Chapter 8
A month later, Jake came over for dinner.
It was the first time he’d been in our house since everything happened.
He was nervous, his hands stuffed in his pockets, standing in the doorway like he was scared to come in.
He brought a gift for Liam.
A handmade wooden mobile, with tiny stars and moons carved into it.
“I made it in woodworking class,” he said, awkward, handing it to me. “My therapist said working with my hands helps. It’s not much. I just… wanted to give him something good. To make up for all the bad.”
I took it, running my finger over one of the smooth wooden stars.
It was beautiful.
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
Dinner was awkward at first.
No one knew what to say.
But then Mark asked Jake about the job he’d applied for in Portland, and Jake’s face lit up when he talked about it.
It was a job working with kids in the foster system.
Kids just like he’d been.
“I want to help them,” he said, quiet, looking down at his plate. “Make sure no one feels as alone as I did.”
No one said anything for a second.
Then Mark reached across the table and clapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s amazing, Jake,” he said, and he meant it. “They’re lucky to have you.”
Jake looked up, his eyes wet, and nodded.
After dinner, Mark and Jake hung the mobile over Liam’s crib.
They stood there, side by side, the same height, the same shape of shoulders, looking down at our sleeping son.
Two brothers, who’d spent 30 years not knowing each other, finally finding their way.
I stood in the doorway, watching them, and I felt my heart start to heal, just a little more.
That night, after Jake left, Mark didn’t go to the couch.
He stood in the doorway of our bedroom, holding his pillow, his face nervous.
“Can I… can I come in?” he said, quiet.
I looked at him.
At the man I’d loved for 10 years.
At the man who’d hurt me, but who’d spent every single day since trying to make it right.
I nodded, pulling the covers back on his side of the bed.
He got in, slow, careful not to touch me too much, like he was scared I’d change my mind.
I rolled over, and rested my head on his chest.
His arm wrapped around me, tight, like he was scared I’d disappear.
“I love you, Lila,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. “So much. More than anything.”
“I love you too,” I said, and for the first time since the hospital, I meant it, no hesitation, no hurt holding me back.
May you like
We laid there, holding each other, while Liam slept down the hall, the soft wooden mobile turning slowly above his crib.
For the first time in months, everything felt right.
