alena appeared in the doorway with the flashlight aimed down, not at me.
Like she was giving me space to be a man doing a job. “You’re shaking,” she said. “It’s cold,” I replied. She stepped closer and held the light steady while I wiped my hands on my jeans. Your couch is in the living room,” she said, voice clipped like she was issuing a directive at school. “You can sleep there,” I glanced at her.
“I have my own place. I didn’t ask where your place is,” she said. “I said you can sleep here.” I watched her swallow, watched her fingers press a little harder around the flashlight handle. “She wasn’t asking for company. She was asking for safety.” I nodded. “Okay.” Morning came gray and slow. The storm left behind a yard full of snapped branches and a roof that still needed attention.
Power came back midm morning. Heat clicked on like a gift. Alina stood at the kitchen sink with a mug of coffee hair piled messy, wearing one of those oversized sweaters that made her look smaller than she was. Her belly still told the truth. I ate two eggs standing at the counter, then went back outside. Work fixed my head.
measurements, cuts, fasteners, straight lines. I set up my saw horses in the driveway. The sawdust came off the blade in warm curls. The smell of fresh pine mixed with wet earth. It was clean. It made sense. Alina came out with a clipboard, not school paperwork, contractor paperwork. I called the bank, she said.
They’ll give me 10 days if I can show active renovation and a plan. You did that this morning? I asked. Her eyes held mine. I don’t have time to fall apart. That was competence. Real competence, not speeches, just action. I nodded. Good. She flipped the page. I also called the insurance company. If Derek cancels the policy, he can’t, I said. Your name’s on the house.
It’s complicated, she replied. He handled the paperwork. My jaw tightened again. I kept my voice even. We’ll fix it. She paused. We I didn’t smile. I didn’t soften it. You’ve got enough to carry. Let me carry some. She looked down at her clipboard like she could hide behind it. I don’t want to be a burden.
Then don’t be, I said. Be a teammate. Her throat moved. She nodded once. That afternoon, I hauled lumber into the nursery. The room still smelled faintly of paint and old carpet. The walls were pale blue because Alina had painted them before Derek left, not knowing the baby’s sex. just hoping. A box labeled crib sat in the corner.
“I ordered it months ago,” she said from the doorway. “Derek said he’d build it.” “I’ll build it,” I said. She came closer, careful with her steps. “You don’t have to.” I crouched and popped the box open with my pocketk knife. “I know.” I laid out the parts on the floor. Bolts, slats, Allen key, the instruction sheet that always assumed you had four hands.
Alina sank down onto a padded chair watching. I felt her eyes on me the way you feel sun on the back of your neck. You do this a lot? She asked. Build things. I tightened a bolt. Yeah. No, she said. Show up when you didn’t promise to. I didn’t look up. Somebody showed up for me when I was younger. I remember what it felt like. That was all I gave her.
One sentence, no lecture. The crib came together steady, square, solid. When I set the last screw, I pushed it with both hands. It didn’t move. Alina exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time. It’s real now, she whispered. I stood and wiped my hands. Sawdust streaked my palms. It was real before, I said.
Now it’s ready. She reached up and ran her fingers along the top rail slow like she was learning the shape of the next part of her life. Then she did something thatsurprised me. She looked at me and said, “Thank you.” Two words, clear. No softness in her voice, but her eyes were different. Less guarded. I nodded.
You’re welcome. It was late. Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes the smallest sounds loud. I was at the living room window with a tube of caul sealing the last thin gap I’d felt during the storm. I pressed the nozzle into the seam and ran a clean line along the frame. Simple, exact.
Behind me, I heard Alina in the kitchen. The kettle click, a cabinet close, her bare feet on wood. I finished the line, smoothed it with my thumb, and then tested the frame with my palm again. Solid, no flex. I turned and found her standing there with a folded towel in her hands. Not a bath towel, one of the thick ones that holds heat.
I warmed it, she said, almost like she was annoyed she’d done something kind. I took it. The heat hit my fingers. Thanks, I said. Her eyes dropped to my hands. They’re red. Work does that. She hesitated, then stepped closer. Close enough, I could smell her soap. Clean. Not perfume, just soap. The towel was still warm.
I wrapped it around my knuckles and flexed my fingers. A gust of wind hit the house. The repaired window didn’t even rattle. Alina noticed. Her shoulders eased a fraction. I set the towel down on the counter, then checked the back door lock. Deadbolt, latch, chain. What are you doing? She asked, making sure nothing gets in, I said. She didn’t argue.
