Forgiveness, Trust & Forever

Emily

Anna sent sandwiches, painkillers, baby wipes, formula, nappies, chocolate buttons, and three packets of those little rice cakes Eleanora apparently liked to chew into paste and smear on herself like war paint.
Practical love.
That was Anna.
No dramatic voicemail.
No shaking at the gate.
No crying into intercoms.
Just supplies arriving in brown paper bags with a receipt folded neatly at the top and a note written in black marker across the pharmacy packet.
Eat. Hydrate. Medicate the idiot. Protect the baby. Call me if the studio breathes. - A
I read it twice.
Then handed it to Hero.
He smiled despite his split lip.
"She called me the idiot."
"Yes."
"Could be Titan."
"Titan isn't here."
"He's spiritually here."
"Unfortunately."
Hero laughed, then immediately pressed a hand to his ribs.
I pointed at him.
"Painkillers."
"I took some at urgent care."
"When?"
"Earlier."
"That is not a time."
"It was recent."
"Hero."
He looked at Anna's note again.
Then sighed like a man unfairly persecuted by medical reality.
"Fine."
I opened the pharmacy bag one-handed because Eleanora had decided my jumper was now private property and any attempt to move her would be considered a personal attack.
She was not asleep.
Not properly.
She was in that dangerous twilight place between exhaustion and rebellion, cheek pressed to my shoulder, eyes half-closed, one hand clutching the neckline of my jumper while the other held the rabbit by one damp ear.
My arm had gone numb.
I did not move.
Hero watched me open the blister pack with my teeth.
"Don't do that."
I spat the corner of cardboard into my hand.
"Parent me again and I'll make you take medicine dry."
He took the tablets from me.
"Yes, ma'am."
The word did something stupid to my stomach.
Not now, body.
Read the room.
I passed him a bottle of water.
He took the pills.
Swallowed.
Showed me his tongue like a child.
I stared at him.
"Why are you like this?"
"Proof of compliance."
"I hate that I almost smiled."
"I saw it."
"No, you didn't."
"I did."
"You're concussed in spirit."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it remains medically accurate."
Eleanora made a tiny grunt against my neck.
Both of us froze.
She settled again.
Hero lowered his voice.
"Do you want me to take her so you can eat?"
The question was careful.
Everything between us was careful now.
Like the whole room was made of broken glass and we were both barefoot, learning where to step.
I looked down at Eleanora.
Her lashes rested on flushed cheeks. Her little mouth was soft and open. A baby. Just a baby. Not court. Not NICU. Not evidence. Not a future question waiting to destroy me.
A baby who had cried.
A baby I had sung to.
A baby who had stayed.
"No," I whispered.
Hero nodded.
No hurt in it this time.
Or if there was, he hid it well.
"I can make you a sandwich plate."
"That sounds violently middle class."
"It came pre-made."
"Then yes."
He stood slowly, because his ribs had started winning arguments his pride used to win, and took the brown bag to the kitchen.
The flat smelled of rain, police, baby milk, and chicken salad.
A very specific breakdown.
Jen had finally hung up after making us promise not to speak publicly, privately, emotionally, legally, spiritually, or "with your faces" to anyone without her.
I had not asked what speaking with my face meant.
I already knew.
Hero did it constantly.
Officer Grant was downstairs with the security team. Ava was at the station. Mimi was still somewhere below, giving police the kind of full statement she should have given before she ever opened her mouth to Ava. Jo had been taken away from the gate earlier. Hayden was in custody and suddenly useful in the way broken men became useful when they realised they had been used worse than they had used others.
The nursery door remained closed.
Evidence tape across it now.
Yellow and ugly.
I could see it from where I sat if I turned my head.
I didn't.
Hero brought me half a sandwich on a plate.
Cut into triangles.
I stared.
"You cut it?"
"You only have one hand."
"You made triangles."
"Easier."
"You made me a child's lunch."
"You're holding the child."
I narrowed my eyes.
He looked far too pleased with himself.
Then pain flickered across his face again, brief but real.
My irritation softened before I could stop it.
"Sit down."
He sat.
Immediately.
That scared me more than when he argued.
I shifted Eleanora slightly so I could take the sandwich. Her hand tightened in my jumper.
"I'm here," I whispered.
She sighed.
Hero heard.
Of course he did.
His face did the paragraph thing.
I ignored him and bit into the sandwich.
