“I didn’t, either,” she finished for him. “To be perfectly real, I can’t remember the last time I felt like this.”
Smiling, he kissed her forehead and she leaned into him, frustration fading into contentment.
Tessa wasdead asleep when a completely unfamiliar sound cut through the silence of her home. Was that…an animal outside? A kid in the street? A?—
She snapped awake so abruptly her heart slammed against her ribs before her mind caught up. For a second, she lay there, disoriented, her body tense, listening.
The sound came again.
A cry.
Sharp. High. Frightened.
Olive.
Tessa was out of bed instantly, not thinking as she shot toward the other bedroom, the cry pulling her forward like a physical force. The hallway blurred as she rushed down it, bare feet silent against the floor, her focus narrowing to one thing and one thing only—to help Olive.
The crying grew louder, more desperate, and Tessa’s chest tightened as she reached the doorway and fumbled with the gate, the movement turning on the nightlight.
Olive sat upright in the toddler bed, hunched over, bawling. She looked up and her face was flushed, her breathing uneven and shaky little gasps breaking through the sobs. She looked lost in it, overwhelmed, her small body rigid with fear.
“Oh, Olive, honey!” Tessa breathed.
She crossed the room in two steps and dropped to her knees beside the bed. She said Olive’s name softly, again and again, reaching for her hands, her arms, trying to ground her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she murmured. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Olive didn’t answer but cried on, shoulders trembling, her distress filling the small room.
Standing, Tessa scooped up the child, grateful Olive didn’t resist. If anything, she clung—small hands fisting in Tessa’s T-shirt, her body pressing close as if she’d been waiting to be held.
The crying didn’t stop, but it lost some of its sharpness as Tessa snuggled her close, swaying in a way that seemed freakishly natural, stroking her back with calming words.
“It’s okay,” Tessa whispered as she rocked. “It’s okay. Did you have a bad dream? Does something hurt?”
No response. No words. Just crying.
After a few minutes, certain she wasn’t sick or hurt, Tessa lowered them both to the tiny bed, checking instinctively for signs of pain.
“Nothing hurts? Your tummy? Your head? Your teeny-tiny toes?” She playfully squeezed one of Olive’s bare feet, but she didn’t smile. She just snuggled closer, which was remarkable.
“I bet you had a bad dream, huh?” Cooing about it, Tessa maneuvered carefully and curled herself on the undersized mattress with Olive. The space was small, barely enough room, but she tucked herself around the little girl, drawing the blanket up over them both, creating a cocoon.
On a shuddering sigh, Olive settled more fully against her chest.
The crying softened and the panic seemed to ebb. It was replaced by hitching sobs and a few hiccups that gradually slowed as Tessa rubbed small circles on her back, steady and rhythmic.
“I’ve got you,” Tessa murmured. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”
She kept talking, proceeding on an instinct she didn’t know she had, keeping her voice low and even, filling the quiet.
“I’m right here,” she continued softly. “Nothing bad is happening. You’re safe in your room. I’m with you.”
Olive’s breathing began to even out, the sharp edges dulling into quiet sniffles. Her body stayed tense, but the terror loosened its grip.
At that thought, somewhere, deep in the recesses of her memory, Tessa flashed back to childhood. Kate used to wake up in the middle of the night with something her father called “night terrors.”
Tessa remembered that the expression scared her, but sweet old Artie—well, Dad was probably pretty young then—always came into their room and whispered a story to Kate to calm her down.