I walked to the hallway and checked the front door again, thumb pressing the new strike plate I’d installed. Tight. Then I went back into the kitchen, stopped in front of her, and kept my hands at my sides. I’m staying tonight, I said. Her breath caught. You don’t have to. I’m staying. I repeated. Door stays locked.
Lights stay on. If anything hits this house, it doesn’t get past me first. It wasn’t poetry. It was a statement. Her eyes searched mine. Then her fingers curled around my wrist, gentle, but it was a choice. A signal. Don’t leave, she said. That was the consent. Clear enough.
I stepped closer, slow, gave her time to back up. She didn’t. I lifted my hand and touched her jaw with my knuckles. First, a soft check-in. She leaned into it just slightly like she decided. So, I held her jaw firm but careful and kissed her, not sweet, not shy. A collision that said everything we’d been refusing to say. She made a small sound in her throat, not loud, not dramatic.
Then her hand slid to the back of my neck and held me there, mutual. When I pulled back, her eyes were wide. Her lips were a little swollen. She looked steady, though, like the kiss hadn’t taken anything from her, like she’d chosen it. “We can stop,” I said low. She shook her head once. “Don’t.” So, I kissed her again, shorter this time, then rested my forehead against hers and breathed.
Outside, the wind kept working. Inside, the house held. The one night turned into three. I told myself it was practical. sunroom repair, stair reinforcement, finished carpentry I couldn’t do in one day. But by the third morning, my boots were by her door like they belonged there. Alina moved around me in the kitchen like we’d been doing this for years.
She didn’t ask permission. She didn’t apologize for taking up space. That was progress. On the second night, I came in from the site and found her on the nursery floor surrounded by screws and a half assembled changing table. The instruction sheet was crumpled in her fist. This thing hates me, she muttered. I set my keys down. Scoot.
I can do it, she said, voice sharp. I know, I answered. But I’m faster. She stared at me for a long beat. Then she shifted aside, letting my knee bump hers. Her shoulder touched my arm. Close. Normal. I built the table without making a show of it. Tightened, leveled, checked every joint. When I was done, I pushed down hard on the top. No wobble.
Alina’s hand went to her belly. A slow rub like she was soothing herself. “He’s kicking,” she said. I glanced at her. “Because you’re finally sitting down.” “No,” she said, and her mouth twitched like she hated that she was smiling. “Because you’re here.” I didn’t make a joke. I didn’t try to be cute. I just reached out and rested my palm against the side of her belly. I waited.
Nothing at first, then a hard thump against my hand. I froze. Alina watched my face like she wanted to memorize the reaction. I swallowed. Okay. Her eyes softened. Yeah. That night, she ate more than two bites of dinner. That mattered. The next day, she made phone calls in the living room while I worked in the hall.
I heard words like deferment and documentation and payment plan. She didn’t crumble. She negotiated. After one call, she hung up and let her head fall back against the couch for 2 seconds. Then she sat up straight again. I walked over and set a glass of water within reach. No announcement, no comment. She looked at it then at me.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. I nodded and went back to work. “Acts of service.”That was how I knew how to care. I was at the hardware store when Ryland called. His voice was tight. Get to Alina’s now. What’s wrong? Derek’s there. He brought someone in a suit. I dropped what I was holding and walked fast. Didn’t run in public.
Just moved with purpose. When I hit Alena’s street, Dererick’s Audi was in her driveway like it owned the place. I parked my truck at the curb and went straight to the porch. Derek was standing too close to her. Lawyer beside him, clipboard in hand. Derek looked polished, hair perfect, suit expensive, smile practiced.
Alina was seated in one of the rocking chairs, one hand on her belly, the other gripping the chair arm so hard her knuckles were white. NDA protects all parties, Dererick was saying, smooth like he was selling a warranty. It’s best for everyone. You’ll sign, you’ll sell, and we keep things clean. Alina’s voice was flat. No.
Dererick’s smile tightened. You can’t raise a child alone in a house this size. It’s irresponsible. That word irresponsible hit her like a slap. I stepped between them. She’s not selling, I said. Dererick’s eyes flicked to me with open disgust. This is between adults. Alina’s chin lifted. He is an adult. The lawyer cleared his throat.
