That evening, I drove home with Hope. Andy followed in his truck.
Paul was waiting in the driveway.
He saw Andy and pointed. “You!”
I adjusted Hope in my arms. “You don’t get a say here, Paul.”
He ignored me. “You ruined my child’s life! Where is she now?!”
Andy paled, but didn’t back down. “No. Jen loved me. Your pride ruined everything else.”
Paul stepped forward.
“Don’t,” I said.
He stopped.
I looked him straight in the eyes. “You kept telling me she was gone. She wasn’t. She was just somewhere your pride couldn’t follow.”
He opened his mouth—but no words came.
I unlocked the door. “Jennifer trusted me with Hope. Not you. Go back to Amber, Paul.”
He left.
Inside, Andy stood awkwardly while I warmed a bottle.
I handed it to him. He took Hope carefully.
“I’ll make us some dinner,” I said. “You settle in.”
He looked at me, eyes shining.
And in that quiet kitchen, with my granddaughter being fed and her father standing there, I realized something simple and certain:
Jen had come home.
She had sent me the piece of herself she loved most.
