Chapter 7 - Three Empty Chairs Finally Filled
One hug did not fix five years.
That was important.
Sebastian understood it.
Mostly.
The first month after the children learned the truth, he wanted to do everything.
School pickup.
Breakfast.
Doctors.
Soccer.
Dance.
Bedtime.
Weekends.
I stopped him.
“They already have a life.”
“I’m trying to be part of it.”
“You’re trying to replace five missing years in five weeks.”
His face tightened.
Then relaxed.
“You’re right.”
Those three words were becoming easier for him.
He started smaller.
Wednesday dinners.
Saturday mornings.
One school pickup each week.
The children chose the pace.
Lucas embraced him fastest.
He wanted Sebastian involved in everything.
“Dad, watch.”
“Dad, look.”
“Dad, smell this.”
That last one usually involved something Sebastian would have preferred not to smell.
Sophie was affectionate but cautious.
She asked questions.
Constantly.
“Where were you when we were born?”
“Why did Grandma Victoria lie?”
“Did you love Mom?”
“Do you still?”
That final question nearly made Sebastian choke on his coffee.
Ethan was different.
He resisted.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
He called Sebastian “Sebastian” even after the others started saying Dad.
Nobody corrected him.
One Saturday, Sebastian arrived to take them to the science museum.
Lucas and Sophie raced toward him.
Ethan remained on the stairs.
“I don’t want to go.”
Sebastian looked at me.
I shook my head slightly.
His decision.
“What do you want to do?” Sebastian asked.
“Stay with Mom.”
“Okay.”
Ethan looked surprised.
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“You came all the way here.”
“I did.”
“So?”
“So I’ll see you another day.”
Ethan stared at him.
“You always leave.”
The sentence hit like a brick.
Sebastian’s face changed.
“I did before.”
“You left Mom.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know us.”
“No.”
“Maybe you’ll leave again.”
Lucas stopped bouncing.
Sophie became still.
I nearly intervened.
Sebastian crouched.
“You’re allowed to worry about that.”
Ethan’s lip trembled.
“You said you wanted to be our dad.”
“I do.”
“Then why weren’t you?”
Sebastian swallowed.
“Because adults lied to me, but also because I made mistakes.”
“What mistakes?”
“I worked too much. I didn’t listen enough. I trusted the wrong people. And when your mom disappeared, I stopped looking too soon.”
Ethan stared at him.
“That was dumb.”
“Yes.”
“Really dumb.”
“Very.”
Ethan’s mouth twitched.
Sebastian continued.
“I can’t change that.”
“Mom says saying sorry doesn’t fix stuff.”
“She’s right.”
I folded my arms.
Apparently I was being quoted frequently in this household.
“So what fixes it?” Ethan demanded.
“Doing better.”
“For how long?”
Sebastian looked at him.
“For as long as you need me.”
Ethan didn’t hug him.
He didn’t call him Dad.
But he went to the museum.
That was enough.
Meanwhile, Little Harvest Kitchen was growing.
The Grand Oak contract—the reason I had entered that restaurant in the first place—came through.
For a moment, I worried Sebastian had influenced it.
I called the foundation director directly.
“If this contract happened because of Sebastian Carter, I don’t want it.”
She laughed.
“Hannah, Sebastian Carter voted against participating in the selection after discovering you were a candidate.”
“What?”
“He recused himself.”
“You’re serious?”
“Your proposal scored highest before he knew.”
I sat quietly.
Five years earlier, I would have wondered whether Sebastian wanted credit for staying out of my way.
Now he hadn’t even told me.
Growth brought problems.
We needed a larger kitchen.
More delivery vehicles.
A second operations manager.
And capital.
Sebastian offered to invest.
I refused before he finished the sentence.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
That annoyed me.
“What?”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“No.”
“You always argue.”
“I’m learning.”
I hated that I smiled.
He saw it.
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Go home, Sebastian.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
But he didn’t stop helping.
He introduced me to nobody.
Called no favors.
Wrote no checks.
Instead, he spent a Saturday assembling shelves in our new storage facility.
Poorly.
“You’re terrible at this,” I told him.
“I manage people who do this.”
“That explains everything.”
He looked at the crooked shelf.
“You think the floor is uneven?”
“No.”
“The screws?”
“No.”
“The shelf?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
I had forgotten that sound.
Not the public laugh.
