Chapter 24 — Choosing Each Other
Morning arrived softly, filtered through pale curtains and the distant hum of the city. For once, Kiera woke without panic clawing at her chest. No sweat-soaked sheets. No phantom hands. Just quiet.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening.
There were footsteps in the kitchen.
Not hurried. Not tense.
Normal.
That realization alone felt like progress.
When she finally got up and padded toward the kitchen, she found Kade already awake, dressed in a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms as he poured cereal into a bowl while Leo sat at the counter swinging his legs.
"You're burning the milk," Leo announced seriously.
Kade frowned at the carton. "Milk doesn't burn."
"It can," Leo insisted. "In my imagination."
Kiera smiled before she could stop herself.
Kade glanced up—and caught it.
Something gentle crossed his face.
"Good morning," he said.
"Morning," she replied softly.
Leo grinned. "Daddy says we're going to the park today."
Her brows lifted. "We are?"
"If you're okay with it," Kade said quickly. "I cleared my schedule."
The old fear stirred—the reflex to say no, to shrink, to avoid public spaces where memories could ambush her. But therapy echoed in her mind. You deserve to take up space.
"I think I'd like that," she said.
Kade's shoulders relaxed visibly.
The park was busy but not overwhelming. Children laughed, dogs barked, leaves crunched beneath shoes. Kiera sat on a bench while Leo ran toward the swings, Kade close behind him.
She watched them—how Kade crouched to Leo's level, how he listened, really listened. There was tenderness there that hadn't always been present. Or maybe it had, buried beneath grief and guilt.
"You look like you're a thousand miles away," Kade said when he returned, sitting beside her.
"I was just thinking," she replied. "About how different things feel."
"Different good?" he asked.
She nodded. "Different honest."
He exhaled. "I confronted Vivienne because I was tired of lying to myself. About who she was. About who I was with her."
Kiera traced the seam of her jacket. "You don't owe me explanations."
"I know," he said. "I want to give them anyway."
She met his eyes.
"I stayed too long in something that made me colder," he continued. "I thought stability meant survival. But it didn't. It just numbed me."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now I want something that feels real," he said. "Even if it's harder."
Her heart beat faster—not from fear, but from recognition.
"I'm still healing," she said quietly. "Some days I won't be easy to love."
"I'm not looking for easy," Kade replied. "I'm looking for willing."
That word settled between them.
Willing.
Leo ran back toward them, cheeks flushed. "Can we get ice cream?"
Kade laughed. "Before lunch?"
"Yes," Leo said confidently. "It's a life choice."
Kiera laughed too—and this time, Kade didn't look surprised. He looked… happy.
That afternoon, while Leo napped, the penthouse felt hushed again—but not empty.
Kiera stood by the window, watching clouds drift between skyscrapers. Kade joined her, leaving a careful distance.
"There's something I need to ask you," he said.
Her body tensed instinctively.
He noticed.
"Nothing bad," he added quickly. "I promise."
She nodded. "Okay."
"I want to make changes," he said. "Real ones. Starting with transparency. Boundaries. And choices that aren't driven by guilt."
She turned to face him fully.
"I don't want to assume anything between us," he continued. "But I also don't want to pretend there isn't something growing here."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not asking for labels," he said. "Not yet. I'm asking if you're willing to explore this—slowly. On your terms. With space to stop if it becomes too much."
No one had ever offered her control like that.
She thought of her past—of decisions stolen, of silence forced, of love that hurt instead of healed.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"So am I," he said simply.
She studied his face—no arrogance, no pressure. Just honesty.
"I'm willing," she said at last. "As long as we keep choosing honesty over fear."
A small smile touched his lips. "Deal."
They didn't kiss.
They didn't touch.
But something irrevocable shifted.
That night, Kiera sat on her bed, journal open in her lap. Therapy homework. Dr. Hensley had asked her to write one thing she was proud of.
She hesitated—then wrote:
I spoke up. I stayed present. I didn't run.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Kiera?" Kade's voice. "May I come in?"
"Yes," she said.
He stood in the doorway, holding a folded piece of paper. "I found this in Leo's backpack. He asked me to give it to you."
She unfolded it.
A crooked drawing stared back at her—three stick figures holding hands. One tall. One smaller. One with long hair.
Above them, in uneven letters, were the words:
MY FAMILY
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I didn't tell him to draw that," Kade said quietly. "I swear."
She laughed through tears. "I know."
They stood there, sharing the moment without rushing it.
"You're safe here," he said finally. "Not because I say so—but because I'll keep choosing to make it true."
She looked up at him, heart full and fragile all at once.
"And I'll keep choosing to believe that," she replied.
Outside, the city lights shimmered—indifferent to pain, unaware of healing.
But inside the penthouse, two people stood at the edge of something new.
Not perfect.
Not easy.
But chosen.
And this time, neither of them was walking alone.