#my lips are scabbing over too in some weird reaction … please ignore their appearance

[xxmolls]

Guess who just got an MCAS reaction from GOING PEE?

Well … guess I can’t go to the restroom anymore without going into the beginning stages of anaphylaxis…

Can’t make this shit up… Oyyyyyy

[vanchlo]

The Partner / Chapter Thirteen, "The Healing"

Word Count: 7.7k /  Story Masterlist /  Read The Assistant /  Read on Wattpad / Song: I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for Cutie / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

*

"Since I've met you everything I've done has been in part because of you. I've cant untie myself from you, not my heart or my mind or any other part of me and I don't want to. I always thought love made you stupid make you weak, to love is to destroy. Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anybody I'd met and I realized I was the one who was weak."

- City of Glass

Everything inside of me shouts to flee, to run away from him, but I know that I can't do that anymore. A new old awkwardness steals the space between us as I look into his eyes, feeling mine pour over with the feelings that his stir in me.

"Come on, let's get comfy for this," Harry murmurs. Next, I'm squealing when he stands up, carrying me in his arms. It's easier than I thought it would be when my arms circle his neck, and my head finds his shoulder. "You're lighter, Becks."

I hum an acknowledgement of sorts, not knowing what I could say to that, but part of me thinks that he knows that. I know that he does. That's not what I say next, but something else instead, "Claire's food might help with that. If you stop eating my brookies."

"Your brookies, you say? I don't remember her putting your name on them," he responds. Something sparks inside of me at the sound coming from his chest, the beginning of a laugh. It continues with its song as his feet find the whines and creaks of the hardwood floor. It had been a good while since I'd felt lucky to get to hear his sound, and even more so, to see it at work when he gently lays me down on the bed.

"I guess I can share."

"You're going to have to," Harry says, a duality in his words. I hear it bounce around in my head as I watch him join me underneath the covers. A sliver of lingering afternoon sun peeks in from the window, highlighting the freckles decorating his face.

At that thought, a sour guilt knits together in my gut, because how had I ever stopped feeling lucky to have him? I had wanted him for so long and couldn't believe it when I finally got to call him mine. Even more so when I got to call him my fiance, and the father of my child. He still was, nothing had changed that, and I was so grateful for it.

"There's no pressure, bug. No judgement and no wrong answers . . Alright?"

"Alright," I whisper, still shocked at how weird his touch feels. That was something I never thought I'd think two years into loving him now. My fiance and best friend. His lips hold sunshine when I finally meet his eyes, a color that makes my heart squeeze, because of what I wonder. "I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if she'd have your eyes. Your dimples. Your . . curls."

His nod is silent and yet it's not. It speaks volumes as my favorite shade of green hides behind the sadness filling his eyes. "I've wondered that too, but I've always wished our kids had your eyes. I know she would've been beautiful, just like her Mom."

"Harry," it's a sigh, one damaged by pain that doesn't even skim the surface of how that makes me feel.

"I know, bug. I know," his voice is light like a feather, but as his hand comes to cradle my cheek, I know it's the least bit that. Leaning into his hand, my lips quiver under the weight of his words and those I know I need to say. "I miss her too . . all of the time, Becks."

"What did I do wrong? I still don't understand w-why, Harry," looking up at him through watery eyes, I watch his reaction and how this one stings.

"You didn't do anything wrong, honey. You did it all by the book. Neither of us did and we can't continue to blame ourselves for something that we had no control over . . I wish I could tell you why, but I can't. I don't know. I don't think we ever will know why, Becks."

"I wish I knew why she had to die," I crumple in his hands until I'm hiccuping sobs against his neck, my favorite hiding place that I'd been hiding from. It had been so hard sometimes to just breathe, and now as I fought for it, it felt a little bit easier. I had been slowly drowning this entire time in my own tears and grief, but finally I found hold of him, and he was saving me. I'd at last let him.

"I do too."

"I don't want to forget her, but it's so fucking hard to think about. I know I need to do s-something so that I can . . can think about other things, but then I feel guilty just thinking about not missing her all of the time," I confess against the chain of his necklace, feeling the way his chest heaves against mine.

"I've been thinking the same exact thing . . I never want her to be forgotten, she's our daughter, but her death doesn't need to consume us anymore, Becks. I know it's silly to say, but I don't think she'd want us to do that . . Even if she was only a baby, she'd want us to be happy. I know that grief doesn't let you pick and choose, but I want to be happy again. Happy that we got to be her parents for those almost four months- you know what, we're still her parents and we always will be. Nobody can take that away from us. I want to remember the good. The first time hearing her heartbeat and seeing her on the ultrasound, telling our families about her, and picking her name . . I never want to forget her, Becks, she's our daughter, but we're going to be okay. Maybe not today or in a week, but soon. I want to feel okay again, even though she's gone."