The real one.
The one he used before money and family expectations made everything complicated.
For a second, we looked at each other too long.
Then Sophie burst through the door.
“Dad! Ethan put Lucas inside a box!”
Romance postponed.
Parenthood resumed.
Months passed.
Sebastian rented an apartment ten minutes from us instead of moving back into Carter House.
He donated his CEO salary from his final year to a neonatal support foundation.
He didn’t announce it.
I found out through Rachel.
Victoria faced civil penalties and permanently lost control over the children’s trust.
I refused every request she made to meet them.
Sebastian supported me.
That surprised her more than losing the money.
Olivia disappeared from our lives after giving testimony.
Her engagement ended.
Sebastian never spoke her name around the children.
Then came the school’s Father’s Day breakfast.
Ethan brought the flyer home.
He left it on the counter.
Sebastian saw it during Wednesday dinner.
He didn’t mention it.
The next day, Ethan asked me, “Does Sebastian know?”
“About the breakfast?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he ask?”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you.”
Ethan frowned.
“That’s annoying.”
I smiled.
“Sometimes waiting is respectful.”
Friday morning, Ethan called Sebastian himself.
I didn’t listen.
Okay.
I listened from the kitchen.
“You busy Tuesday?”
Apparently Sebastian said something funny because Ethan rolled his eyes.
“No. This is serious.”
Pause.
“There’s breakfast.”
Another pause.
“For dads.”
Silence.
Then Ethan said, “You can come.”
My eyes burned.
Tuesday morning, Sebastian arrived wearing a tie Ethan had chosen.
It had tiny planets on it.
At school, Lucas introduced him to everyone.
“That’s my dad.”
Sophie corrected him.
“Our dad.”
Ethan said nothing.
During breakfast, the teacher gave each child a card.
They were supposed to write one sentence about their father.
Lucas wrote:
MY DAD IS BAD AT DINOSAURS BUT GETTING BETTER.
Sophie wrote:
MY DAD LISTENS NOW.
Sebastian laughed at both.
Then Ethan handed him his.
Sebastian read it.
His face changed.
I looked over his shoulder.
MY DAD CAME BACK EVEN WHEN I WAS MAD.
Sebastian pressed his lips together.
“Ethan.”
Ethan looked embarrassed.
“What?”
“Thank you.”
“It’s just a card.”
“No.”
Sebastian crouched beside him.
“It’s not.”
Ethan shrugged.
Then quietly said, “Dad, people are looking.”
Sebastian froze.
So did I.
First time.
Dad.
Ethan had finally said it.
Sebastian stood quickly because he knew if he stayed crouched, Ethan would see his eyes filling.
I pretended not to notice.
That evening, after the children were asleep, Sebastian sat on my porch.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said.
“I know.”
“You have an apartment.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you sitting here?”
He looked toward the dark street.
“Because this is the happiest day I’ve had in years.”
I sat beside him.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
“We’ve done that part.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I’m sorry for before everything happened.”
I knew what he meant.
“For missing appointments.”
“Yes.”
“For leaving me alone.”
“Yes.”
“For treating your job like it was more important than our marriage.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I spent years blaming the lie because it was easier than admitting the lie worked because our marriage already had cracks.”
That was the conversation I had waited five years to hear.
“I wasn’t perfect either,” I said.
“No.”
I stared at him.
He smiled.
“You didn’t expect me to agree?”
“Not that fast.”
He laughed.
Then his expression became serious.
“I loved you badly.”
My throat tightened.
“I thought providing was loving.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the window above us.
“I want to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Would you ever consider giving me another chance?”
My heart stopped.
He immediately continued.
“Not now. I’m not asking you to move in. I’m not asking for marriage. I’m not even asking you to answer tonight.”
“Sebastian—”
“I just need to know whether the door is permanently closed.”
I looked at him.
The man beside me was not the same man I divorced.
But I wasn’t the same woman either.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That’s enough.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m trying.”
I stood.
“Good night.”
He rose.
“Hannah.”
“Yes?”
“I meant what I said.”
“Which part?”
“I’ll wait.”
I believed him.
That frightened me more than anything.
Because somewhere between the science museum, crooked shelves, dinosaur stickers, and Father’s Day breakfast, I had started loving him again.
Not the memory of him.
The man he was becoming.
May you like
And that was much more dangerous.
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