It tasted like nothing.
My body disagreed and nearly cried with gratitude.
I was hungrier than I'd realised.
That annoyed me too.
Bodies were so needy.
Food.
Water.
Sleep.
Touch.
Babies.
Scars.
They never stopped asking.
Hero ate his sandwich slowly, watching the door between bites.
"You're doing guard dog again," I said.
He blinked.
"What?"
"Door."
His eyes flicked away from it.
"Habit."
"Ava's at the station."
"For now."
"Police are downstairs."
"For now."
"Security is outside."
"For now."
I put the sandwich down.
"Hero."
He looked at me then.
Fully.
The bruises made him look younger and older at once. Boyish and ruined. His jaw shadowed. Lip split. Eyes too bright from pain, exhaustion, and the effort of not falling apart every time Eleanora breathed differently.
"I know," he said quietly.
"Do you?"
"No."
Honest.
That was better.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, then winced and leaned back again.
"I keep thinking if I look away, something happens."
My chest tightened.
"Something might."
His eyes lifted to mine.
I hated saying it.
I said it anyway.
"Something might happen whether you look or not."
His throat moved.
"I know."
"But she is here."
I looked down at Eleanora.
"She's here. I'm here. You're here. The door is locked. The police are here. The terrible sandwich triangles are here."
His mouth twitched faintly.
"They're good triangles."
"They're adequate."
"That's high praise from you."
"It is."
He looked at the door again.
Then back at me.
"I don't know how to stop bracing."
The words landed softly.
Because I didn't either.
Not really.
I had spent so long bracing for court letters, for crying, for my body, for motherhood, for Hero's eyes, for Mimi's concern, for Brandon's absence, for the press, for the next reason to prove I was as unfit as I feared.
Bracing was not living.
But it was hard to put down.
Especially when the world kept proving you right to hold it.
"Maybe we don't stop today," I said.
Hero watched me.
"Maybe today we just notice when we're doing it."
"That sounds like therapy."
"I know. I hated it as I said it."
He almost smiled.
Then Eleanora lifted her head.
Not fully.
Just enough to look around with sleepy confusion.
Her eyes landed on Hero.
She blinked.
Then reached one hand.
Not away from me.
Towards him.
A small thing.
A simple thing.
It still cracked the room open.
Hero went completely still.
I looked at him.
Then at her.
Ava's voice tried to rise in me.
She knows him.
Yes.
She did.
And maybe that hurt.
But it was also her luck.
My hand moved over Eleanora's back.
"Go on then," I whispered.
Hero swallowed.
"Are you sure?"
"No. But she is."
He stood slowly and came closer.
Eleanora leaned.
Just a little.
Enough.
I passed her to him.
The second she settled against his chest, she sighed like every part of her recognised the shape.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
But not like before.
Before, it would have been proof against me.
Now it was proof for her.
She had him.
She knew him.
She was safe in his arms.
And somehow I was still in the room.
Hero looked at me over her head.
There was caution in his face.
Apology.
I shook my head.
"Don't."
He didn't ask what I meant.
Don't apologise for being her father.
Don't make her comfort smaller because I am still learning how to stand beside it.
Don't make every good thing between you and her another courtroom inside me.
He nodded once.
Eleanora patted his jaw, caught the edge of his stubble, and frowned.
"Ow," he whispered.
I almost laughed.
"She's checking if you're still tragic."
"Verdict?"
"Moderately."
"Harsh."
"She has standards."
He looked down at her.
His whole face softened.
Not performative.
Not loud.
The face he probably had in NICU.
The one I never saw because I had refused to go.
A familiar spear of guilt rose, sharp and automatic.
Then I breathed.
Once.
Twice.
I did not run from it.
There.
Growth.
Annoying.
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
Hero looked up instantly.
Not unknown.
Anna.
I answered on speaker because secrecy felt like another room Ava could hide in.
"Tell me it's not the studio."
"It is the studio," Anna said.
I closed my eyes.
"Lie better."
"I don't work in fiction."
Hero muttered, "Debatable."
Anna ignored him. "Director is furious. Studio legal has gone quiet since Jen sent the safeguarding letter and references to police involvement. Jo's manager is trying to position her as emotionally vulnerable and manipulated by Ava."
My hand tightened around the plate.
"She was emotionally vulnerable when she sent Ava my location?"
Anna's voice softened, but not much.
"Apparently."
