They spent the week meeting up—putt-putt, ice cream at Leopold’s, even a dolphin-watching kayak tour. Rachel was fun, laid-back, but Ryan sensed a wall she wouldn’t lower. One evening, while Liam played in the inn’s kids’ club, Ryan took Rachel to North Beach Bar & Grill. Steeling himself, he leaned in over his Dr Pepper, his voice low. “Rachel, I know this is nuts, but… what if we could be something? For Liam, for us?”
Rachel’s eyes widened, her drink pausing mid-sip. Ryan held his breath, his heart pounding, unsure if he’d just ruined everything or opened a door to something new.
At North Beach Bar & Grill, Rachel slammed her Dr Pepper down, her eyes flashing with disbelief. “Are you kidding, Ryan? Us, together?” she scoffed, her Savannah drawl sharp. “We barely know each other, and I’m not your wife’s stand-in. That’s insane!” Ryan’s face burned, his heart sinking as he realized he’d misread everything.
— “I know it’s sudden,” Ryan stammered, “but you’re Claire’s sister. There’s gotta be something there, right? For Liam’s sake?”
— “Honey, I’m not Claire,” Rachel snapped, grabbing her bag. “I’m here for a good time, not to play stepmom. You need to pump the brakes.”
Rachel stormed out, leaving Ryan alone with his half-empty drink and a gnawing regret. The next day, she texted, offering to drive them to the airport—her way of smoothing things over, maybe. Ryan agreed, hoping to salvage a friendship, but his mind kept circling back to Liam needing a mom. In the inn’s lobby, Liam hugged Rachel, oblivious to the tension, his stuffed turtle toy dangling from his hand.
They piled into Rachel’s Ford Bronco, the Tybee Island sun glinting off the hood as they cruised down Butler Avenue. Ryan tried to apologize, but Rachel cut him off. “Let’s just get you home,” she said, her voice tight. Liam hummed in the backseat, playing with his speedboat toy, unaware of the storm brewing up front.
— “Rachel, I didn’t mean to push,” Ryan started, his voice low. “I just thought—”
— “Ryan, stop,” Rachel interrupted, gripping the wheel. “I’m not your fix for a broken heart. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”
Before Ryan could respond, a pickup truck roared around a curve, barreling toward them. Rachel gasped, yanking the wheel to swerve, tires screeching on the pavement. The Bronco lurched, metal crunched, and everything went dark. Ryan’s last thought was Liam—his boy, strapped in the back, needing him.
Ryan woke to the sterile hum of monitors in Memorial Health University Medical Center’s trauma unit, his head pounding, his arm in a sling. A nurse explained: a concussion, some bruises, but he’d be fine. Liam, miraculously, had only minor scratches and was coloring in the pediatric ward. Rachel, though, had walked away with barely a mark, yet she’d vanished from the hospital without a word. Ryan’s relief for Liam’s safety mixed with a bitter sting—had Rachel really just left them?
In the quiet hospital room, Ryan munched on Goldfish crackers from a vending machine, his mind wrestling with Rachel’s absence and the looming medical bills from his insurance. Liam was safe, but the crash had shaken Ryan, making him question everything. He needed to focus on his son, not chase a woman who didn’t care.
— “Mr. Bennett, your insurance is processing, hon,” the nurse said, handing him a clipboard. “Your parents are on their way from Savannah.”
Ryan nodded, his mind a haze of pain and questions. Why hadn’t Rachel checked on them? Was she that detached, even after the crash? He clutched his phone, tempted to call her, but a deeper truth hit him: Rachel wasn’t family, and maybe she never would be. As he waited for his parents, Ryan held Liam’s stuffed turtle, vowing to protect his son, no matter what came next.
Ryan sat in the Memorial Health trauma unit, his arm aching in its sling, when his phone buzzed with a call from his mom, Susan. “Ryan, you’re alive, thank God!” she cried, her voice breaking. He hadn’t meant to spill the beans about the crash, but it slipped out, and now his parents were in a panic. “We’re fine, Mom, just banged up,” Ryan reassured her, though his head still throbbed. He insisted they stay in Savannah—Liam needed him here, not a family circus.
— “You sure you’re okay, son?” Susan pressed, her worry loud through the phone. “We can be there by tonight!”
— “No, Mom, we got this,” Ryan said, forcing calm. “Doctors say we’ll be out soon. I’ll keep you posted.”
