Three words I'd never thought I'd hear from him. Three words that shouldn't have meant as much as they did coming from someone like him.
But they did.
They meant everything.
"I love you too," I whispered back.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, I meant it without reservation.
Without fear.
Without doubt.
Just pure, honest, fucked up truth.
Chapter 15
Killlian
Months later…
The wood shavings fell away in delicate curls as I worked the plane across the cradle's headboard, revealing the grain beneath. Cherry wood, smooth and warm under my hands. I'd chosen it specifically for this, spent weeks selecting the perfect piece from the lumber yard two towns over.
Nothing but the best for my child.
My workshop was quiet except for the rhythmic scrape of the tool and the distant sound of birds calling to each other in the trees. Sunlight filtered through the single window, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air.
I paused, running my fingers over the carved design I'd been working on for the past month. A woman with antlers, delicate and dreamlike, surrounded by forest creatures. The same image Lena had drawn all those months ago, the sketch I'd stolen from her cabin before she even knew my name.
It felt right, somehow. Full circle.
The cradle was nearly finished now. Just a few more details to carve, some sanding, then the finish I'd mix myself from linseed oil and beeswax. It would be perfect. Had to be perfect.
I set down the plane and stretched, my back protesting slightly. I'd been out here since dawn, lost in the meditative rhythm of the work.
Through the workshop window, I could see our cabin, smoke curling lazily from the chimney even though it was late spring. Lena liked the fire going. Said it made the place feel cozy.
And there, in the front yard, was my wife.
The word still sent a thrill through me even six months after the wedding. My wife. Mine in every legal, binding, permanent way.
She was sitting in the Adirondack chair I'd built last summer, an easel set up in front of her, barefoot with her sundress stretched over her heavily pregnant belly. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, and she had that concentrated expression she always got when she was painting.
Beautiful.
Absolutely fucking beautiful.
I watched her for a moment, just drinking in the sight. The way her hand moved across the canvas with confident strokes. The way she paused occasionally to rest her palm on her stomach, talking to the baby like it could already hear her.
It probably could.
We were due in three weeks, give or take. A girl. Our daughter.
Lena had cried when we found out. Happy tears, she'd insisted, but I'd seen the fear underneath. Fear that our daughter would grow up in this isolated place. Fear that I'd be too controlling, too possessive.
Fear that she'd made a mistake.
But that fear had faded over the months. As her belly grew and the reality of our child became undeniable, something had shifted in her. She'd nested, made the cabin truly ours with her art on the walls and her books on the shelves. She'd even starteda garden, planting vegetables and herbs with an intensity that made me smile.
