her voice— God, her voice— cut right through him. soft like dusk after a storm, steady like riverstone. don’t blame yourself. he heard it. 'course he did. he wanted to believe it. but grief was a beast he’d learned to ride bareback. it didn’t let go easy.
finally, his rough timbre rose like gravel underfoot.
i don’t know how t’ stop,he said,
blamin’ myself.
his eyes lifted to hers— storm-dark and weathered, but full of something she always brought out in him: hope. like a man who’d lost everything, then heard the cry of a newborn and remembered what life tasted like.
he shifted closer, pressing his head to her shoulder. and at the mention of a celebration, something passed over his features— grief, yes, but softened.
we’ll do that. they’d… they’d want somethin’ kind. not fire and war. just… rememberin’.
and at her laugh, his lips twitched, crooked and faint.
riot, huh?he looked down at her belly like it was made of gold.
they’re your kids. stubborn little fighters already.a beat.
but they’ll know me. they’ll know how much i love ‘em. 'cause i’ll be right here. every damn step.
then, quieter, as he pressed a kiss to her temple—
and i’ll never stop thankin’ christ they got you for a mom.