I ease to a stop at a red light, and turn to her, taking one of her hands and gently unclenching it. Her nails had pressed tiny little crescent moons into the skin of her palm.
"It's okay," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her hand.
She smiles, nodding.
"I know, I trust you," she whispers.
The words hit me hard. Her trust was something I had lost, something I had to work to get back, because without trust, what was left for her? I had been decidedly untrustworthy with my actions that year, but these last six months, I've earned some of it back, second by second.
Just as I felt when I found the papers nullifying our separation, I feel so much hope welling up in my chest.
It's not all for nothing. I fucked it up by my silence, my fear, my inability to confront my mental health, but I fucking earned it back by doing the hardest and most rewarding work I've ever had to do.
The most important work I'll ever do.
Taking care of my mental health so that I can be the husband and father my wife and kids deserve.
I press another kiss to her hand as the light turns green, and keep it in mine as I ease my foot off the brake and carefully guide us home.
...
Wendy smiles as I wheel her through the front door, assisted by the wheelchair ramp Trace had installed.
The boys, my parents, and Silas stand in the entryway. Noahhad painted a banner—Welcome Home, Mama!—and hung it from the walls above our family photos. It's painted all warm orange, red, and yellows, the colors we always associate with Wendy.
"Welcome home!" Noah runs up to Wendy, but then stops himself, before gently wrapping his arms around her.
I smile at my careful boy and at Wendy's smile as she presses a kiss to his little ginger head. Liam comes up behind him and wraps his arms around them both, Wendy turning her head to kiss him.
"Welcome home, Mama," Liam murmurs.
"I'm so happy to be home," Wendy sniffs, glancing back over her shoulder at me with a happy smile. I lean down and kiss her head, and my parents follow suit with their own greetings. Silas presses a kiss to her head.
"Look at you, Wen," Silas grins happily.
Silas had come to help Trace set up the house as instructed by the doctors. We have an extra room downstairs that's kind of always been a catch-all room since we only needed three bedrooms in this four-bedroom house.
As I wheel Wendy inside, we're floored. Silas and Trace completely transformed it into a comfortable bedroom for us.
Trace and Silas cleared out the room and carried down our big bed for us, even putting on fresh sheets and our cream comforter, which Wendy loves because it's so soft.
They also carried our heavy dresser full of our clothes and set up the commode for Wendy, who pointedly ignores it for now, her cheeks flushing.
The room doesn't look like a bare hospital room, which I am very thankful for. I want Wendy to feel happy, safe, and comfortable in it, because she'll be here for a bit while she heals.
Thankfully, Noah also placed his touch on it, hanging some bright pictures he drew all around the room to make his Mama happy.
I wheel Wendy further into the room and stop thewheelchair by her bed. My mom's already moving, pulling the covers back so that I can lift Wendy up out of her wheelchair.
She hisses slightly, and I press a kiss to her head, "Sorry, baby."
"It's okay," she smiles through her wince as I gently place her back down on the bed. Once she's settled into a comfortable position, she sighs in relief. "Thank you."
"Are you hungry?" I ask, and she nods her head.
"Mabel delivered some casseroles to the freezer. I'll go start the oven. Boys, come help," Mom says, nodding at my dad, brother, and sons to come with her and give us some privacy.
I'm thankful for this, because despite being family, I sense that my wife doesn't want people hovering around her.
