"Then don't carry it alone. Let me hold some of it too. That's what love is. Not fixing each other. Just staying. Showing up."
I lean closer.
"You loved me enough to walk away. Now love me enough to stay."
His eyes drop to our joined hands. Then slowly, so slowly, he leans in. His forehead touches mine.
"I'm still scared."
"So am I."
We sit there like that for a long time, breathing together. Our pain is the same.
And then he kisses me.
It's not like the kisses we shared before he left. Not urgent. Not fiery. This one is slow. Tender. A little broken. A little healing. A promise wrapped in heartache.
His lips tremble against mine. His hand finds the back of my neck, his palm warm and rough. I trail my fingers along his jaw, feeling the stubble and the heat beneath his skin. He smells like sweat and antiseptic and a trace of the cedar soap he’s always used.
A memory flickers through me—the first time on the swing, only heavier. More real. Now we know what it means to lose things. And what it costs to choose them anyway.
My hand slips into his hair. And for a few moments, it's just us again. The war, the pain, the fear, all of it fades until the only thing left is the way we still fit.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
"I still want the land," he says, voice rough. "And I still want you. Although I don't know how to make it work."
Reaching for his hand, I place it on my belly.
He startles.
The baby kicks.
His fingers twitch. Then still.
He stares at my bump like he's seeing it for the first time. His eyes shine, and I watch his throat work as he tries to swallow emotion thick in his chest.
As he spreads his fingers gently across the curve of my stomach, his hand trembles.
"That's ours?" he whispers, voice breaking.
"Yeah," I breathe.
He exhales a shaky breath, his thumb tracing my skin as if carving this moment into his memory.
"I didn't know I could still feel this much," he whispers, as though the truth might collapse in the air.
"You can," I whisper. "And you will. We'll figure it out together."
"Tell me everything I missed," he sighs.
So I do.
He shifts a little to make room, and I carefully climb into bed beside him. His hand stays protectively over my belly as I talk.
"The first kick was just a flutter. I wasn't even sure it was real until the second one."
He glances down at my belly, fascinated.
