Six Candles, Six Suspects

The Ghost of What If

**CHAPTER THREE**

The GPS chirped, “Your destination is on the right,” in a voice far too cheerful for the occasion. My hands were glued to the steering wheel at ten and two, like a teenager on her first drive.

“You look like you’re about to perform surgery,” Mira said from the passenger seat, adjusting her oversized sunglasses. “Or disarm a bomb. Relax. It’s just Wes.”

“Just Wes,” I repeated, my voice tight. “The man who broke my heart and turned my life into a mess, who I haven’t seen in seven years, and who I’m now about to ask if he’s the father of my child. Sure. Super relaxing.”

We stopped in front of a picture perfect house in Willow Creek. It was painted a tasteful sage green with a white porch. A tire swing hung from a majestic oak tree in the front yard. It was everything I ever dreamed of with him but never got.

My own life, just a cute little apartment, I painted sunflower yellow. It was a million miles away from the dream I had in my teenage days.

“Remember the plan,” Mira said, her voice low and steady. “We are in the neighborhood for a… client meeting. We just happened to be passing by. We stop to say a quick, casual hello. We wait for his reaction to Newt. We look for any flicker of recognition. We get out.”

“Right. A client meeting right in his neighborhood. Because everyone hires an interior designer who specializes in elegant decor and turns ordinary homes into mansions.” I sucked in a breath. “He’s going to know. The second he sees me, he’s going to know this isn’t a social call.”

“Then let him know,” Mira shrugged. “You are a grown woman, Hazel. You don’t need an excuse to say hello to an old friend.” She nodded toward the backseat. “And you have the world’s best wingman.”

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Newt was absorbed in his tablet, his new red glasses perched on his nose, completely oblivious to the emotional landmine we were about to step on. His mere existence was my reason, my shield, and my greatest vulnerability all at once.

“Okay,” I breathed, killing the engine. The silence was deafening. “Okay. Let’s go.”

We walked up the perfectly paved path. Every flower in the bed seemed to be standing at attention. I could feel the eyes of the neighborhood upon us.

I rang the doorbell. A chime echoed inside sounding melodic.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Wes!

Time had been kind to him. The boyish softness in his face had hardened into the kind, strong lines of a man. He was wearing a simple navy henley shirt and jeans and he smelled of fresh laundry and grass clippings. His eyes the same warm hazel I remembered widened in genuine shock.

“Hazel?”

“Hi, Wes” My voice came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat. “Wow. You look… great.”

“So do you,” he said, his gaze flickering over my shoulder to Mira, then down to Newt who had tucked himself behind my legs, suddenly shy. I saw the rapid calculation in Wes’s eyes, the six year old boy, the timing, my presence on his doorstep after all these years. His smile remained polite, but a wariness crept in at the edges.

“This is my friend, Mira,” I said, gesturing weakly.

“And this must be…” Wes said, bending down slightly to get to Newt’s level. “Wow, he's big.”

Newt peered out from behind my knees. “I’m six.”

“I can see that,” Wes said, his voice softening. “Happy birthday.”

The moment stretched, thick with everything unsaid. He knows, I thought. He knows exactly why I’m here.

“We were just in the neighborhood,” Mira jumped in, her voice bright and false. “A client around this neighborhood, we thought we’d pop by and say hello. The house is gorgeous, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Wes said, straightening up. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit I remembered well. “Um, do you guys want to come in? Stacie is just putting the baby down for a nap.”

Stacie . The baby. The words were gentle, precise punches to my gut. He had built a life. A complete, whole beautiful life.... without me.

“Oh, no, we don’t want to intrude," I started, but Mira was already stepping forward.

“We’d love to! Just for a minute.”

We were herded into a living room that looked like it belonged in a catalog. Plush, neutral sofa matching throw pillows. Family photos in identical silver frames on the mantel. Wes and a pretty, smiling red haired woman, I guess that was his wife. Wes, Stacie and a chubby cheeked toddler. The perfect family.

I felt like a stain on the beige carpet.

Newt, however, was immediately drawn to a large wooden train well arranged in the corner. “Whoa,” he whispered, all shyness forgotten.

