He laughed. And something in my chest shifted.
It wasn’t dramatic. There were no fireworks or movie moments. It was just the two of us in my kitchen at midnight, and I realized I didn’t feel alone anymore.
Over the next year, we fell into something I can only describe as comfortable. Coffee on Sunday mornings. Movies on Friday nights. Long conversations about nothing and everything. My kids noticed before I did.
“Mom,” my daughter said during winter break, “you know Dan’s in love with you, right?”
“What? No, we’re just friends.”
She gave me that look. The one that said she was the adult, and I was the clueless teenager.
“Mom, come on!”
I didn’t know how to process that realization, or even whether I wanted to act on it at all. Peter had been gone for four years, and part of me still felt disloyal simply for letting my thoughts drift toward someone else.
Dan never pressured me. He never asked for anything I wasn’t ready to offer. And maybe that was what made it feel acceptable—less like a betrayal, and more like life gently moving forward.
When he finally shared his feelings, we were sitting on my porch as the sun dipped below the horizon. He’d brought takeout, and I’d opened a bottle of wine.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, not looking at me. “And you can tell me to leave and never come back if you want. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”
My heart started racing. “Dan…”
“I’m in love with you, Isabel.” He said it quietly, like he was confessing to a crime. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. And I know it’s wrong. I know Pete was my best friend. But I can’t help it.”
I should’ve been shocked. Should’ve needed time to process. But the truth was, I’d known. Maybe for months. Maybe longer.
“It’s not wrong,” I heard myself say. “I feel it too.”
He finally looked at me then, and I saw tears in his eyes.
“Are you sure? Because I can’t become another loss for you. I can’t be something you regret.”
“I’m sure,” I said, and I meant it.
We didn’t tell people right away. We wanted to be certain, to make sure it wasn’t just grief or convenience or some twisted way of holding onto Peter.
However after six months, as it became clear this was real, we started letting people in.
My kids each showed their support in their own way. My son was more reserved, but he shook Dan’s hand and said, “Dad would’ve wanted Mom to be happy.”
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