Page 124 of Under Southern Stars
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re too good at this.”
“TikTok,” she replies with perfect seriousness. “Lots of relationship advice there.”
“Ahhh. I should have known. The modern oracle strikes again.”
Madison’s expression turns serious again. “I think he deserves another chance, Mom. After seeing him today…the wayhe knew exactly what to do, how he didn’t panic…and the way he looks at you…”
The simple statement hangs between us. I busy myself with drying my hair, avoiding her gaze.
“He lied, Madison. For months.”
“I know.” She kicks her feet against the bed frame. “But he also saved that baby with you today. And he cares about stupid birds that can’t even fly. And he makes you laugh.”
I look at her then, this remarkable person I’d raised, with her uncanny ability to cut through complexities to the heart of things.
“And,” she adds quietly, “you still love him. Don’t you?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer, but my silence was apparently answer enough.
“That’s what I thought,” Madison says, sliding off the bed. “I’m going to FaceTime Chloe before dinner, okay?”
“Go ahead,” I say, grateful for the reprieve.
“I love you, Mom,” Madison says, bounding back towards her room.
“I love you, too, baby,” I call after her.
Alone, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The day’s events have shaken something loose inside me—watching Jack work, his hands steady and capable, his focus absolute. The way we’d moved together without words, anticipating each other’s needs in the crisis. The feeling of his fingers brushing mine as we’d transferred the struggling newborn between us.
That connection is real. It has always been real. The question is whether it is enough to rebuild what has been broken.
I’m not ready to answer that question. Not yet.
But for the first time since the revelation, I allow myself to acknowledge the possibility that Jack—the real Jack, beneath the deception—might be worth fighting for.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
SOPHIA
“Ugh, Dad’s being so weird on Instagram again,” Madison mutters from the sofa, scrolling through her phone. We’ve been back from Milford Sound for a few hours, and I’ve been pretending to read the same page of my book for the past twenty minutes, my mind still replaying the day’s events.
“What’s he done now?” I ask, grateful for the distraction from my thoughts about Jack.
“Just posting about his ‘entrepreneurial journey’ or whatever. The usual crypto stuff.” Madison continues scrolling, her expression growing increasingly disgusted. “#financialfreedom #alphamindset…so cringe.”
I make a noncommittal noise and pretend to return to my book. Troy’s social media presence has grown increasingly bizarre since our divorce, but I stopped following him years ago. The only updates I get are Madison’s occasional reports or his insufferable texts about her “nutrition plan.”
“Oh my God,” Madison suddenly sits bolt upright. “Mom! Look at this!”
“What?” I look up, alarmed by her tone.
She turns her phone toward me, a TikTok video already playing. It’s some kind of viral supercut where multiple creators have taken clips of Troy wearing a serious expression in a blackt-shirt, talking dramatically about being “canceled by the woke mob.” Each creator has added their own mocking commentary, effects, or reaction shots, transforming Troy’s self-important monologue into something ridiculous.
“This is so embarrassing,” Madison groans, her face flushing. “He’s gone viral in the worst way possible.”
I watch in horrified fascination as Troy’s face contorts dramatically on screen, his voice overlaid with cartoonish sound effects while text captions mock his expressions. The original video shows him complaining about “censorship” and how “certain powerful interests” don’t want men to speak the truth about “biological realities,” but it’s now buried under layers and layers of internet mockery.
“When did he post this?” I ask, taking the phone from her to see better.
