Chapter 1: The Garage
I knew letting my ex-husband sleep in my garage was a mistake the moment Alan quietly said, “Laura, the kids don’t need another fight on the porch.”
Brian stood beneath the porch light with a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck like he wanted sympathy without having to earn it.
“Laura,” he said softly, “Angela and I had a huge fight. I just need somewhere to stay for a couple nights. I figured this made the most sense since the kids are here.”
Inside, Micah was probably still singing dinosaur songs in his pajamas, and Tyra was likely reading under her blanket with a flashlight she thought I didn’t know about.
Brian had always been good at stepping into peaceful spaces and making them feel unstable.
“A fight?” I asked carefully.
He looked toward the house like he missed it. “Please. I wouldn’t ask if I had anywhere else to go.”
That part hit me harder than it should have.
Not because I believed him.
I didn’t.
But Brian was still the father of my children, and I had spent years trying not to become one of those divorced women people whispered about while standing near soccer fields.
Alan rested a hand lightly on my shoulder.
“The garage is separate,” he said gently. “And honestly… it used to be Brian’s space anyway.”
When Brian and I were married, the garage had practically been his second living room. Old couch. Television. Mini fridge. Small bathroom near the laundry room.
“One or two nights,” I said firmly. “That’s it.”
Brian nodded too fast. “Absolutely.”
“And you don’t act like you live here.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t say confusing things to the kids.”
His expression flickered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you don’t make Tyra and Micah think this is temporary or romantic or some big sacrifice story. You’re here because adults had problems. That’s all.”
He looked down. “Right.”
I stepped aside.
“There’s leftover pasta in the kitchen.”
That was my first mistake.