Worth the Risk

Extended epilogue

I squeeze my eyes shut and drag my pillow over my head to drown out the sound of cries coming from the baby monitor. It breaks my heart, yet at the same time, I'm craving eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. Unfortunately, Rosaline is exactly like her father. She's a light sleeper.

Even more unfortunately, she has the voice of her aunt. Loud and clear, making sure everybody heard her.

"She's crying," I sigh as I gather the energy to get out of bed. I hear the ruffling of sheets before I feel his arm slide around my waist to pull me closer.

"Let's give her 5 minutes." He nuzzles his nose in the crook of my neck before placing a soft kiss on the sensitive spot behind my ear. My body relaxes, almost giving in to the sleep deprivation slowly wrecking it, yet when another cry bellows through our room, I'm alert again.

"Rock paper scissors?" I ask with my eyes closed, holding up my fist for him to see.

It's a fun routine we started acouple of weeks after she was born to decide who gets out of bed to go check on her.

"Ready?"

My hum of acknowledgment sounds like a groan, but he understands the message nonetheless. We move our fists up and down to the beat of 'rock, paper, scissors', and I hold out my fist for him to see.

"What do you have?" My eyes are closed when I ask, but when he takes a second too long, I squint them open.

"Scissors," he whispers the second I see him drop his flat hand. "You win, baby. I'll be right back." He kisses the top of my head before rolling out of bed and strolling out of the room.

I almost grin in victory until I remember what day it is. So instead of snuggling under the covers, I drag myself out of bed to go argue with my husband about the fact he should be the one in bed.

I squint my eyes when I enter the illuminated hallway of the three-bedroom house we bought after I finished my PhD and started working in Portland.

I tiptoe through the hallway, and with every step I take my heart swells until it almost bursts, because the closer I am to Rosie's bedroom door, the clearer I hear Colin humming.

People told me having a kid could be hard on a couple. First the pregnancy and the fluctuating hormones, then the sleepless nights, the extra mouth to feed, to care for, and to look after. It's easy to lose track of each other in the overwhelming phases of raising a child together. However, they also told me about the sweet moments. Moments like this. When time stands still, and tears flood your eyes because you're overcome with emotion.

I lean against the doorframe as I watch Colin cradle our 8-month-old daughter. He's lounging in the rocking chair our friends bought us, slowly rocking back and forth as he's humming her to sleep. She has stopped crying. Her eyes are watching him, from time to time falling shut when he traces a line from her forehead to the tip of her nose. 

"Go to sleep, you're tired." He sounds just as tired as I am, which is why I ignore his instruction and walk up to him instead.

"I'm wide awake," I argue as slide my arms around his neck from behind.

"I can see that. You look very alive." Even in a whisper, he lets the sarcasm in his words shine through.

"It's because I feel very alive."

He softly laughs at my blatant lie, trying his best not to startle Rosaline who's dozing off in his arms. "The bags under your eyes tell me otherwise."

"I tried my best to match the dark circles underneath yours," I clap back, and his smile widens even further. His free hand slides in my hair, guiding me closer to kiss me.

"You're relentless," he whispers against my lips.

"You love it."

"I do." He stares up at me, his eyes tired yet filled with warmth. He nudges his nose against mine and gives me a soft peck on my lips. "I love you."

Even after ten years, my heart hasn't gotten used to these moments. To the look in his eyes when he forces me to take a moment to let his words sink in.

"I love you," I whisper, closing my eyes for the briefest of moments in an attempt to imprint this moment in my mind. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, hugging him from behind. His hand massages my head and my whole body sags in exhaustion.

"I'm serious, though." He nudges his shoulder, urging me to move away from our embrace. "Go back to bed."

I move away from him, round the rocking chair and pointedly look at him as I motion for him to hand our daughter to me. "I know you lied."

He gives me a lopsided grin, shrugging one shoulder. "You looked comfy."

"Well, I don't have to give my first lecture in," I glance down at my watch, "four hours."

Teaching was always high on his list of possible career options, which is why it was the first thing that came to mind when he decided that he wanted to try something new after working with Phill for almost a decade.

"I'll be fine."

"You'll be tired."

"Nothing new with this little devil." He looks down to Rosie, who's now sound asleep in his arms. My heart flutters at the sight before it shakes and shudders. I'm hit with a storm of emotions as the realization settles that eight months have passed already. Life is flying by and as much as I'm looking forward to the future, it's bittersweet to have to look back. To think of this moment as a memory, a way back when instead of the present.

So instead of listening to him and going back to our room, I step closer to him because I want to enjoy this moment, afraid it'll be over before I know it.

As if he can read my mind, he opens his arms and adjusts his seating position to invite me onto his lap. I snuggle in his embrace as I watch our daughter sleep.

"She looks so peaceful," I whisper as I reach out and caress her soft cheek.

He hums in agreement. "Which is why you can go back to bed." He kisses the top of my head. "You need to rest, Ari."

"Five more minutes," I mumble, not wanting to leave this moment of solitude.

It's the middle of the night, my body is tired, my eyes are fighting to stay open, yet I refuse to leave the warmth of my family.

I listen to his breathing, focus on his thumb soothingly drawing circles on my skin as my gaze rests on our daughter.

"Five more minutes," he whispers.