“Good,” I whisper. “She deserves a night without worries. After everything she’s been through.”
He nods, small and careful. His body still moves like it’s remembering pain; he never complains, though lowering himself onto the couch draws a hitched breath. We sit there watching something neither of us cares about, a comedy with too much laughter in it. His hand rests on mine. I’m trying.
It’s only the second time we’ve done this, sat together, shared space, tried to feel normal again. It still feels disjointed, like learning choreography that once made sense but now moves to someone else’s rhythm. Haunted steps in someone else’s dance.
He kisses me once, then again. Warm, safe. But every time my eyes close, it isn’t him I see. It’s Rafe. The dark waves. The tremor in his voice when he said my name. The steadiness of his hands when everything else was falling apart. The memory makes my breath catch in my throat.
Dominik pulls back, searching my face. “You okay?”
“Just tired,” I say, smiling through it.
He nods, stands, offers his hand. “Come to bed?”
I follow because it’s what’s expected, because I keep telling myself normal is a muscle, you rebuild it by using it. His room is wrapped in the scent of detergent from fresh bedding we put on earlier and the sweetness of Zosia’s shampoo from bath time, the wet towel in his hamper. Dominik kisses my shoulder, my neck. He’s so patient and kind. His lips trail lower, down my stomach, his hands tracing the map of a body that doesn’t answer the way it should.
I can’t.
“Wait,” I whisper, voice thin.
He looks up, confusion softening into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I feel sick,” I say quickly, already sitting up, gathering my clothes from the chair, throwing them back on. “Maybe cramps or something. I’ll be right back.”
I don’t look at him, I just move. Into the bathroom and lock the door. The mirror doesn’t lie. My eyes are ringed, sleepless. My face is thinner, hollow where laughter used to live. Nothing reads right anymore: food, air, even color. Everything’s dimmed since the night I told him not to wait for me.Except I never stopped waiting for him.
I wash my face, breathe, pull myself back together until I can pass for normal. Then I go back to bed. Dominik is already half asleep, worry still faintly on his face. I slide under the covers, let him think my silence is rest, not retreat. His hand finds my waist out of habit. I stay very still. Eventually, he finds rest again but I can't, I haven't been able to for months, no matter what I do.
Chapter 74
Amelka Katarzyna
Ipretend to sleep while Dominik’s snoring becomes a metronome of guilt. Guilt for what I can’t seem to do:move onwith him. It keeps me awake, staring at the wall.
Then my phone goes off. The vibration cuts through the quiet like a pulse. Dominik startles, half upright, reaching out to touch my arm, just a brief brush of connection, like a man taking inventory of everything that still matters before facing something new.
“Who is it?” he asks, groggy.
I look at the screen. “It’s Piotr.”
Dominik nods, already alert in the way he gets when family needs something.
I answer, and everything spills through the speaker: the chaos, the love, the noise.
Aga’s voice cuts through the background, impatient.
“She’s having contractions,” Piotr says, breathless. “We’re going to the hospital. Can you come watch Kacper?”
“Of course,” I say immediately, already pushing the covers back.
“I’m coming too,” Dominik says, halfway into his shirt before I can protest.
“You don’t have to,” I start, even though a part of me is grateful.
He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you go alone. They’re family. I’m helping.”
So we move quickly, careful not to wake Zosia until he lifts her from her bed, still dreaming.
“Come on, kochana,” he murmurs, wrapping her blanket tight around her. “We’ve got to help Uncle Piotr and Auntie Aga.”
