So I've been doing everything I can to show her she matters, that this is real, that I'm not going anywhere. I bring her flowers when I can, just single stems picked up from the grocery store or the farmer's market. Nothing extravagant that might overwhelm her, just small tokens that say I'm thinking about you, you're important to me, I want you to be happy.
The first time I'd given her a daisy, she'd stared at it like I'd handed her something precious and breakable. Her eyes had filled with tears and she'd whispered, "No one's ever given me flowers before. Not just because. Vincent only did it when he was apologizing for something."
I'd kissed her then, and promised myself I'd give her flowers as often as I could. Just because. Just to see that wonder in her eyes, that disbelief that someone might want to make her happy without expecting anything in return.
Riley caught on to what I was doing and showed up yesterday with a dandelion she'd picked from the backyard, presenting it to Amelia with all the ceremony of someone offering a dozen roses. The way Amelia had dropped to her knees and pulled Riley into a hug, thanking her like it was the most beautiful flower in the world, had made both Hunter and Silas stop what they were doing to watch.
I'm trying to keep our moments quiet. Not because I'm ashamed or hiding anything, but because I want to give Amelia the power to tell people when she's ready. This is her choice, her timeline. She gets to decide when the kids know, when we make it official, when she's ready to take that step.
Though if Isaac's knowing looks and Riley's delighted giggles every time she catches us holding hands are any indication, the kids have already figured it out.
The evening routine has become sacred over the past two weeks. After dinner and baths, after teeth are brushed and pajamas are on, I read to the kids in Riley's room. It started as just us, the three of us tucked onto Riley's bed with a stack of books between us. But then Amelia started appearing in the doorway, hesitant at first, asking if she could listen too.
Now she curls up in the reading chair in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest, watching us with this soft expression that makes my heart do stupid things in my chest. Sometimes Isaac will abandon his spot next to me to climb into her lap instead, and she'll hold him while I read, her chin resting on top of his curly head, her fingers absently playing with his hair.
Tonight follows the same pattern. Riley picks out three books, Isaac insists we read them in a specific order, and I settle in between them on the bed. Amelia is already in the chair, wearing soft clothes she keeps in the guest room now, her hair down from its usual braid and falling around her shoulders.
She looks beautiful. She always looks beautiful, but there's something about seeing her like this, relaxed and comfortable in our space, that makes it hard to breathe properly.
I read through the first book, doing all the voices that make the kids giggle. Isaac keeps interrupting to point out details in the illustrations, and Riley provides running commentary on the plot choices. It's chaos and perfect and everything I thought we'd lost when Evie died.
By the second book, Isaac has migrated to Amelia's lap. She adjusts without complaint, making room for him, one arm wrapped around his middle while her other hand rests on the arm of the chair. He's getting heavy, too big to really fit comfortably anymore, but she doesn't seem to mind. Just holds him close and listens to the story with the same rapt attention as the kids.
The third book is longer, one of Riley's chapter books that we've been working through over the past week. I'm about halfway through when I notice Isaac has fallen asleep against Amelia's chest, his mouth slightly open, completely gone. Riley is fighting it, her eyes drooping and then flying open again like she's determined not to miss the ending.
"I think that's enough for tonight," I say softly, closing the book with my finger marking our place. "We'll finish tomorrow."
"But we're so close to the good part," Riley protests, though her yawn undermines the argument.
"All the more reason to save it," Amelia says gently. "That way you have something to look forward to."
Riley considers this and then nods, satisfied with the logic. I help her get settled under her covers, tucking her in the way she likes with her stuffed rabbit within reach. She's almost too old for this, will probably be too old for it soon, but for now she still lets me tuck her in and kiss her forehead goodnight.
"Love you, sweetheart," I murmur against her hair.
"Love you too, Daddy." She's already half-asleep, her eyes drifting closed.
Amelia stands carefully, cradling Isaac against her chest. He doesn't even stir, completely boneless in sleep. We move quietly out of Riley's room and into Isaac's down the hall, working together in practiced silence to get him settled. Amelia lays him down gently while I pull the covers up, and we both pause for a moment to watch him sleep.
His face is peaceful, all the energy and chaos of the day smoothed away into this perfect stillness. One hand is curled under his cheek, the other clutching his favorite truck. This beautiful boy who's been through so much and still has so much love to give.
Amelia's hand finds mine in the darkness, her fingers threading through mine and squeezing gently. When I look over at her, she's watching Isaac with such tenderness that my throat goes tight. She loves him. She loves both of them. Not because she has to, not because it's her job, but because that's who she is. Someone with a heart so big she can't help but love the people around her, even when she's terrified of getting hurt again.
We slip out of Isaac's room together, pulling the door most of the way closed but leaving it open a crack in case he wakes up and calls for us. We should go downstairs and join the others, maybe watch a movie or just sit together. It's what we usually do after the kids are down, the four of us finding our way back to each other after the chaos of the evening.
But I don't want to go downstairs. I want to be alone with Amelia and have her to myself for just a little while without sharing her attention with anyone else. It's selfish, maybe, but I don't care.
We stop outside my bedroom door, the same place we've stopped the past three nights. This space where we say goodnight, where I kiss her softly and watch her walk to theguest room, where I spend the next hour lying awake wishing she was beside me instead.
"Thank you for reading to them," she says softly, her hand still in mine. "They love story time with you. Riley told me today it's her favorite part of the day."
"It's mine too," I admit. "Especially now that you're there."
She smiles, that soft, uncertain smile that says she still can't quite believe this is real. That I could want her presence, that her being there makes things better instead of worse.
I reach up with my free hand to cup her face, my thumb stroking across her cheekbone. Her skin is warm, smooth, and she leans into the touch like a flower turning toward the sun. Everything about her calls to something deep inside me, something that wants to protect and cherish and claim her as mine.
"Stay," I whisper, the word barely audible in the quiet hallway. "Stay with me tonight."