"Fantastic."
Hero shifted Eleanora higher, jaw hard.
"Are they still pushing the joint statement?"
"No. That died after Jen used the phrase 'witness interference' three times in one paragraph."
I breathed out.
Small relief.
Not enough.
Never enough.
"But," Anna continued.
Of course.
"There is press chatter that you, Emily, may be preparing a statement. Someone leaked that legal reps are involved."
Hero swore.
I didn't.
I felt strangely calm.
Maybe I had used up panic for the morning.
"Jo?" I asked.
"Possibly. Her team, maybe. Studio, maybe. Not confirmed."
"Do they have my statement?"
"No."
"Good."
Anna paused.
"Emily, Jen thinks we should be ready to release something minimal if Ava's photos leak. Not now. Just ready."
Hero looked at me.
Eleanora had one hand tucked into his shirt, little fingers curled there.
"What does minimal mean?" I asked.
Anna inhaled.
"No names beyond what is already public. No details. Something like: private images taken unlawfully from inside a family home are in police hands; any publication or distribution will be pursued; a child is involved; privacy requested."
I looked at the closed nursery door.
The evidence tape.
The room where Ava had watched me pregnant at thirty weeks.
"Will that stop them?"
"No," Anna said.
Honest.
Good.
"But it gives reputable outlets a reason not to touch it, and it frames anyone who does as exploiting unlawful images of a child's home."
Hero's eyes met mine.
I hated that this was our life.
I hated that a sentence like "reputable outlets" mattered.
I hated that protecting my daughter meant understanding how strangers would rank their own decency against clicks.
"Prepare it," I said.
Hero's mouth parted slightly.
Anna went silent.
Then, "You're sure?"
"No. But prepare it."
"Okay."
"Do not use Eleanora's name."
"Of course."
"Do not use Brandon."
"No."
"Do not use NICU."
"Never."
I swallowed.
"And do not make me sound healed."
Anna was quiet for a second.
Then, gently, "I wouldn't dare."
My throat tightened.
Hero watched me like he wanted to say something but knew better.
Good.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Yes," Anna said. "Security found an agency connection."
The flat went cold.
Hero sat straighter, Eleanora protesting slightly against his chest.
"What connection?"
"The charity night archive. Jen asked me to chase while police do formal requests. The event photos were originally stored by Mimi's husband's agency because they sponsored the photography. A digital folder was accessed three times in the last six months."
My stomach dropped.
"By Ava?"
"One access appears tied to an old freelancer login associated with Ava's shoot team years ago."
Hero's face hardened.
"And the others?"
"One from an admin account."
"Mimi's husband?" I asked.
"Unknown. Could be shared. Could be assistant. Could be automated transfer. We need police to confirm."
"And the third?"
Anna hesitated.
My pulse sharpened.
"Anna."
"The third access was from a user account registered to Jo's manager."
Silence.
Hero went still.
Not angry first.
Stunned.
"Jo's manager?" he repeated.
"Yes."
I looked at him.
The studio.
The fake romance.
The narrative.
Jo wanting it real.
Ava feeding her pain.
The manager trying to control a scandal before it became legal rot.
Everything was connected.
Not neatly.
Not in a grand conspiracy way.
Worse.
In the casual way people passed access, gossip, images, assumptions, because everyone thought someone else had the right to know.
My life as forwarded content.
Hero's voice was low.
"Why would Jo's manager access Brandon's charity photos?"
Anna said, "That's the question."
I pressed my fingers to my temple.
"Because the agency archive had old pictures of all of us."
"Likely," Anna said.
"Hero before the franchise. Ava. Me. Brandon. Titan maybe. Mimi. Old events."
"Yes."
"And if Jo's team was building a soft romantic narrative around Hero, old images were useful."
Hero looked sick.
"They were mining my past for PR?"
Anna did not soften it.
"Possibly."
Eleanora fussed, sensing the tension.
Hero instantly lowered his mouth to her hair.
"Sorry, baby."
I stood.
Not because I knew where I was going.
Because sitting still with that information felt impossible.
My daughter's nursery had been watched.
My pregnancy photographed.
My hospital box compromised.
Brandon's charity night archived.
Hero's old modelling world, Mimi's husband's agency, Ava, Jo, the studio - all of them tangled through years of access no one had bothered to cut off.
There were no more nothings.
"Emily?" Anna said.
"I'm here."
