UNBROKEN PROMISE

~92~ Old Habits

Logan was up before the first light, moving about the house quietly so as not to wake Oma. When she opened her eyes some time later, her lips curved into a small secret smile. She was going to be a mama. The thought warmed her through.

She freshened up, feeling lighter than she had in days, and set about preparing breakfast. All her recent tiredness finally made sense.

By the time Logan came in from outside, breakfast was ready. He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of her head before washing his hands and sat at the table. Oma watched him for a while noticing something off in his demeanour.

She didn’t speak at first, only served the food. He took her hand and said the grace in a clipped tone, and then started eating. She studied him for a long while before letting out a small sigh.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Logan shook his head without meeting her eyes. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t you lie to me,” she pressed. “I’m your wife, Logan. I know you well enough now to know when something's bothering you.

Logan groaned in annoyance "what did I do now?" throwing up his hands

"Well first of all, you didn’t even ask me how I slept last night. Just kissed me and sat down.” She answered not backing down.

His jaw tightened. “Seems like I can’t do anythin’ right. Women always find somethin’ to nag about. That kiss should’ve been enough.”

Oma blinked, taken aback. He forced a breath, then gave a strained smile. “How was your night?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said, feeling irritated by his attitude now.

He set down his fork with a clatter. “Can’t I just eat my breakfast in peace? Got plenty work waitin’ on me today, since I didn’t get to it yesterday.”

She stared at him, hurt flickering across her face. Then, quieter: “Is it the baby?”

His eyes shot to hers. “I didn’t say no such thing,” he snapped. “Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth. I’m happy, Oma. Afterall children are a gift from God.”

She nodded slowly, though her eyes were shining. She rose from the table without another word and disappeared upstairs.

Logan let out a long, rough sigh and rubbed his face. He chewed at the food, slower now, each bite bitter. His chest ached from the storm inside him he couldn’t quite put to words. The baby wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t angry at all about that. But there was something else.

After a while, he pushed the plate away and fixed another one. Carrying it upstairs, his heart clenched when he saw her curled up on their bed crying, her shoulders shaking.

Setting the plate down, he sat beside her and began rubbing her back. Her tears only came harder. With a sigh, he pulled her gently out of her tight curl, gathering her against him. He placed her head on his lap, stroking her back in long, steady motions.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I am happy, Oma. Happier than I can say. I want this. I’m glad to be a father.”

Her sobs softened gradually into sniffles. Adjusting his hold, he lifted her into his arms so she sat across his thighs, her face buried in his chest. He kissed her temple, her damp cheeks, whispering between each breath, trying to soothe her. Every now and then her breath hitched, her body trembling, her face red and blotchy.

When she calmed a little, he tilted her chin, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Forgive me,” he said quietly.

She gave a little snort, her breath uneven, and laid her head back against him.