I was remembering all the ways I had once convinced myself I couldn’t.
I slipped out into the hallway and closed the door behind me, letting the moment belong to them—while my own past pressed against my ribs, reminding me of everything I’d buried just to survive it.
Thirty
It feltlike weeks had passed by the time we stepped back into the cabin, though in reality, it had been less than twelve hours. The air was stale with the memory of the morning, of the lives we’d lived before everything shifted.
George met us at the door, tail wagging, eyes bright and hopeful. Dean crouched low, rubbing behind his ears. “Sorry, buddy,” he murmured, voice heavy but soft. “I never meant to leave you this long.”
He grabbed George’s leash off the table, then walked toward me with heavy steps that showed his exhaustion. He brushed his lips over mine and nodded toward the bathroom. “You look tired. Why don’t you take a shower while I take George out?”
I managed a nod, but something inside me was still off.
The cabin was unchanged. The bed unmade just like we’d left it, sheets tangled up at the foot. But it felt like a decade had passed since we’d last been here, instead of just hours.
I flicked the light on as I entered the bathroom, where the mirror was harsh and unrelenting. It showed the hollows under my eyes, the emotion which had left me spent.
But it was more than that.
It was sorrow. It was grief. It was so many emotions I didn’t know what to do with.
I flicked on the shower, peeled off my clothes, and stepped beneath the spray before it had time to heat. The cold water bit against my skin, but the shiver that came over me wasn’t from temperature. It was everything else. The memories, my loss, the anger at the hand I’d been dealt, and all the sadness I tried to forget, piling onto my chest until I couldn’t pull in a full breath.
I didn’t hear him come in, didn’t even realize I’d been crying, but then Dean was there, his solid form behind me, turning me around to face him.
“Em.” His voice was rough, thick with concern. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I pressed myself into his chest, and his arms wrapped around me.
I opened my mouth, trying to talk, but what came out was broken, fragments that didn’t make sense even to me.
He would be eleven now.
The same age Dean was when he lost his parents.
Dean pressed his cheek against the side of my head, his breath steady where mine was broken. “You’re in shock,” he said gently. “Your adrenaline’s still high. It’s playing tricks on you.”
But it wasn’t adrenaline.
The words clawed their way out, jagged and raw. “I had ason.”
It wasn’t a sentence.
It wasn’t a cry.
It was a sob.
His arms tightened at my words, and even though it was barely an explanation, he nodded.
“He was seven pounds, eight ounces.” I pushed forward in a rush, worried I would lose my courage if I stopped. “He had blonde hair, the smallest little nose I’d ever seen.” My voicecracked—the sound swallowed by the water. “I loved himso much.”
Dean’s breath hitched—barely a sound—then his hand slid to the back of my neck, warm and steady.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Breathe baby, you’re okay.”
His forehead leaned to mine as his thumb traced a slow circle.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m listening.”
