Chapter 3: Old Flames, Old Wounds

Natalie and I talked about wedding plans. Even though we were both remarrying, I refused to let Natalie feel slighted—she deserved the works, not some courthouse quickie. I wanted the backyard strung with fairy lights, peonies blooming, maybe Emma and Ryan taking awkward photos by the fence. She deserved it all.

Natalie’s eyes brimmed with tenderness as she spoke softly, “Derek, I hope Ryan can bring us the rings during the ceremony.”

She said it almost shyly, tracing her finger around her mug. For a second, I imagined Ryan in a suit, standing in front of our friends and family, handing us the rings. It seemed impossible—but I wanted it too. Maybe it could be a turning point.

I was stunned by her idea. With Ryan’s temperament, he’d probably say no. But Natalie shook my arm, playful and determined. “After all, I’ll be Ryan’s mom from now on. I want to use this moment to break the ice and remove the barriers between us. I believe Ryan will sincerely bless us. I’ll definitely treat him as my own in the future.”

She tried to smile, but her voice wavered on the last word. I admired her hope, even if I doubted Ryan was ready. Still, seeing her determination, I felt my own resolve harden.

Looking at Natalie’s gentle yet determined eyes, my heart softened. She really cared about her relationship with Ryan. “Alright, I’ll talk to Ryan about it. Don’t worry.”

I squeezed her hand, promising more than just a conversation. I promised I’d try—really try—to bridge the gap. Maybe this would be the moment things finally changed.

But I couldn’t shake the worry. Ryan was stubborn, just like his mother. I remembered when I first brought Natalie home, he went berserk, smashing things and shouting:

“You can marry anyone, just not this woman.”

“If she’s here, I’m not. If I’m here, she’s not.”

His words echoed in my head, as sharp as the day he said them. Sometimes I wondered if he meant it—if he’d really leave if we pushed too hard. The thought kept me awake at night.

Ryan reminded me so much of my late wife that sometimes I wanted to avoid him. But Natalie’s kindness was a balm, and her daughter Emma—who she raised mostly on her own—was always considerate.

Emma would slip into a room quietly, offer a joke, or just sit with us in the den, never asking for too much. Sometimes I’d catch her listening to music, just another teenager trying to fit in. Her easygoing nature made me realize how much I’d lost with Ryan.

Emma is lively and likable, always able to make me smile—completely unlike Ryan. Since his mother died, he’s been lifeless every day, never considering my feelings. What man wouldn’t want a woman like Natalie? After years of feeling smothered by my late wife, Natalie’s gentleness was impossible to resist.

I almost felt guilty admitting it, but Natalie’s laughter and Emma’s kindness felt like a second chance at happiness. Sometimes we’d play cards at the kitchen table, laughter echoing through the house—moments I wished Ryan would join. But he stayed in his room, his silence a wall I couldn’t break.

But deep down, I knew: I was the one who betrayed Ryan and his mother. I was the one who let Natalie back into my life. Natalie was my first love—bright and impossible to forget, like a high school crush that never really faded. I’d carried a torch for her for seven years, until she left for college overseas. I married my wife, had Ryan, and thought I’d never see Natalie again. But two years ago, she came back to Ohio.

I remembered her friend request on Facebook, popping up like a ghost from the past. We met for coffee—just two old friends, I told myself. But her laugh pulled me right back to those Friday night football games and slow dances in the gym. It was dangerous, and I knew it. But I couldn’t let go.