Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“The island?” I ask. “It’s been too long since we watched the sun come up from that beach.”
She grins, shaking her head. “As tempting as that sounds, I was thinking more about the little one. Junior would be bored out of his mind with just sand and waves. He needs trees to try and climb, trails to explore, something that burns that endless energy.”
Her words paint a picture of our son running ahead on a path, hair flying, laughter echoing. I can see it as clearly as if he’s already there.
“There’s the cabin in the mountains,” I suggest. “He’d have plenty of fresh air, space to run, and no one for miles. He’ll be too tired to protest bedtime.”
She laughs, leaning down to kiss me again. “Exactly what I was thinking. The cabin it is.”
The kiss lingers, sweeter this time. Her hand slips across my chest before she eases back. She stands, pulling her bag over her shoulder, and then her hand rests on the small swell of her belly. She’s showing just enough now for me to notice the curve, and it makes my chest tighten the way it did the first time.
“This little one needs some fresh mountain air too,” she says softly.
My eyes follow the line of her hand, my thoughts already moving to the image of a daughter wrapped in pink blankets, tiny fingers curling around mine. The idea that our family is about to grow again fills me with the same awe it did when she first told me she was pregnant three years ago.
“I agree,” I murmur, standing to kiss her forehead. “We’ll give her the best air there is.”
She smiles and turns to leave, already talking about packing lists and whether we’ll need to buy our son another pair of boots since he keeps outgrowing them as fast as she can buy them. I watch her go, the sway of her hips, the glow in her expression, the way she hums softly under her breath as she disappears down the hall.
The office falls quiet again, but I don’t mind the silence. I turn in my chair and look at the photos framed on the corner of my desk. One is of us on our wedding day. It wasn’t the spectacle people expected from a man like me. It was intimate. The room was filled with only those who mattered.
Alek stood beside me as best man, his usual sharp humor replaced with something more solemn. Becca, radiant as maid of honor, held our son in her arms through the entire ceremony, rocking him gently as we spoke our vows. Damien Jr., only a few months old, fussed once, then fell asleep against her shoulder, as if even he understood what the day meant.
The photographer caught Lyra laughing at something I whispered to her, her veil caught in the light, her eyes bright. She was so beautiful that day I could hardly breathe, and yet she’s more beautiful now.
I trace a finger along the edge of the photo, thinking about how far we have come. My son already calls me Papa with pride. I have a daughter on the way, and a wife who has given me more joy than I thought possible.
The word complete comes to mind, though I know better than to set limits. If Lyra tells me she wants more children after this one, I’ll give them to her. If she says two is enough, then I’ll be content. The choice is hers, always.
The city sprawls beyond the glass wall of my office, but I feel no pull toward it anymore. For years, every corner of it demanded something from me. Control, violence, or vigilance. Now, it feels smaller, less important. I built my power, I defended it, and now I’ve given it away to Alek, a man I trust with my life. He’s carried it forward for the last three years, and he’s much more suited to the role than I ever was. Lately, he doesn’t talk as much about the business, and I’m grateful for it. I have something better waiting for me at home.
I lean back in my chair, hands folded across my chest, and let myself think about the cabin. Snow still clings to the peaks even in spring, the fire crackling in the stone hearth, Lyra curled against me with her belly warm and round, our son chasing shadows through the trees outside until he comes in smelling like earth and pine. Our daughter will be born into that world soon, a world cleaner and quieter than the one that nearly stole their mother from us.
For a long time, I believed my life would end in violence. Now I know it will be defined by love.
The next morning, Lyra moves slowly through the penthouse, one hand on her belly, the other brushing over chairs and counters like she’s memorizing them. Junior trails after her, clutching his stuffed wolf and narrating a battle only he can see.