Ma’am, perhaps we should stop. Alina said, and the room in the air shifted. She stood using the railing. Slow, controlled. Knox isn’t just a contractor. He’s my partner. My pulse jumped. Derek blinked. Excuse me. In this house, Alina continued, voice steady. And in my life, she didn’t look at me when she said it like she was afraid her courage would crack if she saw my face.
I followed her lead without hesitation. I set my hand on the porch post beside her, not touching her, but close enough that Dererick could see I wasn’t going anywhere. Dererick’s eyes narrowed. You’re lying. Alina met his gaze. Try me. The lawyer shifted uncomfortable. Derek leaned in. You think the school board won’t care that the principal is living with the help? Alina didn’t flinch. Call them.
Dererick’s smile turned ugly. You’re making a mistake. Alina’s hand slid back and gripped the railing harder. Her belly rose with a careful breath. I watched her, not for weakness, for a signal. She looked at me for the first time. Just a glance, a question in it. Are you with me? I answered without words.
I stepped closer, shoulderto-shoulder with her. Derek saw it. His calculation changed. Fine, he snapped. Enjoy your little fantasy. It won’t hold up under pressure. He turned and walked off the porch. Audi door slammed. Tires spit gravel. When the car disappeared, Alena’s breath finally broke. Her shoulders sagged. I moved fast and caught her elbow before she could stumble. “You okay?” I asked.
She nodded too quickly. “Yes.” “Don’t lie to me,” I said. Her eyes flashed defensive. Then the fear showed underneath. “He’ll ruin me, Knox. I won’t let him,” I said. She shook her head voice low now. “You can’t stop him from talking.” I didn’t pretend I had a magic solution. I just said the truth.
Then we pick our ground, I said. If you want this lie to stand, I’ll stand with it. If you don’t, I walk away. And Derek gets nothing from me. She stared at me breathing hard. You’ll really get dragged into it, she whispered. I already am, I replied. She stepped closer. Close enough that her breath warmed my throat.
Say it, she said. Say you’re okay with this. I’m okay with this, I said. Her fingers touched my wrist. Same place as the kitchen. Same clear choice. Then kiss me, she said barely above a whisper. Just once. So it looks real. Consent direct. I didn’t hesitate. I held her waist careful firm and kissed her like Derek was still standing there watching.
She kissed me back just as hard. When I pulled away, her eyes were wet. Not from romance, from the weight of what she’d just done. Okay, I said. We’ll handle the rest. Derek didn’t need a lawsuit. He just needed mouths. By Friday, the whispers were everywhere. I heard it at the grocery store, at the hardware counter, on a job site.
Men who smiled to my face and then stopped calling. My phone stayed too quiet. Alina took it worse because her world was smaller and sharper. school hallways, board members, parents who wanted a spotless symbol. I was installing a safety gate at the top of her stairs when she came home early. Her keys shook in her hand.
They put me on leave, she said. I froze with the drill halfway up. What? Administrative, she corrected like the word mattered. Pending an investigation into moral conduct. The drill slipped from my fingers and clattered on the floor. They’re doing this 2 weeks before my due date, she said voice tight. My insurance is through the district.
I stood up too fast. We fight it. We call a lawyer. She backed up a step. It wasn’t a dramatic retreat. It was instinct, like she was bracing for impact. Knocks, she said, and her voice cracked. Stop. Stop what I demanded. She pressed her palm to my chest, holding me at arms length. Stoptrying to fix this with your body.
Your name is on your company, your contracts, your life. I don’t care about contracts, I said. You will, she shot back. You will when this is over, and you’re broke, and people look at you like you’re the idiot who tied himself to my disaster. Her eyes were bright, her mouth trembled, she swallowed hard, forcing control.
This town chews people up, she said. I can take it. It’s my job, my reputation. But you, I chose this, I said. She shook her head fast. You chose a week. You didn’t choose a lifetime of rumors. I stepped forward. Her palm stayed on my chest. Firm. Alina. Her voice dropped raw. I’m scared you’ll wake up in a month and hate me. That landed harder than anything else she’d said.
She lifted her chin, trying to get her armor back on. Get out, she said. Please. Not anger, not cruelty, fear. I can’t have you here when the next punch comes, she added. I can’t watch you take it because of me. I stared at her hand on my chest. Then I looked at her face. She wasn’t asking me to prove love. She was asking me to respect the boundary she could still control. So I nodded once.
