Turns out both my parents and Kevin’s had threatened to disown him if he didn’t“bring me back home.”
Like I was a thing.
A possession.
Something to retrieve.
But that part of my life feels farther away every day.
Especially when I wake up like this…
Warm.
Safe.
Wrapped in Ethan’s steady breathing.
I roll onto my side and watch him sleep. His right arm still holds a faint scar, a thin pink line that rises and falls with each breath. No sling today. No grimace. Just peaceful, quiet strength.
God, he’s healing.
We all are.
I trace a finger along the inside of his forearm, over the places where IVs once sat. He shifts, lashes lifting slowly, eyes soft and sleepy.
“Morning, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.
My heart melts. Every time.
“Does it hurt today?” I whisper.
He lifts and rotates his arm gently.“Only when I try to grab the cereal on the top shelf.” A small grin tugs at his mouth.“Which is clearly discrimination against the wounded.”
I laugh, light and free in a way I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in my life.
He tugs me closer with his good arm, pulling me onto his chest. His hand finds my hair, stroking, grounding me, like he always does.
“I like waking up with you,” he says softly.
“You’ve been waking up with me for months.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, a smile in his voice.“But now I get to do it without you sobbing into my hospital gown.”
I groan.“I cried once.”
“Summer.” He gives me the look.“You cried every time they changed my bandages.”
“Okay, maybe a few times.”
“Maybe,” he says, kissing the top of my head,“but that’s because you love me.”
Before I can answer, a tiny fist knocks on the door.
“Mommyyy,” Mia whines.“Efan said we could make pancakes and it’s been a hundred hours.”
He grins.“You heard the mini boss.”
“You sure you should be flipping pancakes?”
