Chapter 8: Bonds of Choice

Two weeks had passed since the coffee shop conversation, and Mae's bedroom had become a shrine to her newfound relationship with Zeke. A wooden jewelry box he'd made for her sat on her dresser, next to a collection of smooth stones they'd found at the beach. Her latest artwork—a crayon masterpiece titled "My Family"—showed four stick figures holding hands, with "Daddy" carefully printed under the tallest one.

Lexi stood in the doorway, watching Chloe tuck Mae into bed while Zeke sat in the reading chair they'd moved into the room specifically for him. It had become their nightly routine: Chloe handled pajamas and teeth brushing, Zeke read the bedtime story, and Lexi... Lexi watched from the periphery, feeling more like a visitor in the life she'd helped build than its fierce guardian.

"One more story?" Mae pleaded, clutching Mr. Peanuts to her chest. "Please, Daddy?"

The word still hit Lexi like a physical blow, even after two weeks of hearing it. Mae had started using it casually three days ago, as if she'd been saving it up and finally decided Zeke had earned the right to claim it. The joy on his face every time she said it was almost painful to witness.

"It's already past your bedtime, sweetheart," Zeke said gently, smoothing Mae's curls away from her forehead. "But I'll read you two stories tomorrow night if you go to sleep now."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Mae settled back against her pillows with a contented sigh, already halfway to sleep. Chloe kissed her forehead, whispered the same "sweet dreams, baby girl" she'd been saying for five years, and headed for the door. Zeke followed after his own goodnight kiss, turning off the lamp and leaving only the soft glow of Mae's nightlight.

In the hallway, the three adults stood in awkward silence, the weight of unspoken conversations heavy between them. This had become their pattern too—the polite navigation around each other, the careful avoidance of anything that might shatter the fragile peace they'd built for Mae's sake.

"Coffee?" Chloe offered, already heading toward the kitchen. It was her solution to everything these days—keep everyone's hands busy, keep the conversations surface-level, keep the illusion of normalcy intact.

Lexi started to decline—she had an early restoration appointment tomorrow, she needed to review her notes, she had a dozen excuses ready—but something in Chloe's expression stopped her. Her best friend looked tired in a way that went deeper than late nights and single parenthood. There were shadows under her eyes and a tightness around her mouth that spoke of decisions being wrestled with in private moments.

"Sure," Lexi said instead, following them to the kitchen.

Zeke had claimed the chair at the far end of the table, the one that gave him a clear view of the hallway in case Mae called out. It was a small thing, but it spoke to how completely he'd integrated himself into their lives. He knew which floorboards creaked, which cup was Mae's favorite, how Chloe liked her coffee and that Lexi preferred tea after eight PM.

Watching him navigate Chloe's kitchen with easy familiarity, Lexi felt that unwelcome stab of jealousy she'd been fighting for weeks. This domestic harmony they'd achieved—it looked so natural, so right. The three of them moving around each other with practiced ease, sharing the comfortable silence of people who'd found their rhythm.

But it wasn't real. Or rather, it was real for everyone except her. Chloe and Zeke had Mae connecting them, giving them a shared purpose that would last forever. What did Lexi have? The title of godmother, the role of family friend, the privilege of watching from the sidelines as they built something beautiful together.

"I've been thinking," Chloe said, settling at the table with her coffee. She looked between Lexi and Zeke with the expression she got when she was about to announce something significant. "About our living situation."

Lexi's stomach clenched. Here it was—the conversation she'd been dreading. Chloe was going to ask Zeke to move in, or suggest they look for a bigger place together, or propose some other arrangement that would formalize the family unit that had been forming around her.

"What about it?" Zeke asked carefully.

"Mae's getting attached to having you here every evening," Chloe continued. "And frankly, so am I. Not in a—" She gestured vaguely, color rising in her cheeks. "I mean, it's nice having another adult around. Someone who can help with bedtime and remember to buy milk and actually knows how to fix the garbage disposal."

Zeke's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "I'm good for household repairs, am I?"

"Among other things." Chloe's voice was warm with affection, and Lexi felt her chest tighten. "You're good for Mae. You're good for all of us."

The admission hung in the air like an invitation. Lexi waited for Zeke to respond, to say something about finding a place nearby or maybe renting the apartment above Chloe's garage. Something that would acknowledge the growing bond between him and Chloe while maintaining appropriate boundaries.

