Travis would have been proud of that, I thought. Proud that I’d found the courage to keep going. Proud that I hadn’t let his sacrifice be for nothing.
I thought about him more often than I probably should. Thought about the way he’d looked at me that last night, his eyes full of love and fear and desperate hope. Thought about the promises he’d made, the future he’d imagined, the life we were supposed to build together.
He’d given up everything for me. For us. For this child growing inside me who would never know their father’s face, never hear his laugh, never feel the safety of his arms.
And somehow, impossibly, I’d made peace with that.
Not the kind of peace that meant I was okay with it. Not the kind that meant I didn’t still wake up some nights reaching for him, expecting to find him there. But the kind that meant I could accept it. Could acknowledge that he’d made his choice, and that choice had been me, and that I owed it to him to live the life he’d died to give me.
Even if that life felt hollow sometimes. Even if it felt like I was going through the motions, playing a role, pretending to be whole when pieces of me were still scattered across that beach in North Carolina.
“Mama!” Danika’s voice cut through my thoughts. She was running toward me now, her blonde curls bouncing, her face flushed with exertion and joy. “Mama, did you see? Did you see the bird?”
“I saw, baby,” I said, opening my arms as she crashed into me with the full force of her small body. “You were very brave.”
She climbed onto the bench beside me, pressing herself against my side, one hand reaching out to pat my belly with the careful gentleness I’d taught her. “Is the baby awake?”
“I think so,” I said. “Want to feel?”
She nodded eagerly, and I guided her hand to the spot where I’d felt movement earlier. We waited, both of us holding our breath, until finally—there. A small flutter, barely perceptible, but enough to make Danika’s eyes go wide with wonder.
“I felt it!” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might scare the baby away. “I felt the baby move!”
“You did,” I confirmed, my throat tight with emotion I couldn’t quite name.
Dante watched us with an expression that was equal parts fond and sad. He’d been there through all of it—the grief, the pregnancy, the adoption, the slow, painful process of learning to live again. He had been patient and persistent and infuriatingly optimistic, refusing to let me disappear into the darkness even when that was all I wanted to do.
I owed him more than I could ever repay.
“So,” he said after a moment, his tone deliberately light. “About that practice…”
I laughed despite myself. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it comes to family.”
The words settled between us, warm and genuine. Dante had become something like an older brother to me over these last few months, not by blood, but by choice. By showing up, caring for me. By refusing to let me face this alone.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally. “After the baby comes. After I figure out how to be a mother to two children instead of one. After—”
“After you stop waiting for him to come back.”
His words hit like a physical blow. I turned to stare at Dante, my breath catching in my chest. He met my gaze steadily, no apology in his expression. “You’re doing better, Mellie. You really are. But you’re still waiting. Still hoping. And I don’t know if that’s healthy or heartbreaking or both.”
I wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that I’d moved on, that I’d accepted my new reality.
But I couldn’t.
Because he was right.
Even now, even after six months of silence, even after building this new life with Danika and preparing for the baby and learning to exist in a world without Travis—even after all of that, there was still a part of me that listened for footsteps that never came. That looked up every time a door opened, hoping to see a face I knew I’d never see again.
Not Travis’ face.
Rowen’s.
God help me, I still thought about him. Still remembered the way he’d looked at me that night, his body saying everything his voice couldn’t. Still felt the ghost of his touch, the weight of his presence, the promise in his silence.
I will come back to you. I will find a way.
