Page 7 of When Grump Met Sunshine

Despite the fortune he'd amassed as one of the country’s most sought-after surgeons, his days remained packed—back-to-back consultations, high-stakes decisions, relentless pressure. The kind that didn’t care whether he was in a hospital or a beach house.

The luxury of stepping away from the hospital hadn’t lessened the weight of responsibility. Instead, it had followed him here, tethering him to a life he wasn’t sure how to escape.

A half-finished cup of coffee sat cooling beside his elbow, untouched for the last hour. The pull between work and fatherhood was relentless, a never-ending tug-of-war that left him perpetually stretched thin.

His wealth offered advantages most single parents lacked—nannies, private schools, the ability to relocate on a whim—but none of it replaced what Chloe truly needed: his presence. And no matter how much he provided for her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing in the one thing that mattered most.

From the other room, Chloe’s voice rang out in a fit of laughter, followed by the unmistakable sound of Gabe’s voice joining in. The kids had been inseparable lately, a development Jack hadn’t minded at first. But their growing bond meant that Claire was never far away.

And Claire—sunny, persistent, impossible-to-ignore Claire—had a way of dismantling the walls he had spent years fortifying. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. At first, he had resented the intrusion, the way she disrupted the solitude he had carefully constructed.

But now, he wasn’t so certain. Just last week, he’d caught himself joking with her at the monthly bonfire, actually laughing—an easy, unguarded sound that had surprised them both. He’d shared a story about Chloe’s early fascination with frogs, and Claire’s delighted laugh had felt like sunlight cracking through stone.

The more time he spent around her, the more he caught himself relaxing in ways he hadn’t intended. Was he slipping, or was she proving that the walls he’d built weren’t as unbreakable as he’d thought?

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and refocused on the patient file in front of him. Though he had stepped away from the daily grind of the hospital, he still consulted on complex cases, reviewing charts, advising surgical teams, and occasionally flying back for high-profile procedures.

Remote work was a luxury few surgeons had, but his reputation—and wealth—afforded him the ability to call the shots. Even from miles away, the pressure of his career followed him, refusing to loosen its grip.

His plan for a quiet evening of catching up on work had been shot the moment Chloe had invited Gabe over. Not that he had the heart to say no. His daughter deserved friends, a sense of normalcy. And yet, the more he watched her form connections, the more painfully aware he became of how much she had lost.

A sudden silence settled in the house. Jack frowned, setting his pen down. Too quiet was never a good sign.

He pushed his chair back and made his way toward the living room, only to freeze in the doorway.

Chloe sat cross-legged on the rug, her sneakers in her lap as she looped the laces with exaggerated focus. "Ugh, why do these always get so twisty?" she huffed, pulling the laces apart before starting over. "Gabe says he just shoves his feet in and doesn't even tie them half the time. Maybe I should do that too!" She grinned up at Jack, waiting for his reaction as she wriggled her toes dramatically inside her sneakers.

A sharp pang lanced through Jack’s chest, seizing his breath for a moment. His jaw tightened as a flood of memories rushed in unbidden, gripping him with a familiar ache. He could almost smell Amanda’s favorite lavender shampoo, feel the soft whoosh of her breath as she knelt beside Chloe, her voice murmuring in gentle encouragement.

His hands curled into fists, his shoulders locking in place, as if bracing against a wave he couldn’t stop. His pulse pounded in his ears, his body caught in the space between past and present, where grief lurked like a shadow, waiting for the smallest moment to strike.

The image hit him like a freight train—Amanda kneeling before their daughter, patiently looping the laces, her voice warm with encouragement. It had been a mundane moment, ordinary in every way, yet now it carried the weight of a ghost. Jack’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The past was never truly past. It lurked in the shadows, waiting for the smallest trigger to drag him under.

“You okay, Daddy?” Chloe’s voice was soft, tentative.

Jack forced himself to breathe, unclenching his fists. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just thinking.”

Her head tilted, studying him with those perceptive blue eyes so much like Amanda’s. But before she could question him further, the back door swung open, and Claire’s voice carried into the house.

“Okay, kids, fun’s over. It’s time to get cleaned up before dinner.”

Jack turned as Claire stepped inside, brushing sand from her jeans. The sight grounded him, a flicker of normalcy in an otherwise heavy evening. She moved with the ease of someone who had long mastered the art of managing chaos, her presence slipping effortlessly into the space as if she had always belonged there.

“I hope they weren’t too loud,” she said, smiling as she ruffled Gabe’s hair.

“Not at all,” Jack replied, though his voice still held an edge of distraction.

Claire studied him for a beat longer than necessary, her gaze flickering with something unreadable. Jack had seen grief mirrored in others before—worn in the tight lines of a face, hidden behind deflective words and carefully controlled expressions.

But he knew he wore his differently—his pain wasn’t loud, but it simmered beneath the surface, always close, always waiting. And now, under Claire’s quiet gaze, he had the uneasy sense that she saw more than he wanted her to. That for all the barriers he put up, he might not be as unreachable as he’d tried to believe. Jack had the distinct feeling she saw too much.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked quietly.

Jack hesitated. The easy answer was yes. But something about Claire’s unwavering gaze made lying feel pointless.

“Some days are harder than others,” he admitted, his voice rougher than intended.

Claire nodded as if she understood. And maybe she did.

---