The town woke up louder than usual.
Isabella noticed it the moment she stepped outside with Juan the next morning. Cars slowed more often. People lingered a little too long. Conversations stopped when she passed.
She had lived here long enough to know the difference between curiosity and calculation.
They were watching.
Juan, blissfully unaware, skipped ahead, backpack bouncing against his shoulders. "Mommy, Dr. Greg said he'll come to my play today!"
Her chest tightened—not with fear, but with something more complicated.
"Yes," she said gently. "He's very kind."
Nolan stood a few steps behind them, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and clipped. He ended the call as they reached the sidewalk.
"You didn't tell me he had a play," he said.
Isabella didn't look back. "I didn't know I needed permission."
His jaw tightened. "You don't."
"Good," she replied coolly. "Because Greg's been there since Juan learned to walk."
Nolan absorbed that in silence.
Greg Hayes arrived exactly on time.
He stood near the school auditorium entrance, hands in the pockets of his coat, posture relaxed, smile easy. He looked like safety. Like familiarity.
Isabella hated how much that mattered right now.
"Morning," Greg said warmly when he saw her. His gaze flicked briefly to Nolan—sharp, assessing—before returning to her. "You look… busy."
She exhaled softly. "That's one way to put it."
Greg glanced toward Juan, who was being herded inside with his classmates. "He's excited."
"He always is."
Nolan stepped forward then. "I'm Nolan."
Greg shook his hand, grip firm. "I know."
The pause that followed was loaded.
"I'm Juan's father," Nolan said plainly.
Greg nodded. "I gathered."
No hostility. No posturing.
That unsettled Nolan more than anger would have.
"I'm glad you're here," Greg added, eyes steady. "Every kid deserves their parents."
Isabella looked between them, tension coiling tightly in her chest.
The auditorium doors opened, and parents filed inside. Isabella took her seat between Nolan and Greg before she could overthink it.
Bad idea.
The lights dimmed.
Children spilled onto the stage in colorful costumes, chaos barely disguised as choreography. Juan stood near the front, small but proud, eyes scanning the crowd.
They landed on Nolan.
His smile spread slowly, uncontrollably.
Juan waved enthusiastically.
Nolan waved back, heart hammering.
Isabella watched it happen, something inside her aching sharply.
This—this was what she had tried to protect.
Applause filled the room when the play ended. Juan rushed into her arms afterward, breathless and glowing.
"Did you see me?" he demanded.
"I saw everything," Isabella said, kissing his hair.
Nolan crouched beside them. "You were amazing."
Juan beamed. "Did you like it?"
"I loved it," Nolan said honestly.
Greg watched the exchange quietly.
Later, as parents lingered and teachers chatted, Greg pulled Isabella aside.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She hesitated. "I don't know."
Greg nodded like he understood far more than she'd said. "If you need anything—anything—you know where I am."
Nolan saw the look. The closeness. The unspoken history.
Jealousy flared hot and unwelcome.
That evening, after Juan was asleep, the tension finally snapped.
"You trust him," Nolan said quietly from the kitchen doorway.
Isabella didn't turn. "Yes."
"With my son," he pressed.
She set the dish down slowly. "He's been there for four years. You don't get to compete with that."
Nolan stepped closer. "I'm not competing. I'm reclaiming."
The word sent a sharp pulse through her chest.
"You don't reclaim people," she said. "You earn them."
"I know," he replied. "And I will."
She laughed bitterly. "You sound so sure."
"I am," Nolan said. "Because I'm not letting go again."
She turned then, eyes flashing. "This isn't just about Juan."
"No," he admitted softly. "It's not."
Silence stretched.
"You're still angry," he continued. "You still don't trust me."
Her voice broke. "You disappeared when I needed you most."
"I didn't know," he said. "But I should have."
She crossed her arms tightly. "You don't get absolution just because you regret it now."
"I'm not asking for absolution," Nolan said. "I'm asking for time."
She shook her head. "You already took years."
"I won't take another second without fighting for it," he said.
Her heart pounded painfully.
Outside, a car idled too long.
A camera lens glinted.
Nolan noticed instantly and moved to the window, blocking the view with his body.
"This is why I won't leave," he said quietly. "They think persistence means weakness."
She swallowed hard. "And what does it mean to you?"
He turned to her, eyes dark and unwavering. "It means love that didn't die. Just went dormant."
The words landed deep.
Too deep.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
A message.
Unknown Number:
Choose wisely. Men like Nolan don't lose quietly.
Isabella's breath caught.
She showed Nolan.
His expression hardened instantly.
"They're trying to scare you," he said.
"They're succeeding," she whispered.
Nolan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I won't let them hurt you. Or him."
"And if I ask you to leave?" she asked softly.
He didn't hesitate. "I won't."
Her eyes widened. "You can't just"
"I can," he said. "And I will. Because walking away is what broke us."
Her chest tightened painfully.
"You're still my ex-husband," she said.
"Yes," Nolan replied. "And I'm still in love with you."
The confession hung between them raw, unguarded, terrifying.
Upstairs, Juan stirred in his sleep.
Isabella closed her eyes.
She realized then
The man who refused to let go wasn't doing it out of pride.
He was doing it because losing her once had nearly destroyed him.
And this time, he was willing to burn everything to keep his family whole.