Every day Gabriel visits us at the hospital. Kris, Charlie, Rhett, and Quincy are frequent visitors, too, but no one is as caring and considerate as Gabriel. I only have to mention thirsty, and I have a bar fridge in my room stocked with every imaginable brand of mineral water and fruit juice. Even when I don’t say anything, he spoils me with gourmet meals from my favorite Italian delicatessen and raspberry scented bath products. He massages my back and rubs my feet. When he’s not with me, he’s kangarooing Connor and changing his diaper. I see the good father who loved––still loves––Carly, and get a glimpse of how life can be.

On the day of my discharge, Gabriel waits for me with a bunch of blue and white balloons. Such thoughtful and kind actions, but I want him to stop these exaggerated efforts to make up for the past and simply be himself. I just want us to be. In time, things will fall into place, and we’ll find our measure of normality. I have to hold onto this belief.

To Gabriel’s protest, I decline the wheelchair. I started walking a bit every day, eager to gain back my strength. Rhett and Quincy help cart everything from the room to a pickup Rhett organized for this purpose. With the gifts I accumulated, it’s not a light task. Even if I’m happy to go home, it’s hard for me to leave without my baby. Clutching Gabriel’s hand, I pull back when we reach the main doors of the clinic. Being as in tune with my emotions as he is, he understands the reason for my panic.

Strong arms fold me into a safe and warm cocoon. “He’ll be fine.” He kisses my lips. “He’s a fighter, like his mother.”

That evokes a smile, which seems to please Gabriel, but his own is weak in return. I wish I knew what’s going through his head. Magda’s suicide and the knowledge of what his father did must be excruciatingly tough on him. It’s going to be hard to work our way to happiness, but I have a truckload full of determination and endless love in my heart.

I intertwine our fingers. “Shall we go home?” I want him to know I’m ready, that I’m taking this next step willingly.

He swallows and nods, but doesn’t move toward the door.

“Gabriel?” I loosen his arms so I can step back and look up at him.

His expression shifts. His scars scrunch up with the narrowing of his eyes, as if he’s studying a portrait to commit it to memory. His beautiful, disfigured face softens, and the set of his jaw slackens as his translucent blue gaze drifts over me. This is huge. I don’t know what this sudden look of sad affection means, but I know it’s the kind that can rip your feet from under you. Just as I’m about to speak, a smile wipes the dooming sorrow from his face.

His voice is unfaltering and strong, washing away my fear. “After you, beautiful.”

During the drive he tells me about the changes he made at home.

“I know you want to breastfeed, but I got an electric steam sterilizer, just in case Connor has to drink from a bottle for a while longer.” He glances at me. “And a food processor for later when you want to make puree. If you want to, of course. There’s nothing wrong with buying ready-made baby food. I just thought––”

I cup his knee. “Thank you, Gabriel. Everything will be perfect.”

At home, he takes me on a tour to show me what he mentioned in the car, insisting on carrying me up and down the stairs. It’s as if he’s lecturing me before going on a long trip. Despite my earlier burst of energy, I’m tired by the time we finish and happy to take a short nap.

The men prepare a welcoming dinner of burnt lamb chops and lumpy mashed potatoes. I feel cherished and something I haven’t felt in a long time––welcome. This is home. This is our home.

After dinner, Gabriel carries me to the shower and washes my hair and body. He takes extra care with drying me, careful not to press on my stitches. Kneeling at my feet, he stares at me with a molten look in his eyes.

He plants a trail of kisses up my legs to my thighs, his palms following the path. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“I have a lot of flab to get rid of.”

“There’s nothing to get rid of.” His hands glide over my hips. “You’re perfect.”

I brush my fingers through his thick hair. “You’re a liar.”

“Not about this. Not about you.” He places a gentle kiss under my incision. “This amazing body gave me a beautiful son.” His eyes fill with regret. “I’m sorry, Valentina, but I’d do it all over again to keep you safe.”

“It’s okay.” I cup his cheek when he presses his face to my stomach. “What you did was wrong, but I don’t resent having Connor.”

There’s more to discuss, but we have time, and for now I forget everything as his fingers move to my center.

“We’re not supposed to…” I moan when he parts me gently.

“I won’t penetrate you. Just a taste.”

His tongue licks over my folds, finding my aching clit. The hot wetness of his mouth feels amazing, but the pleasure makes my womb contract, and that hurts. I groan in frustrated disappointment when he stops.

“Sorry.” He gives me a sheepish look. “I couldn’t resist.”

