For the next few days, things were pretty much more of the same. The search was still going strong with three teams working on finding the cabin she’d described. The cops, Mac and the men Mike had hired.

In those few days she started to come around little by little, and I saw more of my woman as the effects of the drugs were finally losing their grip. Especially when I took her shopping for the nursery.

That seemed to be the turning point for her. It was almost as if just the act of walking into the store surrounded by baby stuff unlocked something inside her.

I’d been nervous that it might set her back, but instead it had the opposite effect. She came alive. “How big do you think they would be now?” She’d ask me questions like that every once in a while with a look of hope in her eyes and I’d shore up my resolve once again.

Though deep inside I despaired of finding our children anytime soon, for her I put on a brave front and gave her the words and reassurance she needed. To see the light in her eyes was enough.

As time went on she began to lose her reticence more and more and though we weren’t exactly back to where we once were, things were definitely looking up. Like the little touches when she walked by me in a room.

Or the way she’d call out to me from the other end of the house when I was out of her sight for too long. We spent most of our time turning one of the bedrooms upstairs into a nursery. The one we’d chosen long ago when we first had the talk about starting a family.

I hadn’t called the doctor to ask if it was okay, in fact, other than the search team and a call to my parents that first day, we’d kept outside contact to a minimum. Which meant I had yet to return Mindy’s call.

It wasn’t that I was avoiding her and that whole situation, I’m not that weak. I just chose to spend my time focused on my wife and getting her better. In my mind, as far as I was concerned, I’d said all that was needed to be said that last night. So, in the days ahead, my sole focus was on my woman, on us.

As we got back into a routine of sorts, that awkward tension started to ease off a little bit. And though the pain and fear for our missing children was still between us, and the horrors she’d endured still lingered, at least we were able to talk to each other like something more than strangers.

It was only alone in bed at night that the awkwardness returned. That’s why tonight I’m spending an inordinate amount of time in the shower berating myself for being a fucking dog.

Even with all the worry throughout the day. Once night fell and I’d done all I could that day in the search for our children, my mind always turned to one thing. Putting her beneath me.

She hadn’t made any mention of the distance between us again since that first day and at night she’d let me hold her while she slept, the way I used to.

I thought I could do it, that I could hold her in my arms again like before and give her the time I thought she needed to heal. But it was getting harder to lay there, inhaling her scent, feeling the warmth of her body next to mine and not take her.

Last night had been the worst. She’d snuggled her sweet ass into me and left me hard and hurting throughout the night. I’m pretty sure my balls went past blue to some shade of purple.

That’s why I’m now torturing myself with this cold ass shower before climbing into bed next to her. I was hoping that she’d be asleep by the time I left the bathroom.

The problem is I’m not sure about the correct protocol here. I’m torn up inside because of my children and the fact that my wife had been missing for two years. But my body doesn’t seem to know that it’s not supposed to want.

Would she hate me if I try to take her? Would she find me callous and uncaring to want sex while all of this mess was going on? Maybe she’d think I’m an uncaring asshole.

None of those things are true, far from it, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here, and there is no one to ask. I’d mentioned taking her to a shrink, which she refused.

It was the first time I’d seen a glimpse of the strong willed woman I’d married since she came back to me. She was adamant that her mind had not been lost, and though she’d suffered, she was clear on the facts.

She hadn’t done anything wrong to bring this upon herself and though she still had some lingering fear, she knew it wouldn’t happen again because she’d survived.

Those were her words when I tried to force the issue. All she wanted now was to find our kids and bring them home and to see the ones responsible pay for what they’d done.

And though she’d break down and cry at least twice a day, I couldn’t fault her for that, or see it as a weakness since I felt the same damn way from the time I open my eyes in the morning.

I switched off the water and threw my head back with my eyes closed and begged for patience. The damn shower hadn’t worked.

Maybe if she’d stayed the same as she had been those first few days back I would be able to control myself. Back then she was like a wounded bird that needed my care.

