Page 66 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
"But if you still want a divorce"—he pulled in a shaking breath—"then I'll sign. I owe you everything."
Fern's eyes stayed dry, not out of strength, but out of exhaustion. She needed a time-out.
She couldn't answer until she was away from this mess and had time to think.
Coral burst out of the upstairs bedroom at that moment, both hands in the air. "Echo gone!" she declared with a pout.
Connor gave a small rumble of a laugh, his attention immediately on his daughter, as it had been for the last three weeks, like she was his lodestone. Fern eased out of his arms before the thickness in her throat choked her.
"Come on," she murmured. "We need to go."
Fern had wanted to make the journey to Manchester alone—a clean break, a straight road, just her and Coral and the future waiting at the other end.
But Connor insisted he came along.
He'd mapped the entire route the night before, marking every service station, every rest stop, every possible bathroom on the way. "In case Coral needs to pee," he had said.
Coral had adapted to potty training fairly quickly, but still needed help with toilet paper. Now, she did that frantic little hopping dance whenever the urge came—knees close together, hands flapping, face scrunched in distress while shrieking, 'Go pee-pee!'
"Pee dance," she called it.
Connor had packed an emergency change of clothes—and wipes, and tissues, and snacks. And two bottles of water because "You never know."
Fern watched him fuss over the car seat straps and the itinerary, watched him double-check the snacks again, felt the way his hands lingered on her every chance he got.
As she slid into the driver's seat, she realised it wasn't his bid for control.
It was a promise.
And she just didn't know what to do with that yet.
***
Manchester didn't feel like home anymore.
But it was safe, and that was enough for now. The car rolled to a slow stop outside Harlan's semi-detached, and Fern felt like she could take the first exhale she'd allowed herself since that first day in the hospital.
Harlan's house sat at the end of a once-council row, now the sort of place estate agents called up-and-coming. The brick was warmed bythe late sun, and the wide back garden stretched beyond the house, enclosed by tall fences and the low hum of suburban life.
Coral bounced her way to the back garden.
"Mama... swing!"
The cherry tree stood near the centre of the yard, branches looking a little bare with winter approaching. Beneath it, the wooden swing Harlan had sanded down and re-roped last winter swayed gently in the breeze. And beyond that, in the far corner, the tiny pond burbled—the little fountain sending thin arcs of water over smooth stones. Koi glimmered beneath the protective grill, flashing white and orange like living treasure.
"That's for you," Fern murmured to Coral as they stepped out. "Remember? You loved the fishies—"
But Coral had already bolted toward the gate, waving wildly at the woman standing near the low hedge next door.
Gracie.
It was an unusually warm day, and she was crouched in the soil, wearing tiny denim shorts and a floppy gardening hat, legs dusted with earth, ginger curls spilling around her face. She straightened the second she spotted them, eyes lighting up like she'd been waiting all morning for this exact moment.
"Coral, what a big girl you are, my sweet! Oh my god, Fern!"
She jogged over—well, more like bounced—and swept Fern into a hug that came with a faint smell of sunscreen and something sweet she must've baked. She was about ten years older than Fern and had moved next door about eight years ago. She was like a ray of sunshine and made friends with Fern fairly quickly.
"You're finally here! And look at you, sweetheart," she said to Coral, bending to her level with a broad, warm grin. "What have you been eating? You have no weight on ya."
