The mont felt like sothing I might wake up from at any second — the kind of good that sits just at the edge of believable, that keeps making you check. I stood over the babies’ bed watching them, close enough to feel the warmth rising off their small bodies, close enough to catch that soft, milky scent that I hadn’t been able to reach for months. They giggled when I leaned in, two pairs of eyes finding my face with the uncomplicated delight of people who haven’t yet learned to expect disappointnt. Everything felt like it was finally, carefully settling into place.
Lewis’s hand ca to rest on my shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"
I ca back to myself and looked up at him — tall and steady beside , exactly the way he had always been, the fixed point everything else arranged itself around. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head against him, letting the solidity of him be sothing I was allowed to feel again. "Lewis, it feels like a dream. I’m really back."
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled into his lap with a gentle pinch at my waist, and smiled — the kind of smile that reached everything, that didn’t have any performance in it. "Do you need proof that you’re alive?" His lips t mine before I could answer. "You’re alive," he murmured against them. "That’s all that matters."
We had been apart for over six months — through everything that had happened to my body, through the pregnancy, through the months of being sowhere he couldn’t reach or hold or reassure himself about. His kiss was careful in a way that told exactly where his fear still lived. He had watched nearly bleed out the day I gave birth. That image hadn’t left him yet, and probably wouldn’t for a long ti. Even now, he held like sothing that had co close to being lost and hadn’t yet been reclassified as safe.
"Lewis..." I tightened my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It wasn’t only the physical distance that had accumulated between us — it was everything stacked together, all the lost days, all the fear I had watched him carry from across an invisible barrier without being able to do a single thing about any of it.
"Riley."
Our eyes t, and just as he leaned in again, a small cry split the quiet of the room with efficient clarity.
Neither of us had fully adjusted to the reality of two babies yet. I pulled back automatically. Lewis straightened up like a man caught doing sothing he’d rather not explain, clearing his throat into his fist with great dignity. I looked over at the twins with sothing that felt uncomfortably like guilt. Everett blinked at with wide, bright eyes — Lewis’s shape to them, but mine in color, clear and light. When he registered that I was looking directly at him, he smiled, and my entire chest went soft in a way I hadn’t been prepared for. Everly’s lashes were still damp, her eyes glistening with the particular wounded expression of soone who has been made to wait.
"She must be hungry. I’ll make the formula," I said, starting to rise.
Lewis pressed back down with a firm, unhurried hand. "Your legs need a few more days. I’ve got it." He was already moving, already practiced — working through the routine quickly and without fuss, the sa man who had once seed entirely untouchable, now completely at ease asuring out formula with the focused competence of soone who had been doing this alone for months and had stopped finding it remarkable.
When he handed Everly back to , I tapped her small nose lightly. "Sorry, sweetheart. You never got to have my milk." Everly stopped crying and studied with slow, considering blinks, like she was carefully working out why I slled familiar but felt different — why the presence she had known for months had shifted into sothing new.
Then her face scrunched, her mouth turned decisively downward, and I felt sothing warm spread across my hand. The sll followed imdiately.
"Lewis..."
He appeared with the bottle, took one look at my expression, and laughed — genuinely, fully, the kind of laugh that had been in short supply for a long ti. "No worries. I’ll handle it." He laid her flat and had her cleaned up in under a minute with the efficient calm of long practice, while I watched from my corner of the bed feeling entirely useless. "You don’t need to learn all of this right away," he said as he worked, not looking up. "We have four nannies, and I’ll bring on more if it cos to that. You almost died a few months ago, Riley. Your only job right now is to rest. Hold them when you want, play with them — but don’t push yourself past what you have."
When I finally fed Everly for the first ti — really fed her, bottle in hand, her warm solid weight settled against my arm — it felt nothing like watching from across that invisible distance I had spent months trapped behind. It felt imdiate and real and entirely mine. "She’s drinking so fast," I said.
"She’s hungry," Lewis said simply, in the tone of a man who had learned that particular lesson thoroughly.
Theo’s voice carried through from the hallway. "Mr. Lewis, Mrs. Riley — Mr. Julian is here."
Julian had been largely absent during the months I wandered. On the occasions when he did appear, he always looked unwell — thinner each ti, sothing worn down behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as though he was being slowly consud by sothing he hadn’t chosen to share with anyone. Alisa’s miscarriage had co and gone without seeming to touch the surface of him much. He had his treatnts, his pack responsibilities, and whatever private weight he had decided to carry alone.
He stepped through the doorway and looked at . "Riley," he said quietly.
Then his eyes found Lewis’s, and sothing shifted in his expression — a small, deliberate correction. "Uncle Lewis. Aunt Riley."
I nodded. He moved closer to the bed, his gaze settling on Everett, who had been lying there through all of it with the untroubled patience of soone with nowhere else to be. "Can I hold him?"
Lewis nodded.
Julian picked Everett up with careful hands, studying his small face with an intensity that seed to travel sowhere very far away. He touched the baby’s cheek gently, his thumb tracing the soft curve of it. Everett stared back at him with complete equanimity, unbothered by the scrutiny. Then Julian’s eyes went red, and he set him down quickly, turning his face and wiping it before the tears could fall. "Sorry. I just — thought of sothing." He steadied himself with a visible effort. "If Joy had lived, he would have been a big brother by now."
"Joy wouldn’t have made it anyway," I said, and my voice ca out flat without my intending it to. "Given everything Wisteria was capable of, I’d rather it happened the way it did than whatever else she might have arranged."
Julian smiled, but it was a hollow thing, more shape than substance. "You’re right. I’m sorry, Riley."
He had lived with his choices long enough to understand exactly what they had cost him, in the particular detailed way that only ti and quiet and no way back can teach you. The world doesn’t offer second chances on the things that genuinely matter. He knew that now in his bones.
He reached into his jacket and produced two small jade amulets, carved smooth and strung on clean cord, and held them out with both hands. "As their older cousin, this is the best I can give." His voice was steady, but only just. "I hope Everett and Everly grow up safe. And healthy."
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