Chapter 7 - THE JOURNEY TO VERMONT
The house was emptier than ever now. With Marlene gone, the kitchen was silent, the hallways vast and echoing. But for the first time in a year, the silence didn't feel like a threat. It felt like space—space waiting to be filled.
I knew I couldn't just sit in the wreckage of my mistakes. If I wanted my sons to have a real home, I had to fix the worst error of my life.
I didn't go to the office. Instead, I packed a single duffel bag, loaded Owen and Ellis into the back of the SUV, and told the driver a new destination: a small town tucked away in the green mountains of Vermont, about four hours north.
The drive was long. The boys fussed for the first hour, but as we crossed the state line and the skyscrapers gave way to rolling hills, thick pine forests, and rustic wooden farmhouses, something remarkable happened. Owen pressed his face against the window, watching the trees blur past, and let out a soft, curious chuckle.
We found the address listed on Marin’s employment file—a modest, white-painted farmhouse with a sprawling porch surrounded by wildflowers and old oak trees.
When I pulled the SUV up the gravel driveway, my heart hammered against my ribs with a nervousness I hadn't experienced since my first corporate pitch meeting. I unbuckled the boys, lifted Owen into my arms—holding him securely, but letting his little feet touch the ground—and walked up the wooden steps.
The front door opened before I even had a chance to lift my hand to knock.
Marin stood in the doorway, wearing an oversized flannel shirt and jeans, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. When she saw me standing there holding the twins, her eyes widened in stunned disbelief.
“Mr. Hales?” she whispered, her hand flying to her mouth. “What... what are you doing here? Did something happen to the boys?”
“Nothing happened to them,” I said, my voice thick with a humility that felt entirely foreign, yet deeply liberating. “They’re fine. But they missed their flying lessons.”
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Marin stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, searching my face for the cold, rigid executive who had fired her twenty-four hours earlier. Instead, she found a grieving father who was finally learning how to breathe.
A slow, tentative smile broke across her face, reaching all the way to her clear, bright eyes.