“Okay,” I said. Her eyes squeezed shut for half a second. Then she opened them and the tears stayed put like she refused to let them win. I grabbed my jacket off the chair and walked out. The door shut behind me with a clean final sound. I stayed away 3 days. I worked until my arms were numb. Slept in my truck twice.
I told myself I was giving her space. Then the weather turned. A late spring blizzard rolled in like it was personal. Snow hammered sideways. Wind made the roads disappear. I was sitting in my truck in a parking lot heater blasting, staring at my phone when Ryland called. Are you listening to the scanner? He asked. No. His voice sharpened.
Ambulance dispatch just got a call. 42-seater lane. Access blocked by a downed line. That’s her knocks. My chest went cold. I didn’t think. I drove. The roads were slick. Visibility was garbage. The wipers fought ice. I kept both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the faint shapes of the lane. When I hit her street, a power line was down across the road, and a tree limb had snapped on her driveway.
The ambulance lights flashed in the distance, stuck behind the blockage. I threw my truck into park and grabbed my shovel from the bed. Wind tried to rip it out of my hands. I cleared what I could fast. Then I ran the rest on foot boots sinking in snow that shouldn’t exist in May. Her front door was open. Alena’s scream cut through the storm like a blade.
I barreled inside and nearly slipped on the rug. She was on her knees in the living room, one hand gripping the couch and the other clawing at the carpet. Sweat darkened her hairline. Her face was twisted with pain and fear. “No,” she gasped when she saw me. And it wasn’t rejection. It was shock. “Nox, I’m here,” I said. “I’m here.
” She tried to stand and folded with another contraction. I dropped beside her, one hand at her back, the other under her arm. I can’t, she sobbed. I can’t do it alone. You’re not alone, I said. And this time it wasn’t comfort. It was a fact. Look at me. Her eyes found mine. Breathe, I said. In, out, slow. She tried. Her breath stuttered.
Okay, I said, staying calm on purpose. We’re doing this right here. Ambulance can’t get to you. I’m not moving you outside in this. Her eyes went wide with fresh terror. Knox, listen. I said firm. You tell me what you need. You tell me where it hurts. You tell me when to stop. I do nothing without you telling me.
Her eyes clung to mine. Then she nodded. “One sharp nod.” “Fhone,” I said. “Um, where’s your phone?” “Kitchen?” she gasped. I grabbed it, called 911, then put it on speaker, and set it on the coffee table within reach. I didn’t leave her sight again. A dispatcher answered. I gave the address, told them the situation, told them the line was down, told them she was in labor now.
The dispatcher kept talking calm, direct, step by step. Alina gripped my forearm so hard it hurt. Don’t let go, she said. I won’t, I replied. The next hour was brutal. No romance, no speeches, just work. her breathing, my hands, towels, hot water from the kettle, the smell of sweat and soap, and the faint pine of the wood I’d cut in her hallway.
The wind hammered the house, but it held. When the baby crowned Alena’s eyes went wild with panic oos, she pleaded. I’m here, I said. You’re doing it. One more push. You’re in control. She locked onto my voice. She nodded, tears spilling now because she couldn’t stop them. Now, I said, she pushed with everything she had left. Then the room changed.
A thin cry broke the air. The baby was small and slick and furious at the world. I wrapped her fast, careful hands, steady, even though my whole body shook. “A girl,” I said, voice rough. Alina’s face collapsed into relief and shock all at once. She reached for the baby with both hands. “Give her to me,” she whispered.
I placed the baby against her chest andwatched Alina’s hands curl around her like a shield. For a second, everything in the world narrowed to that. Then Alina looked up at me, eyes exhausted and shining. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” she said. I swallowed hard, my throat burned. “I was terrified I’d walk in and you’d be gone,” I said.
“Don’t do that to me again.” It was under 25 words. It was all I had. Her mouth trembled. She nodded slow. “Okay.” Outside, sirens finally grew louder. The paramedics got to her about 10 minutes after the baby came. They praised Alina. They checked her in the baby. They wrapped them in blankets and moved with efficient hands. They asked questions.
They didn’t look at me like I was a hero. They looked at me like a man who did what he had to. I followed the ambulance and my truck hazards on Knuckles white on the steering wheel. At the hospital, they moved Alina into a room and took the baby for checks. I sat in the waiting area with my hand still smelling like soap and metal and sawdust, staring at nothing.