"You don't have to solve this right now."
"I know."
But my brain had already started lining things up.
This could not sprawl forever.
We could not keep bleeding into every room and calling it survival.
At some point, doors had to close.
Not all at once.
But enough to keep Eleanora safe.
Ava detained.
Good.
But Ava was not the only infection.
There was the agency.
The studio.
Jo.
Mimi.
Hayden.
The box.
The birth certificate wound.
The custody wound.
The nursery.
Me.
Hero.
Eleanora, who needed a future not built entirely from evidence bags.
"We need to close doors," I said.
Hero looked at me.
Anna went quiet.
"What doors?" she asked.
"All of them."
My voice sounded different.
Calm.
Not numb.
Decided.
"Studio door. Agency door. Ava door. Hayden door. Jo door. Mimi..." I stopped.
Mimi door.
My sister.
Not a door I wanted slammed forever.
But not open either.
"Family doors," I finished.
Hero watched me with something like recognition.
"Emily."
"No." I looked at him. "No more leaks because people loved us badly. No more old keys. No more access because someone used to belong. No more sentimental boxes with dangerous things in them. No more PR people digging through grief. No more everyone deciding what I can survive."
Anna was silent.
Then she said, "That's a plan."
"It's a lot of plans."
"Yes. But it's a good spine."
Jen's word.
Spine.
I almost smiled.
"Send me a list," Anna said. "Everything you want shut down. I'll coordinate with Jen and security."
"Okay."
"And Emily?"
"Yes?"
"Eat the sandwich."
I looked at my abandoned triangle.
"Everyone is very obsessed with sandwiches today."
"Because collapsing helps no one."
"Fine."
Anna hung up.
I sat back down.
Hero was still watching me.
Eleanora was awake now, head resting under his chin, eyes on me.
Two pairs of eyes.
His and hers.
Both too much.
"What?" I asked.
Hero's mouth softened.
"You're frightening when you organise."
"Good."
"No, I mean it. It's comforting."
"That's because you're emotionally damaged."
"Yes."
Eleanora made a little noise.
I reached for her foot.
Tiny sock.
Soft heel.
She let me touch.
My chest warmed.
Small.
Dangerous.
I let myself have it anyway.
"We need to get her out of this flat eventually," Hero said quietly.
I knew.
I had known from the second the camera came out of the nursery wall.
But hearing it hurt.
"This is her home," I said.
"Yes."
"And mine."
"Yes."
"And Clara-Bellas."
"Yes."
"I don't want Ava to drive me out."
Hero nodded.
"I don't either."
"But she can't sleep here tonight."
His face tightened with relief and pain.
"No."
I looked around the living room.
Travel cot.
Evidence tape down the hall.
Police footsteps below.
Brown bags on the table.
Soupless sandwiches.
My daughter's rabbit.
This room had held too much.
It had held enough.
"Where?" I asked.
Hero hesitated.
"My parents would take us."
"They're nearly two hours away."
"I know."
"Lockdown."
"I know."
"Police investigation."
"I know."
"Press could follow."
"Yes."
"And if we go there, I'm in your family's house with your parents and Eleanora and all their routines and all the ways I don't fit."
Hero went quiet.
He understood.
His parents loved Eleanora.
They had helped raise her while I stayed away.
Their house was safe for my daughter, but not neutral for me.
Every chair would know I had not been there.
Every cupboard would know Hero had learned bottles without me.
Every photograph would ask where I was.
"No," Hero said softly.
I looked at him.
"No?"
"You don't have to do that tonight."
My throat tightened.
"Then where?"
He swallowed.
"There's the place Anna arranged for me during filming. The serviced house outside Winchester. Empty now because lockdown stopped everything. Security already knows it. Studio doesn't have the address, only Anna and Jen. It has two bedrooms, maybe three. Ground floor entrance. Private parking. No history."
No history.
The words landed like water.
No nursery.
No hospital box.
No Brandon photos.
No NICU ghosts in the walls.
No Hero's parents watching me try.
No Clara-Bellas stairwell with adhesive residue.
A place with no memory.
Just doors we could lock.
"For how long?" I asked.
"Tonight. Then decide."
Ten minutes.
Then another.
Tonight.
Then decide.
It was becoming our only method of survival.
"What about Clara-Bellas?"