Instead, he was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on his coffee cup. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful rather than eager.

"Mae does seem to like the routine," he said carefully. "And I have to admit, I look forward to it more than I probably should. Coming here, reading to her, being part of her day." He looked up at Chloe. "But I don't want to overstep. This is your home, your life. I'm grateful you're letting me be part of it at all."

"You're not overstepping," Chloe said firmly. "You're her father. You belong here as much as anyone."

The words hit Lexi like a slap, even though she knew Chloe hadn't meant them that way. But the implication was clear: Zeke belonged here because he was Mae's father. Lexi belonged here because... why? Because she'd been here first? Because she'd helped hold things together when Chloe was struggling? Those felt like increasingly flimsy reasons compared to the unbreakable bond of biology.

"What are you saying exactly?" Zeke asked, and Lexi could hear the careful hope in his voice.

Chloe took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. "I'm saying maybe it's time to make this official. Not us—I don't mean that we should—" She stumbled over the words, her cheeks flushing deeper. "But your relationship with Mae. Maybe it's time to talk about custody arrangements, about making your role in her life legal and permanent."

The word 'custody' landed in the room like a bomb. Lexi's hands tightened around her tea cup, her mind immediately jumping to worst-case scenarios. Custody meant lawyers and courts and official paperwork that could change everything. It meant Zeke would have rights that superseded everyone else's, including hers.

"You don't have to answer now," Chloe continued quickly, misreading Zeke's silence. "I just think—Mae deserves the security of knowing you're not going anywhere. And you deserve the peace of mind that comes with legal recognition."

"Chloe," Zeke said quietly, "are you sure about this? Once we involve lawyers and courts, there's no going back. Everything becomes official, documented."

"I'm sure." Chloe's voice was steady, certain. "I've been thinking about it for days, and I'm sure. Mae needs her father, and her father needs legal standing to protect their relationship. It's the right thing to do."

Lexi wanted to scream. She wanted to demand what this meant for her, whether she'd still be welcome at birthday parties and school plays once Zeke had official status as Mae's father. She wanted to point out that they'd managed perfectly well for five years without his legal involvement, that maybe some things were better left informal and flexible.

Instead, she heard herself saying, "That's wonderful."

Both Chloe and Zeke turned to look at her in surprise. She forced a smile, proud of how steady her voice sounded.

"Mae deserves that security," she continued. "And you deserve to have your relationship with her protected. It's smart planning."

It was the right thing to say, the supportive thing. But the words felt like glass in her throat.

"Thank you," Zeke said softly, and there was something in his eyes that looked almost like understanding. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Chloe reached across the table to squeeze Lexi's hand. "You know this doesn't change anything between us, right? You're still Mae's godmother, still family. Nothing changes that."

But everything was changing, had been changing since the moment they'd been rescued from that boat. The family dynamic that had sustained them for five years was reshaping itself around Zeke's presence, and Lexi couldn't figure out where she fit in the new configuration.

"I should probably get going," she said, standing abruptly. "Early day tomorrow."

"Lexi, wait—"

But she was already moving toward the door, grabbing her purse and jacket with movements that were just a little too quick, a little too forced. She needed space to breathe, to think, to figure out how to be happy for the people she loved while her own heart was breaking.

"Tell Mae I'll see her this weekend," she called over her shoulder, not trusting herself to look back at their concerned faces.

She made it to her car before the tears started, sitting in Chloe's driveway with her hands gripping the steering wheel as the magnitude of what had just happened sank in. Chloe was choosing Zeke. Not romantically—at least, not yet—but practically, legally, permanently. She was choosing to bind their lives together through Mae in a way that would outlast any friendship, any temporary living arrangement.

Through the living room window, she could see them still sitting at the kitchen table, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. Planning their future, their custody arrangement, their new family structure. They looked like what they were becoming: co-parents united in their love for their daughter, building something that would last.

And Lexi was the outsider looking in, watching the life she'd helped create remake itself without her at its center.

She started the car and pulled away from the curb, trying not to notice how natural they looked together through that warm yellow window. Trying not to think about how Mae's drawing had shown four stick figures when there were really only three people who mattered in this new family equation.

By the time she reached her apartment, she'd almost convinced herself that this was what she'd wanted all along—for Mae to have her father, for Chloe to have support, for everyone to be happy and secure and legally protected.

Almost.