The Cheater [JenLisa]

Chapter 21

Liam's small fingers curled tightly around mine, his other hand stuffed deep in his jacket pocket. He didn't say much, just kept his eyes on the ground ahead of us. I knew he was thinking about Jennie, the way kids do when the grown-ups refuse to give them clear answers. His heart was still healing, but he wore his quiet like armor.

When we arrived at the bench by the pond, Jennie was already there, sitting with her back to the water. No Blake. No entourage. Just her—the ghost of the past made flesh, sitting quietly, almost hesitant.

She looked up as we approached, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second before she masked it with a soft smile. "Hi, Lisa. Hi, Liam."

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral, the only warmth coming from the way Liam's fingers squeezed mine a little tighter.

Jennie rose slowly, keeping a safe distance between us. "Thank you for coming," she said, her voice low, almost fragile. "I know this isn't easy."

"No," I said simply. "Five minutes, Jennie. That's it."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Five minutes."

Liam stayed behind me, peeking out cautiously. His wide eyes flicked between us like he was trying to read a book in a language he didn't quite understand.

Jennie crouched slightly to meet his eye level, but didn't reach for him.

"You probably don't remember much," she said softly.

He said nothing.

"That's okay," she added quickly. "You don't have to."

I watched Liam's face. He was older now, eight years old, but with a cautiousness no child should have. A question hovered in the air between them, unspoken but as clear as the chill in the autumn breeze.

"I just wanted to see you," Jennie said.

"To know you're okay. To tell you I'm sorry."

Liam's eyes flicked to me, searching. I gave him a small, encouraging nod.
He took a slow step forward, and Jennie pulled something from her bag—a worn sketchbook, the corners frayed and soft with time.

"I thought you might want this back," she said, placing it on the bench without trying to hand it directly to him.

Liam picked it up carefully, flipping through pages of dinosaurs, cars, and scribbles—memories frozen in graphite.

"You left this," he said quietly.

"I know," Jennie replied, voice breaking just a little. "I left a lot of things I shouldn't have."

There was no excuse. No explanation. Just truth.

Liam looked at me, and I gave him a small nod again.

"Dada says people make mistakes," he said, eyes fixed on the sketches. "But you didn't say sorry."

Jennie's breath hitched. "You're right. I didn't."

She met Liam's gaze then, steady and sincere. "I'm sorry, Liam."

He didn't say anything for a long moment, then quietly closed the book and held it tight to his chest.

"I think I want to go home now," he said finally.

"Alright, buddy," I said softly, pulling him gently toward me.

Jennie swallowed, blinking fast.

"Thank you. For coming. Both of you."

I hesitated, then turned to leave, but a quiet voice stopped me.

"Lisa."

I looked back.

"Would it be okay if I... saw him again? Not now. Not soon. But sometime?"

I looked at Liam's retreating back, the way he clutched the sketchbook like a shield.

"Maybe," I said slowly. "If he wants to."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "That's fair."

I nodded once, already feeling the weight of what I'd just allowed.

As we walked away, the wind whispered through the trees, scattering golden leaves like forgotten memories.

Jennie remained seated on the bench, looking out over the pond, her reflection rippling in the water as though she was trying to piece herself back together.

Later that night, after Liam was asleep, I found Somi in the living room, curled up with her laptop and a cup of tea.

"She saw him?" Somi asked without looking up.

"Yeah."

"How'd it go?"

"Awkward," I admitted. "But honest."
Somi closed her laptop and looked at me, her eyes steady and kind. "And you?"

I shrugged, feeling the weight ease just a bit. "I'm surprised. I didn't expect her to try."

"Maybe that's why she's here," Somi said softly. "Not to fix the past, but to make a different future."

I looked out the window as the first drops of rain began to tap against the glass. "Maybe."

Somi smiled, that quiet, knowing smile I'd come to love. "You're strong, Baby. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."

I nodded, feeling her strength seep into me like warmth on a cold night.

The next morning, I dropped Liam off at school. He was quieter than usual, but when I kissed his forehead, he gave me a small smile, the same one that told me there was hope.

On my way back to the car, I nearly collided with a figure leaning against it, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding the eyes I'd thought I'd never see again.

Jennie.

"Lisa" she said softly, lifting her glasses just enough to meet my gaze.

"I wanted to say thank you. For yesterday."

"Welcome" I kept my tone steady. "You know the rules. No cameras. No crowds. No pressure."

She nodded. "I understand. I'm not here to rewrite the past."

"Good."

She glanced down at her hands, twisting a ring around her finger.

"There's an event coming up. Blake's expanding the company's charity branch, and we're hosting a small gathering. I want Liam to be part of it. Just as family, no cameras."

I frowned slightly. "You want to make him public?"

"No. Not that. I want to introduce him to people who matter to me. To show that he's part of me—no more hiding."

I considered it. Part of me wanted to say no outright, to protect Liam from any more confusion or hurt.

But another part of me, the part that had come to peace with the past, saw the cracks in Jennie's armor—her vulnerability beneath the polished surface.

"Maybe," I said finally. "But only if Liam agrees."

Jennie smiled, relief flooding her face. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," I said, voice firm.

"Show me you mean it."

She nodded, stepping back. "I will."

That night, as I lay awake next to Somi, the rain pattering softly outside, I thought about the journey ahead.

About Liam's cautious hope, Jennie's fragile attempts, and the family we'd managed to build from the wreckage.

The past wasn't perfect. It never would be.

But maybe, just maybe, the future could be.