"Security stays. Police finish search. Locks changed. Cameras replaced. Door codes wiped. Jen handles evidence. Anna handles studio. We don't abandon it. We step out while it's unsafe."
I stared at him.
"You've been thinking about this."
"Yes."
"And you didn't say?"
"You were holding her."
That shut me up.
He looked down at Eleanora.
"She matters more than my need to solve the room."
My eyes burned.
"That sounded suspiciously mature."
"I'm evolving."
"Unsettling."
"I know."
I looked at Eleanora.
She was chewing Hero's shirt now.
He didn't seem to mind.
"Would there be a cot?"
"I can arrange one."
"No." I shook my head. "Not someone else arranging everything."
Hero stilled.
"I can call Anna."
"No." I stood again. "We pack what she needs. Her things. From here. Not the nursery. Living room. Kitchen. Changing bag. Formula. Rabbit. Clothes from the clean laundry basket. Travel cot if police release it. We take what belongs to her now, not what Ava photographed."
Hero's eyes softened.
"Okay."
"And I pack my own bag."
"Yes."
"And you pack your own, because if I touch your pants, I will set myself on fire."
Despite everything, he laughed.
Painfully.
"Fair."
Eleanora laughed too.
Not because she understood.
Because Hero laughed and she liked the sound.
A small burst.
A tiny, breathy thing.
Both of us froze.
Then she did it again.
A little squeak of a laugh against Hero's shirt.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Hero looked at me.
His eyes were shining.
"She laughed," I whispered.
"She did."
"At you being injured."
"Cruel child."
"She's mine."
"She's ours."
The word slipped out of him.
Ours.
It didn't feel like a trap this time.
It felt like a hand offered in the dark.
I looked at Eleanora.
Then at him.
"Yes," I said.
"Ours."
Hero's face broke.
I pointed at him immediately.
"Do not cry while holding the baby. You'll drip on her."
He laughed again.
Eleanora squeaked back.
The room changed.
Not safe.
Not healed.
But changed.
Officer Grant knocked a moment later and opened the door after Hero called permission.
"We'll need to discuss temporary accommodation," he said.
Hero and I looked at each other.
Then back at him.
"We were just doing that," I said.
Officer Grant looked relieved.
"Good. Given the breach, we strongly recommend you don't stay here tonight."
My stomach turned anyway.
Recommendation made it real.
"Okay," I said.
Hero's eyes stayed on me.
Not pushing.
Standing beside.
"We have somewhere," he said.
"Address will need to be shared with police and security only," Officer Grant said.
"Fine."
"Minimal movement. Covered vehicle if possible. No public announcement. We'll coordinate rear exit if clear."
Rear exit.
The one Ava had used.
My face must have changed.
Officer Grant corrected instantly.
"Or alternative route. Whatever feels safest after security assessment."
I nodded.
"Not rear."
"Understood."
Hero shifted Eleanora.
"She needs to be kept out of cameras."
"Yes," Officer Grant said. "We'll handle that."
I looked towards the nursery door.
"What about the hospital box?"
Officer Grant paused.
"It remains evidence for now."
"I want it back eventually."
"Of course."
"No." My voice steadied. "Not of course. Document that. I want it back. All of it. The blanket. The programme. The NICU leaflets. The ugly parts too."
Hero's eyes softened.
Officer Grant nodded.
"I'll document it."
The ugly parts too.
Mine.
No more deciding what I could survive.
No more throwing pieces of myself into boxes and letting other people label them.
Officer Grant left.
For the next twenty minutes, we packed.
Badly.
Slowly.
With police downstairs and security outside and Anna texting instructions like a general.
Hero packed Eleanora's formula, bottles, nappies, wipes, two sleep suits from the clean laundry pile, one cardigan I didn't remember buying, her teething gel, and three toys.
I packed my bag in the bedroom with the door open.
Not because I was frightened of Hero.
Because closed doors were too much.
Jeans.
Jumper.
Toothbrush.
Phone charger.
Medication.
A hairbrush.
Then I stood in front of the drawer that held my underwear and suddenly could not move because normal things were offensive after trauma.
Hero appeared at the doorway with Eleanora on his hip.
"You okay?"
"No."
He waited.
I looked at the drawer.
"I'm standing here unable to pack pants while police are downstairs collecting evidence of a hidden camera in my nursery."
Hero looked at me.
Then very carefully said, "Do you want me to look away while you have the underwear crisis?"
A laugh burst out of me.
