“Claudia…” Deacon says my name like it’s something fragile in that way that makes me believe I don’t always have to be the strongest person in the room.
“After that, everything shifted. Nothing else mattered. Not my degree, not my plans, not even the fear. Just her. Everything I am now—every decision I make—is because of her.”
He exhales, a deep, quiet sound that feels like it’s been trapped in his chest for a long time. “You talk about it like it broke you and built you at the same time.”
“Yeah” I think for a moment and wonder how it is he does that, sees things no one else does, explain feelings I can’t explain to myself, but that’s it exactly. “It did.”
“You’re stronger than anyone I know. You have no idea how incredibly attractive that is.”
I laugh softly. “You say that like you’ve seen me do more than survive nap time.”
He doesn’t laugh. “I mean it. I’ve never met a person who’s walked through fire who’s heart was stronger than one that has never been hurt.”
The words hit something deep in me — that quiet place I don’t let anyone touch. “That’s only because the fire gave me her.”
He’s quiet again and when he finally speaks, his voice is different — softer. “Wish I could’ve been there.”
My heart catches. “For the birth?”
“For the birth and the parts after,” he murmurs. “The quiet. The holding you while you held her and all those parts I could still have if you let me.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” he says. “But it’s the best kind of not.”
For a long time, neither of us says anything and then finally, he says, “Get some sleep, Doc.”
“You, too.”
“Trying,” he mutters, but I hear the smile in it before the line clicks quiet.
I set my phone down and look toward Savannah’s crib, and whisper, “Yeah, me too.”
Savannahand I slip into the house quietly, the way you do when you already feel like you might be intruding even though you have every reason to be here. I unlock the door with the code Nalani insisted I use whenever I needed. The lights are dim, the kitchen spotless the way she always leaves it before bed, and I exhale with this tiny puff of guilt that sits permanent in my chest now.
I still feel awful about last night. I promised I would be here when Koa was on the road. Ipromised. But it was too late to text or call when I realized Coach D had changed plans.
But all I could think about all night was the stack of pregnancy tests shoved behind a box of cold medicine I shouldn’t have seen, then the ones with negative results crumpled in the bathroom trash when I was emptying basketto take the bag of dirty diapers out. Last night she seemed fine when I left, and the fact she hasn’t told me, means she doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s okay. But me breaking a promise isn’t.
So, I had to come this morning. Had to.
Savannah is warm in her carrier, half-asleep, making those tiny satisfied hums she does after an early morning feed. I kiss the top of her fuzzy head and quietly climb the stairs, listening for any sound that tells me Nalani is awake.
Halfway up, I hear it. A soft, awful retching sound. My stomach drops.
I pick up my pace, careful but fast, and round the corner at the top of the stairs.
The bathroom door is cracked open. Light spills across the hallway carpet and inside, Nalani is hunched over the sink one hand braced on the faucet, the other gripping the edge of the sink.
She does not see me yet. Her whole body tightens as another wave hits, her hair falling forward until it brushes the counter. My heart squeezes.
“Nalani,” I say softly as I step in.
She jerks slightly, then slumps, exhausted and shaky. “Claudia,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “God. I did not hear you come in.”
I set Savannah’s carrier gently by the door and kneel beside her, grab a hair tie and pull her hair into a ponytail.
She tries to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand. “It hit me out of nowhere. I thought it was just a little nausea but then…”
