Adison’s POV
I watch Jake disappear through airport security with Tommy and Paige flanking him like escorts to a different future, and the finality of it crushes my chest in ways I'm not prepared for.
He doesn't look back.
That's the part that breaks something fundamental—not that he's leaving, but that he's already gone in the ways that matter. Already committed to distance before his plane even takes off.
Violet stands beside me at the terminal window, and she doesn't say anything. Doesn't offer performative reassurance about how temporary this is or how everything will be fine. Just standing there witnessing my unraveling without trying to fix it with optimism neither of us believes.
The silence is exactly what I need.
"Come on." She touches my elbow gently. "Let's get out of here."
I let her guide me through the terminal, past families reuniting and lovers saying goodbye, and every step feels like I'm walking away from a version of my life that's already dissolving behind me.
The car service is waiting, and I slide into the backseat with Violet following. The driver pulls into traffic, and the city rises around us like a reminder of everything I chose over compromise.
"I'm going to be a single mother." The words come out flat, factual, like I'm reading a diagnosis instead of my future. "That's what this is. Joint custody arrangements. Handing my son over to Jake at scheduled intervals like he's a transaction instead of the person I built with the man I love."
Violet shifts beside me, and I feel her choosing her words carefully. "You're one of the strongest women I've ever met. If anyone can handle single motherhood, it's you."
"That's not the point." I stare out the window at buildings blurring past. "I don't want to handle it. I want—"
I stop because finishing that sentence feels like admitting defeat.
"You want him here." Violet's voice is gentle but certain. "You want your son to have both parents in the same house. You want the life you imagined before geography became a weapon."
The accuracy makes my throat tighten.
"Yes." The admission scrapes out raw. "And I hate that wanting it isn't enough to make it real."
"I don't think this is the end." She leans forward slightly, and there's passion threading through her voice now. "I think Jake's scared. I think he's running back to what's familiar because facing change terrifies him. But he loves you, Adison. That doesn't just disappear because he got on a plane."
"Love doesn't solve logistics." I turn to look at her. "It doesn't make Texas and Manhattan occupy the same space. It doesn't erase the fact that one of us has to give up everything we are, and neither of us knows how to do that without losing ourselves in the process."
"You're right." Violet's eyes are bright with something that looks like conviction. "Love doesn't solve logistics. But it makes people willing to figure out impossible solutions. Jake just needs time to understand that running away isn't actually solving anything."
The confidence in her voice sounds like hope wearing armor, and I want to believe it. Want to think Jake will have some revelation in Texas and realize Manhattan is where he needs to be. That our son deserves both parents in one place, and that place should be here where I've built everything that matters.
But I can't quite manage conviction.
"When did you become such a feminist warrior?" I ask, and there's affection threading through the deflection.
"When I watched you refuse to shrink yourself to make men comfortable." She smiles slightly. "You taught me that choosing yourself isn't selfish. It's survival."
The statement lands in my chest like absolution for every choice I've made that felt impossible.
"Thank you." The words come out quieter than I intend. "For being here. For not trying to fix this with platitudes I don't believe. For just—"
I stop because my voice is doing something unreliable, and crying in the back of a car service feels like one vulnerability too many.
"For just existing beside me while I fall apart." I finish, and honesty costs everything.
Violet's hand finds mine, squeezes once. "That's what friends do."
"You're my first real friend." The admission escapes before I can stop it, and suddenly I'm confessing loneliness I didn't mean to expose. "I've had colleagues. Professional relationships. People who wanted access to my father's empire. But you—you're the first person who chose me without an agenda. Who stayed when things got complicated instead of calculating what you could extract from the wreckage."
"Adison—" Violet's voice cracks slightly. "You're not my first best friend. Paige was. But you're—you're like my older sister. The one I never had. The one I definitely don't deserve."
"Don't say that." I turn to face her fully, and the fierceness surprises me. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Violet. You deserve people who choose you back. Who sees your worth without you having to perform for it."
Even as I say it, I wonder if I believe the same thing about myself.
If Jake leaving means I've already lost my claim to that particular future. If choosing my empire over compromise means I'm destined for exactly the isolation I've been cataloging since birth.
The car pulls up to my building, and the doorman opens my door with professional courtesy that feels like performance.
"Let’s go." I look at Violet. "I don't want to be alone right now."
"Okay." She follows me inside without hesitation, and the simple acceptance makes something crack open in my chest.
We ride the elevator in silence, and when we reach the penthouse it feels too big. Too quiet. Too full of Jake's absence in ways I'm not ready to metabolize.
"He left clothes in the closet." I hear myself say it like I'm reporting evidence. "His toothbrush is still in the bathroom. Like he's planning to come back but doesn't actually believe it himself."
"Maybe he does believe it." Violet moves toward the kitchen, already making herself useful. "Maybe this is just temporary distance while he figures out what he can live with and what he can't."
"Or maybe it's a permanent distance wearing temporary clothes." I sink onto the couch, one hand on my stomach where our son is growing without permission to split his life between two states. "Maybe we're already broken and just haven't admitted it yet."
Violet brings me water I didn't ask for, sits beside me with the patience of someone willing to witness whatever comes next.
"You're going to be okay." She says it with certainty I don't feel. "With or without Jake. You're going to raise your son and build your empire and figure out how to do both brilliantly."
"I don't want to do it without him." The confession tastes like failure.
"I know." Her voice is gentle. "But you can. If you have to."
We sit there in my too-quiet penthouse with Manhattan spreading out below us, and I understand something I've been avoiding.
Strength isn't about not breaking. It's about breaking and choosing to keep going anyway.
Even when the person you love most chooses distance over devotion.
Even when the future you imagined splinters into logistics and custody arrangements.
Even when wanting isn't enough to make love solve the impossible mathematics of geography.
Jake is gone. My son is coming. And I'm going to have to figure out how to survive both truths simultaneously. Starting now.