The morning after Henry's outburst, the neighbors were quiet—but the whispers were loud.
Samantha swept broken glass off her porch. Angelique was still asleep, Ryan had left after making sure they were safe... and Samantha was alone with the echo of things she'd already survived.
But something was different.
She wasn't angry.
She wasn't scared.
She was... tired—but in a way that finally meant done.
Later that day, Stacy dropped by uninvited with taho and a look that said "spill or I'm staying all day."
"Was it as dramatic as the rumors say?" Stacy asked, poking around her kitchen like it was hers.
"He was drunk. Angry. Desperate," Sam said.
"Sounds like a man watching the door he burned down get rebuilt without him."
Sam chuckled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You think I'm wrong?" Stacy pushed.
"No," Sam said. "I think you're exactly right. And I think... I'm done letting that door exist."
Stacy stilled. "You're serious."
Samantha looked at her—face calm, spine straight.
"I don't want closure. I don't want revenge. I don't even want an apology. I just want my peace. And I want the man who doesn't make me beg for it."
Stacy grinned. "You mean the man who made banana smiley pancakes with your kid yesterday and secretly watched you like you hung the stars?"
Sam rolled her eyes, but she smiled.
That night, she stood by Angelique's bedside, brushing hair from her daughter's face. The girl stirred and mumbled in her sleep:
"Mommy... Ryan stayed?"
Sam's heart swelled.
"Yeah, baby," she whispered.35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpxDNtKC4S9
"He stayed."
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