Leah
Three weeks after Victor shot me, Jacob brought breakfast tacos and did not stay.
That was how I knew he had actually listened.
Not because of the tacos, although Bella had taken one bite and announced that Daddy was “getting better at food.”
Not because he carried the bag to the table, kissed Bella’s hair, asked me if I needed anything, and then left before my apartment started feeling too full.
Because he wanted to stay.
I could see it.
I had known Jacob Fairfax for too many years not to know what restraint looked like on him. He stood by the door with one hand on the frame and everything in his face pulled tight, and he still said, “I’ll see you at pickup.”
Then he walked out.
No sad eyes.
No lingering.
No making me reward him for behaving like a grown man.
Progress was
