Chapter 23

I cradleCaleb in my arms, his warm little body nestled against my chest as I feed him. His tiny fingers curl around the bottle, lips working to get every last drop of formula. It's only been a few days since we brought him home, but he seems a little better every day.

He's still underweight but now able to sleep for a couple of hours at a time instead of crying inconsolably through the night. At night, his favorite place is snuggled in Gabe's arms. I can't blame the little guy. That used to be my favorite spot, too, especially when I was upset.

Knowing Caleb is recovering brings relief, yet holding him elicits a bittersweet ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally. I never got to cradle Alisson like this. The pain of that still throbs dully. Will it ever go away?

Across the room, Gabe sits cross-legged on the floor with Cora, dramatically reading a children's book called "Dexter the Dinosaur's Bedtime Battle." His smooth baritone expertly acts out the various dinosaur voices, making Cora giggle. For a renowned oncologist, he has quite the flair for performance and keeping little kids entertained.

Right now, his voice is a deep, gruff grumble for Dexter, the stubborn dinosaur refusing bedtime. "No, I don't need any sleep!" Gabe roars playfully. "Just look. I'm wide awake!" He stomps his feet, pretending to be Dexter. The defiance feels so natural. All this acting sends Cora into fits of laughter. Her joy lights up the whole room.

It's impressive how she's become a new, different person since we picked her up almost a week ago. There's a lot we need to work on, like her issue with hiding food or getting anxious when Caleb cries. It's like she's afraid that we'll get mad at her. Time will show her that her baby brother isn't her responsibility and she has to learn to be just a kid.

"Mommy, Dexter doesn't wanna go to bed," Gabe squeaks in a high-pitched whine, eliciting another gleeful squeal from Cora.

He flips the page, his voice softening to a warm, gentle tone for Dexter's mother. "Sweetheart, nighttime is when the whole world rests to recharge. The stars, the moon, even the trees sleep now, storing energy for tomorrow's adventures."

Seeing Gabe so tender and silly with the kids reminds me of better times between us—times when we were still happy before the miscarriage and grief tore us apart. The memories ache like an old wound in bad weather.

I sigh, pushing the memories away. I need to focus on this moment, I tell myself. These two sweet kids need me now. There's no point rehashing the unchangeable past.

Caleb's eyes droop closed, his suckling slowing to a stop. I lift him to my shoulder, gently patting and rubbing his little back until he lets out a satisfied burp.

"I think it's time to start getting ready for bed," I announce, hoping we don't have a meltdown.

There's something about nighttime that she doesn't like. So far, she hasn't had any nightmares, but every night, we check on her after we're done with Caleb's feedings.

"Cora, sweetie, did you brush your teeth already?" I ask, knowing that she's actually ready for bed.

She nods but pouts, hugging her blanky closer. "But I wanna know what happens wif Dextah."

I give her a sympathetic smile. "I know, sweetie. But little dinosaurs need their rest, just like little girls. Gabe will finish telling you the story tomorrow night."

"That's a promise." Gabe nods and stands up, lifting the sleepy baby from my arms. "Say goodnight, buddy," he whispers before carefully laying him down in his crib and tucking him in snugly.

Watching Caleb's peaceful face, I feel that familiar ache—that longing for what can never be.

"Cora, it's night-night time," Gabe says with gentle firmness, but Cora, with the stubbornness of a toddler, shakes her head.

"Nope. No, fank you," Cora insists, even as she rubs her eyes.

"How about one last hug from Dexter the Dinosaur?" Gabe offers, using one of the voices from their story. Cora's eyes light up, and she nods eagerly, finally relenting.

"Okay, but remember that you have to go to bed." He scoops her up, her laughter filling the room as they exit, heading toward her bedroom. I follow, still finding this nightly ritual sweet and painful. I love it and yet, it hurts too much.

In Cora's room, Gabe gently places her in her bed. "Night-night, Cora," he says, kissing the top of her head.

I pull the covers up to her chin, tucking in the edges with care.

"Whese Teddy?" She yawns.

I find her bear and snuggle it next to her.

"Good night, Cora," I whisper, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Her eyelids flutter closed, and soon, her breathing deepens. She's already on her way to dreamland, probably with Dexter and all the new friends she's been making.

Gabe clicks on the nightlight, bathing the room in a warm glow. We both linger for a moment, watching her sleep. This is how it should have been for us—reading bedtime stories and tucking in our own children each night. If only things had been different.

I feel Gabe's eyes on me in the dim light. Neither of us speaks, the silence weighted with memories of all we've lost. After a long moment, I turn and slip quietly from the room, my heart aching for the family we'll never have.

I hear Gabe's soft footsteps behind me as I reach my doorway. Pausing there, I keep my back to him.

"Good night, Gabe," I rasp, moving to close the door.

Gabe steps closer, the heat of him singeing my skin. "Don't shut me out," he implores with an urgency in his voice that resonates deep within my soul.

I turn to face him. His blue eyes stare at me, searching . . . For what? "What do you want from me, Gabe?" I whisper, biting back what I truly yearn to confess.

I feel empty inside, like there's nothing left of me to offer. All I really want is to escape the tangled mess of emotions that keep me tied to him.

Cora and Caleb are what keep me close to him, yet they're also the reason why I keep wanting him. If given the chance, I'd pull Gabe close to me. So close, we'll be like two comets colliding with a force capable enough to destroy an entire universe. But I don't do it because I'll just destroy us both in the process. Neither one of us would be able to survive what happened like the last time.

Gabe steps forward, his arms spread wide, his expression one of open honesty. "I just want to hold you. It's hard seeing you in so much pain," he admits.

My treacherous body sways toward the solid heat of him, but I cling desperately to tattered restraint. "I'm fine," I state, willing my voice steady. "I don't need you, Gabe."

"But I need you." He moves nearer still, piercing blue eyes burning down into mine, searing me to the core. His breath feathers warm against my upturned face, and I shudder.

"It's probably me, the one who needs you. Your comfort," Gabe says, his eyes holding mine in a steady, intense gaze. "I need you like the desert needs rain, like the night sky needs stars. You're the air that fills my lungs, Ameline. In your arms, I find peace—the kind of peace I've only experienced with you. I wish . . .

"I wish you would crave me, need me . . . Love me the way you used to." Gabe's voice breaks slightly. He brushes his knuckles over my cheek with exquisite tenderness.

"Without you, I feel like I'm wandering in the dark. Like a ship drifting aimlessly at sea." Gabe's voice is rough, filled with a rawness that makes my heart ache. "Let me back in, baby. You're the air that fills my lungs, the only hope that lights up my world. In your arms, I feel a sense of belonging I can't find anywhere else."

His fingertips graze my jaw, leaving fiery trails along my skin. My lips part in helpless longing, and he sweeps closer, our bodies so close they're almost melting, fusing.

"Gabe," I breathe out his name.

"Crave me, desire me, love me again . . . know me in ways no one else ever has." Gabe's voice is husky, his lips just a breath away from mine. "I don't just want your body, Ameline. I want every part of you, your whole soul laid bare before me."

I let out a soft moan, driven by a mixture of longing and pain, and close the distance between us, giving in to the depth of his kiss. I can feel him in every fiber of my being, his presence filling me with a warmth that spreads from my lips to my toes. But this is a lot more than mouths pressing, tongues tangling, and breaths mixing.

This is grief.

This is forgiveness.

This might be what it feels like to finally come home.