“I miss him,” he said, voice cracking.“Every damn day.I miss my brother.I miss the way he used to annoy me on purpose just to see how fast he could get me to snap.I miss his stupid victory dance in the kitchen when he stole the last piece of pie.I miss how when he first started playing, he used to call me at two in the morning after a win just to tell me some play-by-play I already saw on TV.”
My bottom lip trembled.
“And I am terrified,” Eli continued, “that the way we lost him is going to take you too.Not your body.You’re stubborn.You’ll outlive us all.But this part,” He touched his fingertips lightly to my temple, then my chest.“The part that laughs.That loves.That looks forward.We need that part.Ineed that part.And so does she.”
His hand dropped, hovering over my belly, hesitant.
“Can I…?”he asked.
I nodded, throat too tight to speak.He rested his palm over the curve of my stomach, his touch warm and careful.We stayed like that, the three of us, in a triangle of grief and love and silence.
And then she kicked, hard, right against his hand.We both startled.
A breathless laugh burst out of Eli, choked with tears.“Well, hi there, little one,” he whispered.“You got some fight in you?”
The second kick came, and then the third.Like she was agreeing with Eli, like she was sayingI’m here, I’m here, pay attention to me.
Something inside me shifted and then cracked.Not the sharp shatter of the night on the highway, not the hollow breaking at the hospital...something… else.
Like a frozen river shifting under the first thaw.
I pressed my hand over Eli’s, over her, over the tiny heel pushing up under my skin.I felt her strength.Felt her insistence.Felt the truth of what I hadn't been able to see.
She wasreal.
She wasalive.
She was half him, half me, and entirely herself.
Eli leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine for a second, his voice rough.
“We’ve got you, Tess,” he murmured.“Mom, Dad, Kenz, me, Chase… hell, even Adam and the boys from Nate's team.We’ve all got you.You will never be alone.But she...”his hand pressed gently against my belly, “needs you to come back to us.Even if it’s slow.Even if it’s messy.Just… come back.”
He pulled away, stood up, and kissed the top of my head.
“I’m going to go help unload the truck,” he said quietly.“Take your time.No one’s going to come in here unless you invite them.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
The room was very quiet.
Just me.
The chair.
The crib.
The jersey.
The letters.
And the baby.
She shifted again, slower now, like she was settling.
I looked around at the hand-painted flowers, the little horses running along the wall, the mobile turning lazily, the framed jersey that felt less like a shrine and more like a promise that her father had fully existed in this world.
With trembling fingers, I reached out and ran my hand along the arm of my dad’s recliner.The fabric was worn soft and somehow familiar.
