The cabin becomes our refuge for a week—a small pocket of time carved away from grief's heaviest weight where we can simply exist together.
Amisra thrives here. She explores the woods with Valas at her heels, builds elaborate stick forts in the clearing, and actually laughs when he tells her ridiculous stories about forest creatures that absolutely don't exist. The tension that's been holding her small shoulders rigid since her father's death starts to ease, replaced by something that looks almost like peace.
I watch them together—Uncle Val teaching her to skip stones across the stream, both of them crouched low with matching expressions of concentration—and my heart does something complicated in my chest. This is what family should look like. What it could be for us.
At night, after Amisra falls asleep in the second bedroom surrounded by blankets Valas spelled to smell like spring meadows, I slip into his bed. We make love quietly, reverently, like we're still learning the shape of this thing between us. Sometimes it's desperate and urgent, both of us reaching for connection to push back the darkness. Other times it's slowand tender, hands mapping skin with careful attention while we whisper confessions in the dark.
I never leave his bed. Can't bring myself to put space between us when being close to him feels like the only thing keeping me grounded.
On our fifth morning at the cabin, I wake to find Valas already awake, one arm tucked behind his head while his other hand traces idle patterns on my bare shoulder. Early light filters through the window, painting his slate-gray skin in shades of pearl and silver.
"You're staring." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.
"Just appreciating the view." His fingers slide into my hair, gentle. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and discover this was all some elaborate dream."
"If it is, we're having the same dream." I shift to prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face. "Which seems unlikely."
His smile carries that soft edge I've come to recognize—the one that means he's thinking about something serious beneath the levity. I wait, giving him space to work up to whatever he needs to say.
"Did you know… Daryn made me promise to do exactly this?" The words come out quiet, careful. "Before he died, he made me promise to love you both. To be good parents for Amisra. To build a real family."
My breath catches. I knew Daryn cared about me, trusted me with his daughter, but this?—
"He saw it before we did." Valas continues, his thumb stroking across my shoulder blade. "Or maybe he just saw what could be if we let ourselves have it. He told me weeks before he died that he wanted this. Wanted us to be Amisra's parents. Wanted me to stop being an idiot and tell you how I felt."
"He always was perceptive." The words come out thick with emotion I'm trying to hold back. "Too perceptive sometimes."
"He loved you." Valas cups my face with his free hand, making me look at him. "Not just as Amisra's nanny but as family. He wanted you to have a real home, real security. He wanted both of us to have each other."
Tears burn at the back of my eyes. "I miss him."
"Me too." His voice cracks slightly. "Every day. But I think—I think he'd be happy. Seeing us like this. Knowing we're taking care of Ami together."
I lean down to kiss him, tasting salt from tears I can't quite hold back. When I pull away, I press my forehead to his.
"Thank you for telling me."
"Always." His arms come around me, holding tight. "No more secrets between us. Just honesty."
"Just honesty," I echo.
The grief hitsAmisra harder when we return home.
I notice it immediately—the way her steps slow as we cross the threshold, how her eyes track to the places her father used to sit, the careful way she avoids his study entirely. She's quieter again, withdrawing into herself like she did right after Daryn died.
It breaks my heart watching her try to be brave.
That night, after I've tucked Amisra into bed and sung her the lullaby she requested twice because she's still afraid of nightmares, I find Valas in the guest room he's claimed as his own. All of his belongings are here now, carefully arranged on shelves and in the wardrobe. It feels odd to still be sharing a room with him now that we're back, but neither of us want any different.
He's at the desk, staring at some healing scroll but not really reading it based on the unfocused quality of his gaze. I come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pressing my cheek to his hair.
"She's struggling." I don't bother with preamble. "Being back here is harder than I thought it would be."
Valas sets the scroll down, his hands coming up to cover mine where they rest on his chest. "I know. I can see it too."
"Everything reminds her of him." I squeeze gently. "Every room, every corner. She walked past the sitting room three times today and I watched her flinch each time like she was seeing a ghost."
He's quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking over my knuckles. Then he turns in the chair, pulling me around to stand between his knees so he can look at me properly.
