Not from anyone.
Marco glances over and catches me staring. “Morning.”
“Morning yourself.” I sit up and the wedding band glints. Still weird.Goodweird, in the best possible way.
“Ben’s already up,” Marco says. He sets his phone down and that protective energy radiates off him. Dad-mode activated.
“It’s her birthday,” I point out. “Of course she’s up.”
Six years old today.
About the same age I was when I got lost in the woods. The age when I learned that being alone and scared could make you perform bravery you didn’t actually feel.
Ben’s already learned the scared part. Already knows what it’s like to face something terrifying.
But she won’t learn the alone part.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
There’s a soft knock at the door. Then Ben’s voice.
“Jess?” Small. Hesitant.
“Come in,piccola,” Marco calls.
The door opens and there she is. Wild curls that match mine. Eyes like Marco’s. Wearing the pajamas we bought together last week with the little pasta shapes printed all over them.
She stands in the doorway fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
“Can you help me do my curls likeyours?” she asks quietly. “For my party?”
Something in my chest cracks open.
Likemine.
Not her mother’s.
“Of course,” I manage. My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Come here.”
I blink several times, and have to look away while I get a handle on my emotions.
Marco catches my eye, sees my face, and starts choking up himself.
“What’s wrong with daddy?” Ben asks.
“Nothing,” I quickly wipe a tear from my cheek and then turn to face her. “Just something in his eye.”
I give her a sweet smile.
Ben nods, and then crosses the room and climbs onto the bed between us. Marco wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“Love you,” he says softly, a fresh tear streaking down his cheek.
This. This is what I was running from for years. Connection. Belonging. The terrifying vulnerability of letting people see you and choosing to stay anyway.
“Bathroom?” I suggest.
Ben nods enthusiastically.
