Hundred and Sixty Five

Hundred and Sixty Five
Declan was acting strange.

Not the usual kind of strange where he brooded over emails or hovered too close to me at the office. This was deliberate, secretive strange. The kind of strange that meant he was planning something.

I noticed it when he insisted on driving Noah and me home after dinner with Jacob. He kept sneaking glances in the rearview mirror at Noah, who was busy humming to himself while he stared out the window, watching the trees pass us.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Declan’s mouth twitched. “Nothing.”

“It’s definitely not nothing,” I pressed. “You’ve been acting weird all day.”

“Weird?” he repeated, feigning offense.

“Yes. Weird.”

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t elaborate.

By the time we pulled into my building, it was dark and slightly cold. Declan parked but didn’t turn off the engine. Instead, he twisted in his seat to face Noah.

“Noah,” he began, his voice careful, “can I ask you something?”

Noah looked at Declan, away from the window. “Uh-huh.”

Declan’s eyes softened in a way that made my chest ache. “Do you like spending time with me?”

Noah tilted his head, like it was the silliest question in the world. “Yeah. You’re funny. And you buy the good snacks.”

Declan laughed, but there was a tightness around his mouth. “And… do you like when I’m around Mommy?”

Noah blinked, then grinned. “You make her laugh. She needs that.”

My throat closed. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to melt into the seat or throw myself out of the car.

Declan reached for something in his coat pocket then, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Noah with a flourish. “Okay, then. I have a plan.”

Noah unfolded the paper eagerly, his eyes scanning the messy sketch. It looked like a child’s drawing of a house. It had stick figures labeled “Mommy,” “Declan,” and “Me” standing outside, smiling, with a crooked tree off to the side.

Noah gasped. “This is us!”

Declan nodded, his smile soft but nervous. “Yeah, kid. That’s us. At my place. I was thinking maybe… you and Mommy could move in with me.”

I gasped. What?

“Declan,” I whispered, my pulse racing.

He glanced at me quickly, then back at Noah. “It wouldn’t mean giving up anything. You’d still go to school, and see Daddy all you want. It would just mean… we’d all be together more. Like a team.”

Noah’s face lit up like at the word ‘team’. “Yes! Yes, Mommy, can we? Please? Declan has the big TV and the ping pong table! And the gym! I can grow muscles! And the fridge with the water that comes out of it!”

I blinked rapidly, overwhelmed. “Baby, slow down. Decland I will talk about it.”

“No, Mommy, listen! We could make pancakes together every morning! And I could have my own big room! And Declan can teach me soccer drills in the backyard!” He was practically bouncing out of his seat.

Declan’s eyes stayed on me, though. Serious, steady, waiting.

“Mommy?” Noah pleaded, his small hands gripping my arm. “Say yes.”

“Declan,” I said again, my voice low. “This is huge. We can’t just move in with you all of a sudden.”

“We can,” he said gently. “But only if you want to.”

I shook my head, trying to find air. “Noah, sweetheart, moving in somewhere new is a big decision. It’s not just about the TV or the fridge.”

Noah frowned, confusion clouding his bright excitement. “But it’d be us. You and me and Declan. Isn’t that good?”

My eyes stung. I brushed his hair back from his forehead, pressing a kiss there. “It is good. It’s just… it’s a lot to think about.”

Declan reached across the console, his hand covering mine. His voice dropped low, just for me. “I know you’re scared. But I meant what I said. We’ve already lost years. I don’t want to lose more. Let me give you a home that feels like ours. Just us, baby.”

Tears blurred my vision.

For so long, I’d dreamed of something like this. We’d have quiet mornings together, Noah’s laughter echoing through a space that belonged to all of us. But reality had always crashed down too quickly. The fear of instability. The fear of Emma. The fear of messing things up with Noah.

I looked at my son, practically vibrating with hope in the backseat. “Mommy, please. Can we try? Just try?”

Declan squeezed my hand. “We’ll take it slow. Your pace. But I want you both with me. That’s all I want.”

My voice shook when I finally managed words. “I… I need time to think.”

Declan nodded. “Take all the time you need. Just know the door is open. Always.”

Noah groaned, flopping back against the seat. “Grown-ups take forever.”

I laughed through my tears, ruffling his hair. “We’re allowed to.”

Declan smiled at that, a small, private smile just for me.

When we finally climbed out of the car, Noah was still chattering about where he’d put his Lego sets in ‘our new house.’ Declan walked us to the door, carrying Noah’s backpack with two fingers, like it weighed nothing, and when he handed it over, his eyes lingered on mine.

“Think about it,” he murmured.

I nodded, my chest aching with both fear and something dangerously close to joy.

Later that night, after Noah was asleep, I sat at the kitchen table staring at that silly sketch.

The paper was already smudged with  dark fingerprints, the stick figures crooked, the tree lopsided. But I traced the lines anyway, tears welling in my eyes.

Three stick figures. A house. A future.

My mind replayed Noah’s voice, so sure, so eager: Mommy, Daddy, and Declan. That’s all I want.

I thought about Jacob, who had surprised me in court, who had said I was Noah’s safe place. I thought about Declan, who had faced down his mother in front of the world and told her she would never control him again. And I thought about Noah, who just wanted love, safety, laughter.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what we’d all been fighting toward.

My phone buzzed. A message from Declan.

Sweet dreams. Don’t stay up worrying. Just… picture pancakes.

A watery laugh slipped out of me. I typed back before I could overthink it.

Goodnight. Thank you, for the drawing, for everything.

Three dots blinked, then disappeared.

Finally, his reply: It’s not a drawing. It’s a promise.