“Ryland showed up with coffee and a grin that tried to be light. “You look like you fought a bear,” he said. I delivered a baby, I answered. He laughed once, then sobered when he saw my face. “How’s she?” he asked. “I don’t know yet.” He handed me the coffee. “Town already knows.” I stared at him. “How?” He shrugged. “Small place.
” Scanner chatter. Nurses talk. People saw the ambulance stuck in the line down. People love a story. I took a sip. It burned. Good. Ryland leaned in a little. Also, Derek’s gone quiet. That made my jaw tighten again. What does that mean? It means he’s not showing his face. Ryland said. Word got out that he bailed. People don’t love that, especially with a baby involved.
He’s keeping his head down. Might even leave town before it sticks to him. I didn’t feel relief. I felt anger settling into something colder. A nurse finally appeared and waved me in. Alina was in bed, hairwashed, face exhausted, but calmer. The baby was in a bassinet beside her, wrapped, tight, tiny mouth, working in sleep.
Alina looked at me like she was deciding if I belonged here. Then she held out her hand. I took it. No speech, no apology. Just contact. She’s perfect, Elena whispered. I looked at the baby. Yeah. Alina squeezed my hand once. “Thank you.” I nodded. My throat still didn’t want to work. Ryland hovered at the door, respectful.
When Alina waved him in, he stepped forward soft for once. “Hey,” he said to Alina. “You scared the whole county.” She huffed a tired laugh. Ryland glanced at me and gave a small nod. A brother nod. I saw pride in it. Then he backed out again, giving us the room. Alina stared at the bassinet. They’ll talk, she said.
I didn’t answer with a speech. I stood, walked to the bassinet, and adjusted the blanket edge that had slipped. One careful tuck. Then I came back to her bed and sat down. “Let them,” I said simply. She looked at me for a long beat. Then she nodded like she understood what I meant. 6 weeks later, the house looked like it could breathe again.
New railing, reinforced steps, sun room sealed tight, nursery finished. The smell of fresh cut lumber had faded into something warmer, clean wood paint and baby powder. Alina stood in the doorway with the baby on her hip, watching me install the last piece of trim. “You missed a spot,” she said. I glanced at the corner.
“I didn’t miss it. I saved it.” She snorted. “Sure.” Her hair was pulled back, no makeup, tired eyes, but she stood straight, strong. The school board had tried to drag her. She’d shown them receipts, timelines, and the right kind of quiet fury. The leave ended. Her job stayed. The gossip didn’t disappear, but it lost its teeth. Derek stayed gone.
Not a dramatic defeat, just a coward’s retreat. Ryland was on the porch steps when I carried my toolbox outside. He held a small paper bag. Mrs. Gable’s bakery, he said. She said, “Congratulations.” He tossed the bag to me. Warm rolls, butter smell. Alina stepped onto the porch behind me, baby bundled against her chest in a soft blanket. That’s when Mrs.
Gable herself came walking down the sidewalk, scarf around her neck, grocery bag in hand. She stopped when she saw us. Her eyes went to Alina’s face, then to the baby, then to me. For a second, I could feel the whole street holding its breath. Mrs. Gable lifted her hand, and gave a small wave. Alina didn’t hide. She didn’t turn away.
She stepped closer to me instead. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out a key, and pressed it into my palm. Officially, she said. Her voice was steady. If you want it. I stared at the key. Then I looked at her. She didn’t blink. didn’t look down, didn’t wait for permission. She leaned up and kissed me on the mouth hard, clear in public. It wasn’t polite.
It wasn’t subtle. It was a claim. Mrs. Gable’s eyebrows shot up. Then the old woman smiled like she’d just seen something she liked. Well, she called voice bright about time. Ryland coughed like he was trying not to laugh. Alinabroke the kiss just enough to look at me. Her eyes didn’t ask if I was scared. They told me she wasn’t.
I tightened my grip on the key. “Yeah,” I said. “I want it.” Alina’s mouth curved. She adjusted the baby on her hip, then rested her forehead against my shoulder for a second small, real exhausted. I slid my arm around her waist, safe, steady, while my other hand held the key like it weighed something important. The wind brushed the porch mild now, nothing like that storm.
Behind us, the house stood solid. in front of us. The street kept moving and I stayed right where I
