Andrew and I had been dating for five months now.

He was everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend. Handsome. Caring. Worldly. Funny, thoughtful, creative. I could write a whole laundry list of his accomplishments and positive attributes. He never belittled my amateurish writing even though he held a goddamn doctorate in the field. He accepted that Stevie and Gray were going to be permanent fixtures in my life, and even though Andrew was divorced, he didn't carry any actual baggage. The man was still on good terms with his ex-wife. They didn't have any children together. In retrospect, I actually brought way more drama to the table than he did.

In my head, in secret, I could envision our future together as a married couple. Clear as day. Our routine would probably be similar to what we were doing now. On weekdays, he would go to work. I would go to work. We would flirt through text messages throughout the day. After work, we would cook together in the evenings. Cuddle in bed after dinner. Read together. Write together. On weekends, we would spend time as a family with Stevie and Gray.

Life with a husband like Andrew would probably be quite blissful. Easy. Carefree.

I sensed that he wanted to marry me, too. In time. Maybe in a year or two. Honestly, I should be happier about it. Our relationship was better than ever. In fact, I was happy with Andrew.

Last night, he even said the L-word to me.

I should've said it back to him.

But something held me back.

Stupidly, my mind kept drifting towards Gray even while I was laying in Andrew's arms. I felt horrible about it, but I couldn't stop my brain from acting like a wayward monkey.

Ever since Gray started flying to Chicago almost every other week, I worried about him way too much, about everything he was trying to juggle between his mom's recovery and his life here in Arizona.

Gray never burdened me with his troubles, though.

There was something remarkable about Gray's strength during this incredibly trying time. I admired him for it from the bottom of my heart. Anyone with eyes could see that the poor guy was dead tired every time he returned from Chicago. But Gray never lost his patience with Stevie, even when she was being an unruly and fussy little stinker. He often made the effort to do more for me as well—washing dirty dishes, taking out the trash, or putting in a load of laundry—to make up for his absence.

As an English professor, Andrew was brilliant with words, but Gray spoke through his actions.

Every single time I saw him, I could feel how much Gray cared about Stevie and me even though, these days, we were talking less and less because of his recurring trips to Chicago and my growing relationship with Andrew.

In truth, I missed Gray. More than I could ever admit aloud. I missed dozing off on the couch with him as Netflix played in the background. I missed talking to him about Stevie everyday. About her quirks. About her sweetness. About her day-to-day accomplishments. New skills learned. New milestones achieved. I missed hearing Gray's thoughts about my writing. Andrew could point out all of the literary and technical shit that I was doing well, that I needed to improve on. But Gray always understood exactly what I was trying to say, even when my words couldn't seem to express the full scope of my thoughts and emotions. Naturally, Gray understood me better than Andrew since we had known each other since the third grade.

All in all, I simply missed our... closeness.

Gray might have fucked up big time with Lydia, but there was a reason why he was my childhood sweetheart, why he was the one guy I had never been able to forget for years on end. I genuinely believed that we were star-crossed soulmates. For better or worse, all of the storms we had weathered together bonded us in a way that no one could ever understand.

Before, our bond had been unhealthy.

Self-destructive, even.

Now, though?

It felt... different.

Our bond had become something that was kind of beautiful.

Freeing.

Full of growth.

Loving, even.

Because of Stevie.

Because Gray was changing.

Because I was changing, too.

Every now and then, these wayward monkey thoughts made me doubt if Andrew was really so perfect for me, after all?

I knew I wasn't being fair to Andrew. We had barely started dating compared to my long history with Gray. I knew I needed to let go of my feelings for Gray. To give Andrew a real shot.

But I felt as though I had every right to question and doubt my relationships with both of these men.

Maybe I was going to end up marrying Andrew. It certainly felt like the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. I knew Andrew could make me happy. I knew I could make him happy as well.

Or maybe not?

Maybe I still wanted Gray. Even though all of my friends and family would judge me for it. Even though picking him would be far more painful on so many levels. A part of me felt as though a future with Gray might be worth the pain, though, since we were both in such a different place now. A much brighter place.

Or maybe I was going to forgo men altogether?

Regardless of who or what I chose to do, one certainty never wavered from my mind: All I wanted to figure out was my happiness.

I knew I was being selfish, but that was kind of the fucking point.

For ages, I felt so stuck and uneasy in my own skin. I never questioned what I truly wanted for myself. I simply got swept away by everyone else's flow. I didn't feel that way anymore. I had options now. Agency. Choices came and went, shifting, all the time, all around me, and I was finally beginning to see my ability to reach out and grab what I desired in life and skip over the rest. To control what I could control. To live my life as I wished for once.

In early December, I received a call from Naomi Larson.

Naomi was one of Lydia's closest friends.

At the time, little did I know, a slew of life-changing choices was about to detonate on me through this three-minute phone conversation. A prickle of surprise ran through me when I saw Naomi's name pop up on my caller ID. The last time we spoke had been at my sister's funeral.

"Hello, Gracie?"

For some reason, Naomi's voice sounded small and nervous.

It made me nervous, too. "Hi, Naomi. It's been a while. I hope you've been well?"

"I've been... better."

Her reply caught me off guard.

I gulped. "I'm sorry to hear it. What can I do for you?"

She gave a short pause. "I was, um... wondering... if we could set up a time to meet up? To talk. In person."

Confused, I asked, "Why?"

"Gray should probably come with you as well."

My confusion bloomed into alarm as I demanded again, "Why?"

"There was something Lydia wanted to tell you guys before she passed away."

"Oh?"

"When Lydia was still alive, she made me promise to keep it a secret. Until she felt ready to confess everything, and, well, now that your sister is no longer here, I-I didn't feel right about sitting on this secret anymore."

This was all news to me. Unease seized my chest.

"What did Lydia want to tell us?"

She hesitated again. This particular lull felt tense and full of anxiety. My nerves hummed with dread and anticipation.

Finally, Naomi spoke up in a hollow-sounding voice, "Your sister wanted to tell both of you about... Stevie's real dad."