“You can play with it,” Wes said, his smile looking more natural as he watched Newt. “That’s charlie’s. He’d love a bigger kid to show him how it’s done someday.”

Mira, sensing the need for a distraction, immediately swooped in. “Oh, I’ll help you, Newt! Let’s make the longest track ever.” She shot me a look that said ‘you’re welcome’ and guided him to the far corner of the room, giving us privacy.

An awkward silence descended. Wes shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So, interior design, huh?” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m not surprised. You always had an eye for making broken things beautiful.”

The comment, so unintentionally pointed, lodged itself in my heart. “Trying to,” I managed. “It’s a hustle.”

“I bet.” He looked around his own perfectly appointed room, a faint, almost wistful smile on his face. “It’s a far cry from that awful apartment we had on Elm Street. The one with the shag carpet and the leaky faucet you insisted on painting the kitchen bright orange.”

A real laugh escaped me, surprised and genuine. “You hated that orange.”

“I did,” he admitted, his eyes meeting mine, and for a second, it was just us, seven years younger and full of a future that felt certain. “But you loved it. You said it was like being inside a sunrise.” He shook his head, the smile fading into something more bittersweet. “I look around this place sometimes, and it’s perfect. It’s exactly what we talked about. Stable. Safe. Good schools.”

He paused, and his gaze drifted back to Newt, who was chattering excitedly to Mira about a tunnel. “I just… I guess I always thought I’d be sharing it with you.”

The air left my lungs. The confession hung between us, quiet and devastating.

“Wes…” I whispered, my throat tight.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear the sentiment away. “It’s more than okay. I love Stacie. I love my son. This is my life, and it’s a good one.”

He meant it. I could see he meant it. But the ghost of our dream was still there, in the space between us. It still lingered in him just like it did to me. “It’s just… seeing you. It brings it all back. The feeling of it, you know? The plans. The stupid, hopeful plans.”

“I know,” I breathed. I did know. The memory was a physical ache. “You're the one that burned all the bridges.”

“True” he agreed, his voice not unkind, just factual. “ I wasn’t strong enough for the both of us. I was scared, we were broke, jobless, just two kids in love.” He finally looked directly at me, his hazel eyes seeing right through the carefully constructed facade I’d brought to his door. “But I am glad to see you, Hazel. Really. You look… whole."

The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs broke the spell. Stacie appeared, looking every bit the mom in her yoga pants and ponytail. She smiled warmly, a little confused, at the scene in her living room.

“Hi, I’m Stacie,” she said, coming to stand beside Wes. He instinctively put an arm around her waist, a gesture that was both natural and, now, felt like a shield.

It was painful to watch them. Them, a unit, living the life we’d planned. Me, a solo artist with my best friend and my child, the ghost of a blueprint that had never been built.

We made stilted small talk for three more minutes. I praised her decor. She asked about my work. Mira complimented the baby pictures. It was agony.

“We should get going,” I finally said, my escape instincts screaming. “Newt, sweetie, time to go.”

Newt looked up, his face falling. “But I didn’t finish the track.”

“Next time,” Wes said kindly. An empty promise for a future that would never exist.

We said our goodbyes on the perfect porch. The door closed with a soft, definitive click, sealing off that world from mine.

Back in the car, the silence was heavier than before.

I didn’t start the engine. I just stared at the sage green house, feeling the loss of two things now: the man and the dream.

Mira finally spoke, her voice gentle. “Well. He’s ruled out.”

I nodded, a single, sharp movement. “He didn’t even flinch, Mira. He looked at Newt and just saw… a kid. Not his kid.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But he saw me. And I think… I think a part of him still wishes it was.”

“I know,” she said softly. "Ofcourse he does. You're an amazing woman, bestie. Any man would be lucky to have you."

I started the car and pulled away from the curb, leaving the ghost of my past life behind me. One suspect down.

The relief I expected to feel was nowhere to be found. All I felt was a hollow, bittersweet ache so profound it stole my breath. I’d looked my “what if” right in the face and found a kind, happy man who still carried a tiny piece of me in his history.

And the terrifying thought that had been gnawing at me since I saw those family photos now had room to breathe: What if the right man was there all along, and I was just too broken to see it? What if I already had my chance, and I blew it?