I adjusted the mirror just enough to see him, not because I needed to, but because I could not stop checking that he was still there.
The city felt different on the drive home, quieter in a way that had nothing to do with traffic and everything to do with what had shifted.
Derek followed behind us for a while, then turned off without honking or calling, giving us space the only way he knew how.
When we reached my place, I carried Noah inside without waking him, his weight heavier than usual, like sleep had added something to him.
I laid him on the couch first, then changed my mind and moved him to my bed, because the couch suddenly felt too temporary for what he needed.
He stirred when I adjusted the pillow, eyes opening just enough to find me again before closing, as if confirming I had not disappeared.
I sat beside him longer than necessary, listening to his breathing, memorizing the rhythm like it was something I might lose again.
The house felt too quiet without his usual noise, the small chaos of toys and questions and footsteps that once annoyed me on tired evenings.
Now every silence carried weight, as if the walls were holding their breath, waiting to see what I would do next.
My phone buzzed twice on the kitchen counter before I looked at it, Lena’s name lighting up the screen both times.
I did not answer immediately. Not out of anger, not exactly, but because I needed one uninterrupted moment where nothing was being asked of me.
When I finally picked up, her voice came through softer than I had ever heard it, stripped of argument, stripped of defense.
“Is he okay?” she asked, and the question sounded like something she already feared the answer to.
“He’s sleeping,” I said. “Doctor said no break. Bruising, swelling. He’ll need rest.”
There was a pause, then a small sound, like she had tried to speak and stopped herself halfway through.
“I keep replaying it,” she said. “Everything. Every time you asked me questions. I thought you were just… overreacting.”
I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes for a second, because hearing her say it out loud did not feel like relief.
“I wanted it to be nothing,” she continued. “I wanted to believe I hadn’t made another bad choice.”
That part landed heavier than anything else, because it had nothing to do with Travis and everything to do with us.
“I know,” I said quietly. “I did the same thing. Just… from a different angle.”
Silence again, but this time it felt shared, not empty.
“What happens now?” she asked after a while, and there was no edge in her voice, only uncertainty.
I looked toward the bedroom, where Noah was still sleeping, one hand curled loosely near his face, the other resting carefully in the sling.
“Now we deal with it,” I said. “Properly. No ignoring things because they’re inconvenient.”
She let out a breath that sounded like something leaving her body for good.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said. “Counseling. Classes. Anything. I don’t want to lose him.”
The word lose hung between us, too large to ignore, too real to soften.
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