He picks me up and carries me to the bed as if I’m made of paper-thin glass. Shifting in behind me, he holds me to his body, skin against skin, until I drift off to the promise he made in the clinic when he whispered he loved me. When I said those same words to him, he didn’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter. I have all the time in the world to convince him. One day, if I’m lucky, I may hear those precious words coming from his lips again.

* * *

I wake up alone. The sheets on Gabriel’s side of the bed are cold. He can be in the shower or working out in the gym. Only, I know he isn’t. There’s an instinctive knowledge in my soul. A dark feeling folds foreboding wings around me. My heart flaps in the cage of my ribs.

“Gabriel?”

I get out of bed and pull on a robe. Making my way downstairs as fast as my stitches allow, I call his name again, but all I get is my echo in the empty space.

“Valentina?” Quincy steps into the kitchen, concern etched on his face. “Is everything all right?”

“Gabriel.” I walk to the kitchen as if I’m walking on pins. “Gabriel’s gone.”

“Hey.” He rushes to meet me and takes my arm. “He left early to take care of business. He’ll be back after breakfast.”

I sit down in the chair he pulls out for me. “Where did he go?”

“The Brixton office.”

“With Rhett?”

“Yes.”

Even knowing Rhett is with him doesn’t make me breathe easier. “Why?”

“With Magda gone, there’s a lot to iron out.”

We haven’t talked about the business or what his plans are, yet. Maybe he feels it doesn’t concern me. “He works for Michael. Does that mean he’s going back to the loan business?”

Quincy looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know about that. You’ll have to ask him.”

There’s still such a huge gap between Gabriel and I and where I stand in our relationship.

“Can I make you a cup of coffee?” Quincy asks with a scrunched-up brow. “Maybe tea?”

I clutch my stomach and push to my feet. “I need to speak to him. Now.” I can’t shake this horrible feeling crawling over my skin.

“Whoa.” He pushes me back into the chair. “Stay put. Gabriel will skin me alive if you tear your stitches. I’ll get your phone. Where is it?”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “On the night stand in the bedroom.”

“I’ll be right back.” He bolts up the stairs, taking them two by two.

I don’t care that the bed is unmade or that my clothes are scattered over the floor where Gabriel dropped each item last night after meticulously studying every inch of my body, not as if he was saying goodbye. Worse. As if he’d never set eyes on me again. My throat tightens. I grip the chair, battling to breathe.

Quincy comes bouncing down the stairs with my phone and holds it out to me. “Here you go.” He does a double take. “Jesus, Val. You’re as white as a sheet. Are you okay? Shall I call a doctor? Gabriel said I must call Dr. Engelbrecht if you don’t feel well.”

I take the phone with a shaking hand. “I just need to hear his voice.”

I scroll through my call list and push the dial. Pressing the phone to my ear, I wait impatiently for the call to connect. If only I can speak to him, this irrational fear will let me go. My world will be all right, my life aligned.

Hope plummets with an uneasy turn of my stomach when his phone goes straight onto voicemail.

“Gabriel,” I wet my dry lips, “please call me. I need to hear your voice. I need to tell you things, too many things I can’t say over the phone.” I start to cry. “I want to tell you how much I love you, and that I’m staying because I want to. I want to give this relationship my best shot. I want to make the vows I took real. Please, please, Gabriel, don’t take this chance away from me. Don’t leave without giving me a chance to say this. You owe me, do you hear me? You owe me this chance.” My tears run in rivulets down my face. “Please, call me back.” I hang up, utterly devastated. Lowering my head to my hands, I weep like never before.

“Val.” Quincy’s breathless voice reaches me through my sobs. “Good God. What’s happening? What can I do?”

Through my tears I see him crouch down in front of me.

“He’s at work, sweetheart. He’ll get your message and call you back when––”

The ringtone of his phone cuts him short. The sound is loud and obtrusive, like bad news.

His face freezes when he glances at the screen. His voice is ominous. “It’s Rhett.” He forces a smile on his face, but his heart isn’t in his words. “See? He’ll tell you everything’s fine.” He straightens and walks to the corner, keeping his back turned to me. “What’s up, Rhett?”

For a while he doesn’t speak. He only listens. The set of his shoulders grows tighter and tighter. They pull inward, and his head lowers between them until it hangs from his neck like a wilted leaf. He turns an inch, as if he wants to look at me, but he doesn’t. He cuts the call and drops his hand without saying a word. He doesn’t have to. It’s written in his body language. When he finally faces me, the sorrow I see on his face weakens my knees.

“Val.” He swallows and looks away, then returns his eyes to mine. “You have to be strong.”