But as the days unfolded and she came out of her shell more and more, I began to see my woman the way she was when we met. The more secure she felt, the more the fear receded and instead of a victim who needed to be handled with kid gloves, she was a woman on a mission.

She’s the one who’d been locked away, held captive and drugged while her children were ripped from her arms. But I’m the one who now finds myself trying hard to find my rhythm.

It’s as if I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for her to collapse under the heaviness of all that she’d been through.

The Zandi I’ve seen in the last day or so is the Zandi I knew and loved. But how can I trust that? In my mind I still see her crouched in the dark, afraid, alone.

Was she putting up a front for me or was she really that strong in mind and heart? She doesn’t waste any opportunity to tell me that she’s sure we’d find our kids.

She already has it all worked out in her head. As her memory returns bit by bit, she’s convinced that whoever has them doesn’t mean to kill or harm them. As she said, had they meant to do that they wouldn’t have kept her alive all that time just to get her milk.

The more I listened to her the more I started seeing things her way. And for fuck sake, if she could be that strong and clear headed about it after what she’d been through, I’d better get my shit together.

That was all good and well but none of it helped with the problem I’m facing now. We’d laughed together, shared a few tender touches here and there.

Even sat together on the couch with my arms wrapped around her like old times as we pretended to watch a movie. The barriers she’d felt in the beginning were coming down one by one, but was she ready for more?

I left the shower, still moving slowly as I made my way to the bedroom. I gritted my teeth when I saw that the light on her nightstand was on and she was sitting up in bed reading.

She folded the book on her lap as I made my way to my side of the bed. “I know what you’re doing.” My jaw worked as I dropped the towel and hurried between the sheets.

“What?” I folded my hands under my head and looked up at the ceiling. If her eyes went south she’d see my predicament for sure. My fucking dick…

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to avoid me. Do you think that I’d think less of you because you want sex?” My head whipped around hard enough to give myself whiplash.

My eyes travelled from her smirking face down to her chest where the short silk robe she wore had fallen open. I swallowed hard and looked quickly away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now that she was bold enough to bring that shit out in the open I acknowledged my real fear. It wasn’t so much that I was afraid to fuck her, but more that I was afraid of hurting her.

In the past when we fucked it was never the sweet flowery bullshit people write about in poems. Other than the night I first took her, our wedding night, I’ve not been exactly gentle when I touch her. I want to be, but it never works out that way. Once I get my hands on her, and her scent hits me my dick takes over and he’s a greedy fuck.

It’s been two years. She’s been hurt and even suffered the pain of childbirth without me there. Apart from my worry about her emotional state, the thing that scares me most is losing control once I get between her thighs.

She put her warm hand on my chest and leaned in. “Don’t lie, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I won’t break you know.” I covered her hand with mine and swallowed the bolder that showed up in my lungs out of nowhere.

“It’s not that, it’s just….” It’s exactly that you ass. That and a million other things. “I don’t know how to touch you.” There, I said it. “I don’t know when is the right time to reopen that door to intimacy.”

Can I sound like anymore of an asshole here? “Cade, look at me. It’s been two years for me too. I missed you just as much as you missed me. We can’t go back and erase what was, but we can go forward.”

“If we go on like this, we’re letting them win. Just because we want to make love to each other doesn’t mean that we don’t care about our children. It’s just a way to be closer, to offer each other comfort at the worst time of our lives.”

I looked at her almost in wonder. There was a new strength in her, a maturity that hadn’t been there before. I was as proud as I was sad at the fact. Proud that my little girl had grown up, and sad because of the reasons she’d had to.

I lifted my hand to her cheek and rubbed my fingers gently over her soft skin. “I don’t want to rush you, or hurt you in any way. I guess I was waiting for you to be ready…”

She took my hand and led it down her chest between the folds of her robe as my eyes followed. I looked up to find her smiling and there was no fear, no hesitance. “I’m ready now.”