If I were really being selfish like I feared, I would have been with Owen the first night we met, then let him in with open arms the first few times I saw him trying to get in.
But instead I waited a year, and he stayed. Despite it all, he stayed.
The girls have been messaging me all morning, but still no sign from Owen. He’s not answering any of my messages and this time, it really feels as if my fuckup is final.
I spend the day in a zombie state, going through the motions and thankful I have work off this week so I don’t have to face Evie. The girls want to come over, but the truth is I just can’t see anyone. I’ve never been one to cower, to hide, but this time I have to own that I’m ashamed of my own actions.
By nighttime without a word from him, I’ve officially accepted things between Owen and me are over. And to put it plainly, I’m heartbroken. I’ve never loved anyone besides Rosie like I love Owen and instead of telling him, I used every excuse I could think of to ruin it.
It’s seven p.m. and Rosie has finally fallen asleep. It took an hour longer than usual, her little eyes looking around every once in a while as she wondered where Owen is. Eventually she tired herself out and went to bed, unable to keep waiting.
An hour after that I’m sipping wine, contemplating all the ways I can convince Owen to give me a second chance when the front door opens.
I nearly shit myself at the sight of him walking through the door. My heart jumps forward at his presence, and the only thing I want to do is jump into his arms. But I don’t. I wait for him to make the first move.
Getting up from the couch, I place my wineglass down on the coffee table, and then I slowly walk toward him, mentally scolding myself for being in an oversized pajama top and having my hair in a bun.
“Hey,” I whisper, my eyes greedily taking him in. Denim jeans, white T-shirt and all.
“Hey,” he says back.
My chest heaves up and down as I look at him, wondering which of us will speak first. Finally I break, stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it,” I blurt out.
He closes his eyes and breathes out, “I know.”
I can’t stop the tears leaking out of my eyes at his words. I step forward, hoping he doesn’t recoil, and I take another step when he stays in the same spot. Eventually I’m in front of him, toe to toe.
“You were right,” I say. “I was looking for any excuse to sabotage us, but I’m done with that now. I don’t want to be that person. I’m so lucky to have this life, with you, with Rosie. I don’t want to run from it anymore, Owen. So I’m asking, can you forgive me for my epic fuckup the other night? I can’t promise I won’t be an asshole again, but I can promise I’m going to give this my everything.” I pause, taking a deep breath, ready to tell him what’s been in my heart for a year now.
“I’m ready because I love you, Owen. And the ache I’ve been feeling the past few days since you left is worse than any I’ve ever felt before. So I’m asking—hell, I’ll even beg—for a second chance.”
He closes his eyes and they momentarily tighten as his chest continues to rise and fall. I bite the inside of my lip, waiting, internally pleading he takes me back. That he feels the same way.
“Say something,” I whisper, selfishly no longer able to take his silence.
His eyes open and that deep ocean blue I’m familiar with latches onto mine. “It’s never been a question for me if I loved you, Lottie,” he begins. “Not once. I’ve always known that I was gone from the first moment I saw you. So yes, I can easily say I love you too. I love you and I love your little girl.”
A whoosh of air leaves me and I lean forward, a deep sense of relief rushing through me at his words. I feel his hands come to rest on my arms, steadying me.
“And I want to explain where I’ve been the past few days.”
My stomach sinks but I stay silent, wanting him to explain it all.
“I understand your reservations and hesitance—you’ve been burned before—but I’d be lying if I said your actions the other night didn’t gut me. I needed time to process everything and I knew if I answered your calls, it would just pull me back in before I was ready.”
“Okay,” I say, understanding where he’s coming from.
“But there was more than that. After I’d processed it all, I just wanted to come back here and try to fix things. But I did something else, something you might be angry at.”
Oh God.
“Were you with someone else?” My voice cracks mid-sentence.
Panic flares behind his eyes. “God no. I, uh, I found Beck.”
I involuntarily rear back. “What?”
“I didn’t go and see him or anything—I’d never disrespect you like that—but I found out where he’s been living. I know you said you were scared he might try to take Rosie from you down the line, so I wanted to make sure we knew where he was, and I’ve found him.”
“Where?” I risk asking, knowing he long ago vacated the old address we shared.
“He’s in Glasgow.”
“Glasgow,” I repeat. I’ve never really liked it there; guess I have a solid reason to dislike it now.
“I don’t want to push anything on you, but if you wanted to get him to sign the papers, I
