Chapter 121: Hundred and Twenty One

Declan slipped out of my room in the early hours of the morning, so no one saw us.

We were heading back today. I got dressed quickly but was still one of the last people to board the bus. I slid into an empty seat near the middle, trying to fold myself into a comfortable position, grateful for the excuse of fatigue. My body still ached faintly from the hike, and my heart, well, my heart was in worse condition than my ankle had ever been.

A few seconds later, the seat beside me dipped. Declan.

I looked up, startled. There were plenty of other open spots. But he just gave me that steady, unreadable look and then angled his body toward the aisle, as if his proximity was the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, voice pitched low enough that it didn’t carry.

“No.” My voice came out softer than I intended, almost drowned by the engine’s growl.

For a while, we didn’t speak. My gaze drifted out the window to the blur of trees and fields, but I could feel him beside me, every shift of his arm, every breath.

At some point, he opened a protein bar and offered me it. I had a bite, made a face, and gave it back to him. He chuckled, then at the rest of it.

After almost an hour had passed, almost hesitantly, he broke the silence.  “Tell me about him.”

I didn’t have to ask who he meant. Noah.

My phone was already in my hand before I even thought it through. My thumb swiped through the gallery, and suddenly the tiny screen was glowing between us.

“This was his first birthday,” I said, showing him Noah’s frosting-covered grin, a paper crown slightly askew on his head. “He hated the hat, but I made him wear it for five minutes.”

Declan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he studied the picture. His eyes softened in a way that twisted something inside me.

“He has your smile,” he murmured.

I swallowed, moving on before I could drown in that. “Here. This is him last Christmas. He insisted on holding the candle all by himself.” I laughed, remembering how terrified I had been that he’d burn his fingers.

Picture after picture, moment after moment, I laid them out like a scrapbook, trying to catch him up on these years. Declan asked questions quietly, intently, like every detail mattered. Did he like to read? (Yes, mostly picture books with animals.) Was he shy around strangers? (Not really, he warmed up quickly.) What did he want to be when he grew up? (A pilot, last week. A milkman the week before.)

The more he asked, the harder it became to keep my voice steady. Because with every answer, I was reminded of all the years he had missed. All the years I had chosen to keep from him.

And then we reached the photos with Jacob.

A family picture at the zoo. Noah on Jacob’s shoulders, grinning ear to ear. Another one at a school event, Jacob crouched beside him, adjusting his tie while I snapped the picture.

I felt Declan go still beside me. His jaw tightened, his hand flexed on his knee. He didn’t say anything, but his silence was loud.

I wanted to explain. To tell him that yes, Jacob had been there, that yes, he had helped raise Noah, but it wasn’t the same, it could never be the same. But the words tangled up in my throat.

So I just locked the phone and tucked it away, my chest aching.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride. Not cold silence, not angry silence, something far more fragile. Like we were both trying not to touch a bruise that was still fresh. Still angry.

When the bus finally pulled into the stop, my stomach lurched. Through the window, I saw Jacob’s car. And beside him, Noah, standing on tiptoe, searching the crowd of disembarking people for me.

My breath caught.

Declan stood when I did, his hand brushing my arm as if steadying me. We shuffled out into the sunlight together, and before I could take another step, Noah’s little voice pierced the air.

“Mommy!”

He darted forward, his small arms wrapping around my legs. I bent down, scooping him up, my heart squeezing at the way his hair smelled faintly of his favorite shampoo.

“I missed you, baby,” I whispered into his hair.

When I straightened, I caught Declan watching. His eyes were glassy, suspiciously bright. He blinked quickly, clearing his throat, forcing a small smile as Noah peeked at him over my shoulder.

“Hi, Uncle Declan.” Noah said shyly, his voice soft but curious.

Declan’s lips parted, his composure wavering for the briefest second. “Hi, buddy,” he whispered back.

And then, almost imperceptibly, his gaze shimmered. But I noticed. He looked away fast, blinking hard, his jaw tightening as if to hold everything inside.

Jacob was already walking toward us, keys jangling in his hand, oblivious to the tension between us.

Declan gave me one last look, and then he turned away, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

I held Noah tighter, my chest tight with too many emotions to name. Because in that fleeting moment, I had seen everything Declan tried to hide: the longing, the grief, the impossible weight of love he wasn’t allowed to claim.

I knew I had to make a decision. The right one.