As he hung up, the hospital room door swung open, and Sarah burst in, her blonde braid frazzled, clutching a care package stuffed with Zaxby’s chicken tenders and Dr Pepper cans. Ryan’s jaw dropped—she’d flown from Savannah overnight, her eyes wide with concern. “Sarah? How’d you even—” he started, stunned. She’d heard about the crash from his mom and booked the first flight, determined to help.
— “You think I’d let y’all deal with this alone, sugar?” Sarah said, setting the package on his bedside table. “Chicken tenders are for healing—Southern tradition, you know.”
— “First I’m hearing of it,” Ryan chuckled, warmth spreading through him at her kindness.
Sarah fussed over him, adjusting his pillow, then headed to the pediatric ward, where she gave Liam a Savannah Bananas cap, making him grin despite his scrapes. Ryan watched from his room’s TV feed, amazed at her care for his son, who clutched the cap like a prize. Her selflessness hit him hard—she was here, no questions asked, for them.
Then, out of nowhere, Rachel slipped into the room, her face tense, clutching her purse like a shield. “I’m sorry,” she said flatly, avoiding Ryan’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have left like that, but… we’re done. You and Liam, you’re not my family.”
— “Rachel, he’s your nephew,” Ryan said, his voice low, hurt. “You can’t just walk away.”
— “Watch me,” Rachel replied, her Savannah accent cold. “I’m not cut out for this. Good luck, Ryan.” She turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Ryan’s heart sank, but Sarah’s presence softened the blow. She sat with him in the hospital cafeteria, sharing fries and sweet tea, her laughter easing his pain. Staring at her, so kind and grounded, Ryan felt a reckless urge. “Sarah,” he blurted, his voice shaky, “marry me.” Her eyes widened, fries forgotten, as the weight of his words hung between them.
— “Ryan, you’re concussed,” Sarah said, half-laughing, half-shocked. “You don’t mean that.”
— “Maybe I do,” Ryan insisted, his heart racing. “You’re amazing with Liam, with me. What if this is right?”
Sarah shook her head, her smile fading, and Ryan knew he’d crossed a line. But as she squeezed his hand, promising to stick around for Liam, he felt a flicker of hope—maybe, just maybe, she’d come around.
Back in Savannah’s Ardsley Park, in their cozy bungalow, Ryan and Liam settled in, the crash a fading bruise on their lives. Sarah, true to her word, stuck around, helping with Liam’s kindergarten drop-offs and cooking shrimp and grits dinners that filled the place with warmth. Ryan, still rattled by his hospital proposal, was stunned when Sarah quietly agreed to marry him weeks later, her eyes soft but cautious. Their wedding was small—just a backyard low-country boil at a friend’s house, with shrimp, corn, and a playlist of Chris Stapleton hits. Sarah wore a simple white sundress, her smile radiant as Liam tossed oyster shells, giggling in his tiny suit.
— “You sure about this, Sarah?” Ryan asked, squeezing her hand during their vows. “I know I’m a mess.”
— “Sugar, I’m sure,” Sarah replied, her Southern drawl steady. “But we’re taking it slow, for Liam’s sake.”
Life as newlyweds felt comforting, like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans. Sarah was a natural with Liam, packing his Batman lunchbox and reading him bedtime stories, her voice soothing like Claire’s once was. Ryan’s parents, George and Susan, weren’t thrilled about the marriage, still cool toward Sarah and distant with Liam, but they didn’t stir trouble. Ryan threw himself into dad duties, grateful for Sarah’s steadiness, yet a quiet ache lingered—he wasn’t sure if he truly loved her.
Ryan’s doubts grew as he worked late on a poster for a Savannah brewery, his heart heavy with questions. Sarah was perfect—her playdates at Forsyth Park with Liam were a hit—but something felt off, like a song missing a chord. He wondered if he’d rushed into marriage, chasing stability instead of love.
— “You happy, Ryan? Bless your heart, you’ve been quiet lately,” Sarah asked one night, stirring okra on the stove.
— “Yeah, just… figuring things out,” Ryan mumbled, avoiding her eyes, his heart heavy with doubt.
Months passed, the routine of school runs and Hulu nights masking a growing unease. Ryan appreciated Sarah’s care—how she’d surprise Liam with Mary’s Donuts—but his heart didn’t race when she walked in. One evening, as he worked late, the doorbell rang. He opened it to find Rachel, her blonde hair longer, her face weary, like she’d been running from something.
— “Rachel? What are you doing here?” Ryan asked, his voice tight, the hospital’s sting resurfacing.
— “Can I come in, hon?” Rachel said, her Savannah accent softer. “I need to talk, Ryan. It’s important.”