Now she looks up. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Heart attack. At the clubhouse. I treated him. Paramedics took him to the hospital. He'll probably survive.” I drop my bag by the door. "So that happened."
Izzy's expression cycles through shock, disbelief, and grudging approval. "You saved the man who almost killed your baby?"
"I'm a nurse. I don't get to be selective about who deserves treatment."
"You're a better person than me. I would've let him suffer."
"No, you wouldn't have. You're all talk." I move to pick up Santiago, who immediately makes happy sounds and grabs my hair. "Hey, baby boy. Did you have a good day with Auntie Izzy?"
"He was perfect. Ate, napped, played. Standard baby activities." Izzy stands, grabs her purse. "I'm leaving you two alone tonight. Zane, don't burn the house down. Lena, try to relax. You've earned it."
She's out the door before I can protest.
Zane appears from the kitchen, abandoning whatever culinary disaster he was attempting. "You saved Ghost."
"Word travels fast."
"Joker called. Told me everything." He crosses to me, studies my face like he's looking for damage. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just tired. First day back at work, medical emergency, saving the life of someone who tried to destroy us. Standard Tuesday."
"That's not standard anything." He touches my face gently. "You're incredible."
"I'm a nurse. I did my job."
"You're more than that." His voice drops. "You're powerful. You save everyone—even those who don't deserve it. That's real strength."
Tears prick my eyes—exhaustion and emotion and the weight of the day catching up. "I don't feel powerful. I feel tired."
"Then let me take care of you." He takes Santiago from my arms, settles him in the bouncer. "Dinner's almost ready. Well, 'ready' is generous. Pizza's on the way because I definitely burned whatever I was making. But the intention was there."
I laugh despite everything. "The intention counts."
We eat pizza sitting on the couch, Santiago between us making baby sounds and grabbing at our food. It's not fancy. It's not Instagram-worthy. But it's ours.
After dinner, after Santiago's bath and bedtime routine, after he's finally asleep in his crib, Zane and I stand in our bedroom and suddenly the air feels different.
Charged.
We've been too exhausted, too focused on survival, too consumed by keeping a tiny human alive to even think about this. But now Santiago's asleep. We're alone. And it's been three months since we've been intimate.
Three months of healing, recovering, adjusting. Three months of being parents instead of partners. Three months of stolen kisses and interrupted moments. Three months since I gave birth and my body became something different.
"I'm cleared," I blurt out. "Medically. Dr. Morrison cleared me at my eight-week appointment and then I just... we never... it's been so chaotic and—"
"Lena." Zane cuts off my nervous rambling. "We don't have to do anything. If you're tired—"
"I'm always tired. That's parenthood." I step closer. "But I miss you. I miss us. I miss being more than just co-parents surviving on four hours of sleep."
"I miss you too." He touches my face, and there's heat in his eyes that I haven't seen in months. "But your body's been through hell. You created a human. I don't want to rush—"
"Zane. I want this. I want you. I want to remember what it feels like to be wanted as a woman, not just needed as a mother."
Something in his expression shifts. "You're always wanted. Changed body and all. You're more beautiful now than you've ever been."
"I have stretch marks."
