"I love you," I say against her lips. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"I love you too." Her voice breaks on the words. "I'm so sorry for everything. For all the years I?—"
"Shh." I kiss the tears from her cheeks. "Clean slate, remember? We start fresh. Right here. Right now."
She nods, pulling me closer, and we lose ourselves in each other. It's slow and gentle, just like I promised.
We have all the time in the world now.
No more rushed goodbyes, no more desperate last chances.
Just this. Just us.
When we finally come apart, gasping and trembling, I pull her tight against my chest and don't let go.
Later, we lie tangled together in the new sheets, her head on my chest and my hand tracing lazy patterns on her back.
The snow is falling harder now, piling up on the windowsill, but the room is warm.
Safe.
The sounds of the clubhouse filter through the walls—laughter, music, the low rumble of conversation—but they feel distant.
Unimportant.
Right now, the only thing that matters is the woman in my arms.
"I'm scared," she admits quietly. "About tomorrow. About all the tomorrows after that."
"I know. Me too."
"What if I mess up? What if I relapse? What if?—"
"Then we deal with it. Together." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "One day at a time, Van. That's all we can do. That's all anyone can do."
She shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me.
Her hair is mussed, her cheeks flushed, her eyes still a little red from crying.
She's never looked more beautiful. "You really believe that? That we can make this work?"
"I believe in you." I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've always believed in you. Even when you couldn't believe in yourself."
She's quiet for a moment, processing that.
Then she lays her head back on my chest, her arm wrapped tight around my waist.
"One day at a time," she says.
"One day at a time."
Outside, the snow keeps falling, blanketing the compound in white.
Inside, my wife is in my arms, our baby growing between us, and for the first time in years, the future doesn't feel like something to fear.
It feels like something to fight for.
CHAPTER NINE
