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Gabe: That’s good, right?
Ameline: Yes, it means we won’t have issues sending her to rehabilitation for her physical and emotional problems.
Gabe: Good so that’s on hold. How about breakfast at my parents?
Ameline: I don’t want to leave Caleb alone.
Gabe: :thinking-face: emoji
Ameline: We’re not moving him just because you want to please your family.
Gabe: Oh, I wasn’t going to propose that. It’s more like why didn’t I think about that. I honestly wanted to bring the three of you with me, not just you.
Ameline: As I said, pass.
Gabe: I’ll excuse ourselves, but don’t be surprised if my family moves breakfast to the penthouse.
Ameline: So when are we moving to the house?
Gabe: It needs too many repairs to happen soon. We could buy a new one.
Ameline: You could still do a postnuptial agreement so I don’t clean you out during the divorce procedures.
Gabe: No, I trust that you won’t take me to the cleaners because you won’t send me packing. :wink: emoji
Ameline: Still cocky, Decker.
Gabe: I already told you, it’s hopeful.
Ameline: Cora is waking up from her nap. Talk to you later?
Gabe: Actually, I’m heading back home. Love you, baby.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ameline
I cradle Caleb in my arms, his warm little body nestled against my chest as I feed him. His tiny fingers curl around the bottle, lips working to get every last drop of formula. It’s only been a few days since we brought him home, but he seems a little better every day.
He’s still underweight but now able to sleep for a couple of hours at a time instead of crying inconsolably through the night. At night, his favorite place is snuggled in Gabe’s arms. I can’t blame the little guy. That used to be my favorite spot, too, especially when I was upset.
Knowing Caleb is recovering brings relief, yet holding him elicits a bittersweet ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally. I never got to cradle Alisson like this. The pain of that still throbs dully. Will it ever go away?
Across the room, Gabe sits cross-legged on the floor with Cora, dramatically reading a children’s book called “Dexter the Dinosaur’s Bedtime Battle.” His smooth baritone expertly acts out the various dinosaur voices, making Cora giggle. For a renowned oncologist, he has quite the flair for performance and keeping little kids entertained.
Right now, his voice is a deep, gruff grumble for Dexter, the stubborn dinosaur refusing bedtime. “No, I don’t need any sleep!” Gabe roars playfully. “Just look. I’m wide awake!” He stomps his feet, pretending to be Dexter. The defiance feels so natural. All this acting sends Cora into fits of laughter. Her joy lights up the whole room.
It’s impressive how she’s become a new, different person since we picked her up almost a week ago. There’s a lot we need to work on, like her issue with hiding food or getting anxious when Caleb cries. It’s like she’s afraid that we’ll get mad at her. Time will show her that her baby brother isn’t her responsibility and she has to learn to be just a kid.
“Mommy, Dexter doesn’t wanna go to bed,” Gabe squeaks in a high-pitched whine, eliciting another gleeful squeal from Cora.
He flips the page, his voice softening to a warm, gentle tone for Dexter’s mother. “Sweetheart, nighttime is when the whole world rests to recharge. The stars, the moon, even the trees sleep now, storing energy for tomorrow’s adventures.”
Seeing Gabe so tender and silly with the kids reminds me of better times between us—times when we were still happy before the miscarriage and grief tore us apart. The memories ache like an old wound in bad weather.
I sigh, pushing the memories away. I need to focus on this moment, I tell myself. These two sweet kids need me now. There’s no point rehashing the unchangeable past.
Caleb’s eyes droop closed, his suckling slowing to a stop. I lift him to my shoulder, gently patting and rubbing his little back until he lets out a satisfied burp.
