Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~8 min read
ASHER
I’m packing up my apartment in the city—the one I was supposed to share with Sloane—when I find the ring box.
It’s in the back of my sock drawer, where I shoved it two years ago when I was too much of a coward to use it.
The ring I bought for Emilia.
My hands shake as I open the box. It’s simple, elegant—a sapphire surrounded by small diamonds. Blue, because she once said blue was her favorite color. Not traditional, because Emilia never was.
I was going to propose the night my father called me into his office. Had the whole thing planned—dinner at our favorite restaurant, then a walk through the park where we had our first date. I’d practiced what I’d say a hundred times.
Then my father derailed everything with talk of mergers and expectations and doing what was right for the family.
And I’d put the ring in a drawer and broken both our hearts instead.
Ezra finds me sitting on the floor, holding the box.
“Is that—”
“Yeah.”
He sits beside me, surveying the half-packed apartment. “You know, for a breakup that happened two years ago, you sure held onto a lot.”
He’s right. I haven’t thrown out anything that reminded me of Emilia. Photos hidden in drawers, her favorite coffee mug still in the cabinet, a sweater she left behind hanging in my closet.
“I couldn’t let go,” I admit.
“Because you loved her.”
“Because I’m an idiot who loved her and walked away anyway.” I close the ring box. “What do I do with this?”
“What do you want to do with it?”
“I want to give it to her. But it’s too soon. She’s just started to trust me again. If I propose now, I’ll scare her off.”
“So wait.”
“What if she never wants marriage? What if the most she can ever give me is co-parenting?”
Ezra gives me a look. “Then you take it. Because having her in your life as Miles’ mom is better than not having her at all. But Ash? I’ve seen you two together at the lake house. I’ve seen the photos. You’re not just co-parenting.”
“We’re not together together. We’re just… figuring things out.”
“Keep figuring. And keep the ring. For when she’s ready.”
I pocket the box. “You think she’ll ever be ready?”
“I think you hurt her badly, and trust takes time to rebuild. But I also think the way she looks at you isn’t how someone looks at their ex. That’s how someone looks at the person they’re still in love with.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now help me pack. This place is depressing, and I have a hot date tonight.”
We spend the next few hours boxing up my old life. The apartment that was supposed to launch my marriage to Sloane gets packed away, donated, or trashed.
It’s liberating.
I find more mementos of Emilia. A ticket stub from a movie we saw. A photo booth strip from some street fair. A note she left me once—”Out getting coffee. Love you. – E”
I keep all of it.
“You’re such a sap,” Ezra observes, watching me carefully pack the note.
“I prefer ‘romantic.'”
“Sap.”
My phone buzzes. Emilia.
Miles wants to know if you’re coming back for dinner. I want to know too. But mostly Miles.
I smile. Tell Miles I’ll be there in two hours. Tell yourself the same thing.
Okay. Drive safe.
“That’s disgustingly cute,” Ezra says, reading over my shoulder.
“Back off, nosy.”
“I’m just saying, if you don’t marry this woman, I’m staging an intervention.”
“Noted.”
On the drive back to the lake house—which is starting to feel more like home than any place I’ve ever lived—I think about the ring in my pocket.
Emilia deserves a proposal. A real one. Not rushed, not coerced, not because of a baby. Because I love her and want to build a life with her.
But first, I have to prove I won’t run when things get hard. That I’m the man she deserves, not the coward I was two years ago.
The house is lit up when I arrive. Through the windows, I can see Emilia dancing with Miles in the kitchen, some kids’ song playing. She’s laughing, spinning him around, both of them completely in the moment.
My family.
I take the ring box out of my pocket, look at it one more time.
“Someday,” I promise it. “When she’s ready. When I’ve earned it.”
I put it back in my pocket and head inside.
Miles sees me first. “DADA! You’re back!”
He runs at me full speed, and I scoop him up, breathing in his baby shampoo scent.
“Miss me, buddy?”
“SO MUCH!” He spreads his arms wide to demonstrate.
Emilia is watching from the kitchen doorway, smiling. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Need help?”
“You can set the table. Miles can help. He’s very good at it.”
“I help!” Miles confirms.
The three of us set the table together. Miles insists on putting the napkins at each place setting, though they end up more crumpled than folded. Emilia serves the pasta she made—from scratch, apparently, because she’s perfect and talented and I’m so in love with her it hurts.
Over dinner, Miles tells me about his day in toddler-speak that I’m getting better at understanding. Something about birds and the lake and Mama’s cookies.
“We made cookies,” Emilia translates. “Well, I made them. He ate chocolate chips and made a mess.”
“Important work.”
“Critical.”
After dinner, after bath time and books and tucking Miles in, Emilia and I end up on the back deck, watching the stars reflect on the lake.
“I packed up my apartment today,” I say.
“The one you were going to share with Sloane?”
“Yeah. It’s all in storage now. I’m going to sell it.”
“Where will you live?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that.” I look at the house behind us. “This place feels like home now. Because you and Miles are here. But I know this is temporary. You’re going back to Cora’s eventually, and I’ll need to find somewhere in the city close enough for visitation and—”
“What if we didn’t go back to Cora’s?”
I turn to her. “What?”
She’s nervous, I can tell. Fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I’ve been thinking. This has been good. Being here, the three of us. Miles is happy. I’m happy. And you…” She meets my eyes. “You’re good at this. Being a dad. Being here.”
“I love it. I love every second.”
“So what if we stayed? Not forever. But longer. Give it a real try. See if we can actually do this—co-parenting, living near each other, figuring out what we are.”
Hope blooms in my chest. “You want to stay here? At the lake house?”
“Maybe? Or we find a place close by. Somewhere that’s ours—well, Miles’ and mine. Where you can visit easily. Where we can figure out a real custody arrangement.”
“I have a better idea.”
“What?”
“You and Miles live here. I’ll take the guest house.” I point to the small structure across the property. “It’s fully equipped—bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen. You’d have the main house, total privacy, but I’d be close. For mornings, for emergencies, for whenever Miles wants his dad.”
She stares at me. “You’d give us the house?”
“It’s not giving. It’s sharing. This place is too big for one person anyway. And it should be full of life. Full of Miles running around and your music playing and actual happiness.”
“Asher…”
“Think about it. No pressure. But Emilia, I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere. So whether you stay here or move back to the city or relocate to Antarctica, I’ll be close by. Might as well be somewhere beautiful.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, looking out at the lake.
“Okay,” she finally says.
“Okay?”
“Okay, we’ll try it. For Miles. And…” She takes my hand. “For us. To see if this thing between us is real or just nostalgia and proximity.”
“It’s real,” I say with certainty. “At least for me, it’s real.”
“For me too,” she whispers. “That’s what scares me.”
I squeeze her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” she echoes.
Later, after she’s gone to bed, I take out the ring one more time.
Not yet. But someday.
When I’ve proven I’m worth the risk.
When she’s ready to believe in forever again.
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
Because she’s worth waiting for.
They both are.
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