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Reese just nods, but her gaze never leaves the twins. “Can I hold one?”

“Of course.” I walk over and lift Kody from his carrier, nestling him gently into her waiting arms. She cradles him to her chest like she was born to do it, brushing her fingers along the soft curve of his cheek with infinite tenderness. “Hey, little man,” she murmurs. “You’ve got your daddy’s nose.”

I smile and take Kingston into my arms, sitting beside her on the bed and leaning back into the pillows. For a moment, everything stills—like time is finally allowing us this one small breath.

“I missed this,” Reese says, voice fragile but sure. “The quiet. The simple.”

I rest my head on the wooden headboard and watch her trace circles on Kody’s onesie with her thumb. “How do you feel about Thorin leaving? I know it’s not exactly ideal…”

Her mouth twists, but not in pain—more in contemplation. “I think it’s a good thing,” she says finally. “Don’t get me wrong, I wish things were different. I wish we hadn’t gone through what we did. But… I need the space, Mya. I need to grieve without him watching me like I might break in half if he blinks too long. I need to feel everything without trying to protect him from it.”

I nod, understanding blooming in my chest like a bruise. “You need to find your way back to you.”

“Exactly.” She exhales like the weight of those words has been sitting on her for days. “And I need him to keep chasing the things that set his soul on fire. I need to know he’s still him—not just mine.”

A lump lodges in my throat, and I glance down at Kingston, sleeping with his tiny fist curled around my finger. “You’re stronger than you know, Reese.”

She glances over, eyes soft. “Only because I have people like you reminding me.”

We sit there, side by side, both holding pieces of the future. And even though the house is quieter than it’s ever been, somehow, in that moment, it feels full.

Full of what we’ve lost.

Full of what we’ve built.

Full of what we’re still holding onto with trembling hands and hope that hasn’t quite healed.

Kody shifts slightly against Reese’s chest, his tiny mouth parting in sleep, the softest sigh escaping him like he’s exhaling all the tension we’ve been choking on these past two weeks. Reese closes her eyes, just for a second, like maybe she’s letting it go too.

The ache. The guilt. The what-ifs.

I reach across the space between us, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You’re really good with him.”

She laughs softly, tired but sincere. “Babies don’t judge. They just… exist. They let you love them without needing to say the right thing or look okay or pretend to be okay.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “They just need your heartbeat.”

She nods, resting her cheek on the crown of Kody’s head. “He helps.”

I glance down at Kingston, his weight a quiet comfort against my chest. “They both do.”

For a while, we just… are.

The playlist hums on in the background. The sun’s slipped below the trees outside the window, casting the room in amber light. It bathes Reese in gold and shadows, the way only dusk can. Like a promise you don’t dare speak out loud. Like a prayer whispered too late and somehow still answered.

After a while, she says, “Do you think it’s wrong to feel… relieved he’s gone?”

I look at her, not with judgment, but with the kind of knowing only another woman who’s been broken and patched back together can offer. “No,” I say gently. “I think you’re allowed to feel whatever you need to feel. You don’t have to carry both of your griefs at once—his and yours.”

Her shoulders tremble. “It’s so loud when he’s around. Not his voice. Just… everything.”

“I get it.”

“I love him so much, Mya.” Her voice cracks. “But I need to remember how to breathe again without him watching me struggle to do it.”

My throat tightens. “You will.”

She nods. “I hope so.”