Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“Miss G! Dad’s making mac and cheese with hot dogs!”
“Lucky you,” she said, hugging him tight. Over his head, her eyes found mine, and I saw the concern there. She studied my face the way she studied her flower arrangements, looking for what was out of place.
“Go wash your hands,” I told Luca. “That hug probably got you dirty.”
He giggled and raced toward the bathroom. Gianna stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume. It was light and floral and always reminded me of her shop.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.
For a moment, I considered lying. Telling her it was just work stress or a headache. But the weight of the custody papers felt like a boulder on my chest, and I needed to tell someone. Gianna had been my anchor through every crisis since Lyla left. She’d held me together when I didn’t think I could make it through another day. She was the one I called when my world imploded the first time.
“Lyla’s filing for full custody,” I said.
The color drained from her face. “What?”
I pulled out my phone and showed her the email. She read in silence, her expression growing darker with each paragraph. When she finished, she looked up at me with fire in her eyes.
“This is insane. You’re an amazing father, Colby. Luca adores you.”
“Tell that to the judge.”
“I will if I have to.” She set my phone down on the counter with more force than necessary. “What does your lawyer say?”
“I haven’t called him yet. I just got the papers an hour ago.”
Gianna started pacing. Three steps to the refrigerator, three steps back to the stove. It was her thinking pace, the same one she did when she was designing a particularly complex floral arrangement.
“There has to be something we can do,” she muttered. “Some way to prove she’s wrong about the instability claim.”
“Like what? I do work long hours. Luca does spend time with babysitters. I’m a single dad trying to keep a business afloat and raise a kid. Those are facts.”
She stopped pacing and turned to face me. “But you’re not really single, are you? I mean, I’m here all the time. I help with homework, I take him to soccer practice when you’re busy, I cook dinner at least three nights a week.”
“Yeah, but you’re not . . .” I trailed off, an idea forming in the back of my mind. A crazy, desperate idea that I should have dismissed immediately.
“I’m not what?”
I stared at her, really looked at her. Gianna Stapleton, my best friend for the past four years. The woman who’d picked up the pieces when my marriage fell apart. The woman who made Luca laugh when he was missing his mom. The woman who’d been there for every milestone, every crisis, every ordinary Tuesday night when I needed someone to talk to.
The woman I’d been half in love with for longer than I cared to admit.
“You’re not my wife,” I said quietly, hating the words as soon as they left my mouth.
She blinked. “What?”
“Dad! Miss G! I’m ready for dinner!” Luca’s voice carried into the kitchen.
“Almost done, buddy,” I said, never taking my eyes off Gianna. “But what if you were?”
“What if I were what?”
“My wife,” I said softly.
The words hung in the air between us like a challenge. Gianna’s mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head slowly.
“Colby, you can’t be serious.”
“Why not? Think about it, G. You’re already here all the time. You already help with Luca. You already know our routines, our lives. If we were married, Lyla couldn’t claim he doesn’t have a stable family structure.”
“You’re talking about a fake marriage.”
“I’m talking about survival.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. “I can’t lose him, Gianna. I can’t lose my son.”
Her face softened, and for a moment, I thought she might actually consider it. Then she shook her head again, more firmly this time.
“This is crazy, Colby. Marriage isn’t something you just . . . fake. It’s a legal commitment. It’s—”
“It’s a piece of paper that could save my family.”
Luca came into the kitchen, with his hands on his hips, looking between us with a of curiosity and annoyance. “Are you guys talking about grown-up stuff?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Gianna said, her voice gentle. “Very grown-up stuff.”
“Is it boring?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Very boring,” I confirmed, forcing a smile. “Let’s eat.”
Dinner passed in a blur of Luca’s chatter about his day at school and Gianna’s careful glances in my direction. He told us about recess and art class and how Tommy Morrison brought a lizard for show-and-tell. Normal six-year-old concerns that made the adult crisis swirling around him seem even more unfair.
Gianna helped clear the table while I loaded the dishwasher, our movements synchronized from years of shared evenings like this one. After Luca was tucked into bed with his favorite book, Gianna and I sat on the front porch swing I’d built last summer. The night was cool for October, and she pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.