Sharp.
Unhinged.
Needed.
"Yes."
He immediately turned around.
Eleanora looked over his shoulder at me, delighted by the change in angle.
I grabbed underwear blindly and shoved it into the bag.
"Done."
Hero turned back.
"You survived."
"Barely."
"I'm proud."
"Don't be."
"Internally."
"Catastrophically?"
"Always."
Eleanora reached towards me.
This time I took her.
No hesitation.
Hero handed her over.
No hesitation.
Another small exchange.
Another brick.
I put her on my hip and zipped the bag.
She grabbed my hair.
"Ow."
Hero smiled.
"She likes you."
"She likes causing pain."
"Again, ours."
I looked at him.
He looked back.
Neither of us looked away.
For a second, the bedroom became too full.
Not with danger.
With history.
This was the room where I had slept pregnant and alone. The room I had avoided after coming home from hospital. The room Hero had once left clothes in drawers because neither of us knew how to end properly. The room where, last night, he had slept beside me clothed while Eleanora cried and the whole world tightened under lockdown.
We were leaving it.
For tonight.
Maybe more.
My throat tightened.
Hero saw.
"Not forever."
"I know."
"Unless you want forever."
"I don't know what I want."
"Tonight," he said softly.
"Then decide."
I nodded.
"Tonight."
Downstairs, a radio crackled.
Officer Grant called up.
"Security vehicle is ready when you are."
Ready.
Such a simple word.
Such a ridiculous lie.
I looked around my bedroom.
Then at Eleanora.
Then at Hero.
"Do we take the mobile?" he asked quietly.
My breath caught.
The mobile was in the nursery.
Evidence room.
Green walls.
Camera.
Chair.
The song.
My throat tightened.
"No."
Hero nodded.
I looked down at Eleanora.
"We don't need it."
Her fingers were in my hair, sticky and warm.
"I know the song."
Hero's face changed.
He did not speak.
Good.
I carried my daughter to the living room.
The travel cot was folded. The bags were by the door. Anna's supplies packed. My sandwich half-eaten. Hero's soupless dignity somewhere on the floor.
I looked at Clara-Bellas one last time from the top of the stairs.
My building.
My studio.
My home.
Violated.
Still mine.
"I'm coming back," I said.
Hero stood behind me.
"I know."
"No." I looked over my shoulder. "I'm saying it to the building."
His mouth twitched.
"Sorry."
I looked down the stairs.
"I'm coming back," I said again.
Then we went down.
Officer Grant led.
Security shielded.
Hero carried the bags despite me telling him not to, so I took two back and threatened to call his mother.
That worked.
Eleanora stayed in my arms under a blanket, face tucked into my neck, hidden from whatever lens might be stupid enough to wait outside.
There were no flashes.
No shouting.
Just rain.
Police.
A dark vehicle at the side entrance.
Not the rear.
Not Ava's door.
A different exit.
A different choice.
As I stepped outside, my phone buzzed.
For once, I did not flinch.
Mimi.
A text.
I gave them everything. I won't ask to see you. I won't ask to come with you. But I am here when you decide. I love you. I love Boo. I am sorry.
I stared at it.
Hero saw my face.
"Mimi?"
I nodded.
"Do you need to answer?"
I looked at Eleanora asleep against me.
Then at the vehicle.
Then at the building.
"No."
Not yet.
I put the phone away.
Hero opened the car door.
I climbed in with Eleanora.
He got in after me, moving stiffly.
Security closed the door.
For a second, we sat in dim silence.
Eleanora breathed against me.
Hero's knee touched mine.
The car began to move.
Clara-Bellas slid past the window.
Gates.
Rain.
Police tape.
The studio sign.
My whole life on a wet Winchester street.
I did not cry.
Not until Hero's hand found mine in the dark between us.
Then I let one tear fall.
Only one.
A controlled demolition.
Hero's thumb brushed mine.
No words.
Good.
I looked down at my daughter.
Her cheek against me.
Her breath warm.
No mobile.
No nursery.
No cot.
No green walls.
Just us.
And the song in my throat.
I bent my head close to her ear and sang softly, barely louder than breathing.
You Are My Sunshine.
Hero turned his face to the window.
His shoulders shook once.
He did not make a thing.
The car drove away from Clara-Bellas.
Not running.
Leaving.
There was a difference.
And for the first time in a long time, I knew exactly which one I was doing.