Page 86 of The Breath Before Forever

Like fine China.

Precious, and his.

His first kisses were tender. Like his thumbs that swiped away the traitorous tears every time they dared to fall with her blinks. Vera didn’t want to cry, or be sad.

She’d already done a lot of that.

Just without him.

I missed you.

He let her cry more and apologize for the many short, terse phone calls between them even though she really wasn’t all that sorry. She did regret the wasted time because she knew they didn’t have nearly enough as it was.

I love you.

She unfurled his quilt and climbed into the small spot on the couch where more of her body hung off the cushion than what remained on it, but he didn’t let her fall. Wrapped in the blanket, up to her neck, with him, tight in his arms with her head against his chest where she could hear his heartbeat ...

Vera could breathe again.

She breathed better.

It was as if they had been one breath before forever when time stood still. When a choice was taken from her; when her entire life turned upside down. She didn’t expect anyone to apologize for those things.

Nobody said life was fair, but he let her cry about it all the same. About their time apart; poor Hannah; even how she came home to a house without him. She got it all out while his fingertips and stare studied and adored her the same way he always did when he held her close. Until her tears ran dry, and her trembling soothed to nothing but shivers because of his hands. He didn’t apologize for any of it, but that’s not what Vera wanted from him anyway.

She needed this.

Them.

Together.

Vaslav’s fingertips drifted up and down Vera’s spine under her hoodie. “It’s a new year. A new spring, kisska. Anything can happen. Anything could change.”

With him—at least, she told herself—she wanted to believe it.

Epilogue

Three months later ...

“There’s definitely something wrong. They’re taking the baby tonight.”

Nine words.

Two sentences.

Vaslav didn’t particularly enjoy eating his words, but the universe seemed determined to make him do exactly that. Everything did change.

It had been three weeks since time stopped, and he watched his wife walk out their front doors with empty arms and a worried smile.

He didn’t tell Vera not to leave.

Every phone call she made that filled him in on the unnamed baby girl’s achievements in the NICU ward left Vaslav feeling like he knew a child that he hadn’t even seen before.

Vera wore that same worried smile—even if it was tired, too—when he opened the front door after hearing Mira shout from her rooms on the third floor that they were finally home.

They, she’d said.

Specifically.