Page 160 of Through the Storm

Ben pulls me out of my own head. “I talked to my parents.”

I look up from my glass. “About what?”

“About the baby,” he says simply. “And the draft.”

My stomach tightens. I’ve been thinking about the draft every day. I want Ben to have everything he’s ever dreamed of, but I’m terrified of how everything will change.

“They’re ready to move wherever we land. They want to be there to help out.”

I blink. “They’d really do that? They just moved to Rose Bay.”

“Without hesitation.”

The fire crackles softly behind him, filling the small space between us.

Something in my chest shifts, relief and disbelief at the same time. I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “That’s… insane. Making them move twice.”

“They don’t care. They’d move a hundred times,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Of course it is. Ben’s parents are amazing. Growing up, I always wanted the kind of parent Ella had. And now I do. They treat me like I’m their daughter, and it’s been an unexpected gift. To finally have that.

I look down at the table, tracing the edge of my napkin, trying to catch up to everything that might change.

“Grandma Patty already told me she’s planning to split her time wherever we are,” he adds, a little lighter now. “And Ella is very clingy, so she’ll probably visit a lot too. So you’d basically still be stuck with all of them.”

That makes me smile. “Lucky me.” Truly. I am so lucky.

His hand finds mine across the table, warm and steady, his thumb brushing slow over my skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

The warmth spreads, grounding.

“And about school,” he continues, more carefully this time. “If you want that, we’ll make it happen wherever we go. You can transfer credits. Whatever we have to do, we’ll do.”

I don’t answer right away. My fingers trace along his wrist instead, slow and absent, like I’m trying to follow a thought to the end. His thumb keeps moving against my hand, steady and grounding, like he’s anchoring me without saying it out loud.

“Is it wrong if I don’t want to?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t interrupt. He just waits for me.

I swallow. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. And I know it matters. I know it’s the smart thing to do. It’s what I’msupposedto do.” I glance up at him, then back down again. “But I’ve already found my voice.”

The words feel bigger out loud.

“I love writing,” I continue. “I want to write my books at home. And I don’t want to be like my parents. I want to be there every day. I want to pick up our kid from school. Maybe teach kiddie cheerleading in the afternoons just because it makes me happy. I don’t want to trade all that just to check a box.”

I finally look at him, bracing myself. “Is that so wrong?”

He turns fully toward me, no hesitation. “No,” he says. “It’s not wrong.”

The relief hits me fast, almost overwhelming, but I keep going anyway.

“Right now, going back for a degree just feels like... time. Time away from the thing I already know I love.” I shake my head slightly. “And now that I’ve proven I can write, I don’t want to walk away from that.”

He watches me as I speak, really watches me. And the more I say, the steadier I feel.

“You don’t have to justify it.”

“I know,” I agree. “I just needed to hear myself say it out loud.”