"So do I, Harry," I tearfully agree, busying myself by playing with the curls on the back of his neck. "I don't want . . want her to think that means I've forgotten her or that I love her less. I can't . . can't even imagine having another baby anytime soon."

"I'm not ready either, Becks, and that's okay. I don't know when I'll be. It's alright that we're not okay and may not be for a while, but she knows. I like to think she knows how loved she is, and she's being taken care of by so many loved ones who are telling her that. Our grandpas and grandmas."

"Yeah, she's pretty lucky."

"So are they," he murmurs. It's a while before my lungs calm down and my eyes find him again. A corner of his mouth twitches but a dimple doesn't appear. Instead, a tear and its trail does, glistening on his cheek. "Hi, pretty girl."

A smile is all that I can suffice. I find it too hard to look in his wet eyes for long, and resort to playing with his rings. It had felt awkward to me when I'd put mine back on, not being able to remember why I'd ever taken them off in the first place. But then I remember, and my chest heaves painfully at the memory. It was because of the blood. They had become caked with it and he'd noticed at the hospital and taken them off of me to wash. It hadn't been until earlier today that I'd had the courage to look at them again.

"I never got to feel her kick, and I'm not sure if I wish that I had because then it would've been harder . . Your turn," it's a whisper from my lips as his wait for me.

"I can't find it in myself to get rid of those flowers on the table . . I almost wish that they'd stop coming. Every note says the same thing in some variation, and they're just a blatant reminder every time I see them . . that our baby died."

"It's not just you," I confess and when his thumb settles on the strip of gauze still taped around the edge of my palm, I know that my secret is on its way out.

"Can I see it, please?"

"Sure . . it's really not that bad. It just bled a lot at first, and . . and I didn't know how to tell you," I answer, letting him peel the medical tape back to expose the scabbed over cut. It came as a bit of a shock to me too, somehow making the wound hurt again when I saw the look in his eyes.

"That looks like it hurt, buggie. What happened? I wish you had told me . . had let me help."

"I didn't do it to myself, Harry," I murmur, grabbing onto the courage to look into his eyes. He vocalizes an understanding and I nod, relieved. "Another fucking vase of flowers came a few days ago, I don't remember when. It fell out of my hands when I got it from the delivery guy at the door. A sound scared me when I was picking up the glass . . I don't even know who they were from, because I'm so sick of the flowers too, and so I threw them away . . I can't believe I did that, I still feel guilty about it."

"You shouldn't, love. It's okay. Accidents happen," he assures me. I hear a duality in his words again and find it hard to ignore. "My Mom wanted to come over one of these days to help out. Maybe I can give her the task of doing something with them. They're sore on the eyes for both of us, and I'm rather sure they're bothering my allergies."

"Good excuse," I wink and a dimple almost appears in his cheek. If one did, I don't get the chance to see, because he's pulling me against his chest. "You should tell your Mom that one. It's the safer one out of the two," I continue, feeling my body relax against his. My eyes fall closed at the feeling of his lips against the crown of my head. His favorite spot.

"I think I will . . It's your turn, buggie."

With a labored sigh, I comb my thoughts for one that's tame enough to admit. How could I ever sum up the sour emptiness that's consumed me ever since I woke up that morning without him and . . without her? the thought comes but within moments it's pushed away by another. I don't need to because he knows. Because the emptiness lives inside of him too.

"I feel like I need to find a pretty way to explain all of this- what I'm feeling, but I finally realized that I don't have to. You're feeling it all too," I hardly hear the words myself, and even so, I know that he hears what they really say. "The emptiness, or lack of feeling."

"Yeah, I am . . I'm sorry for exploding on you the other day about it . . About us going through the same thing. It wasn't the right way to do it."

"It's okay. I'm kind of glad for it. It woke me up and made me realize it's not just me m-mourning our daughter."

Harry hums a reply, one I'm not sure how to handle, but he does that for me, "I didn't want to tell you and upset you more, and frankly, I've tried to ignore it myself too." his lips pause. Only when I prompt him with a concerned question does he continue. "She's been trying to hide it, but Gemma told me my Mom is taking it hard. She hasn't told me herself but since she's staying with my sister, Gemma's noticed it and told me."

"Oh God. I had no idea. I've hardly spoken to her . . s-since," I huff, my thoughts spiraling when my scope opens beyond the two of us. "It's not just us hurting."

"Yeah, neither did I. She's done a good job of hiding it, that's for sure. I think what's worst for her is that she wants to do something to help, but doesn't know what. I haven't really let her come around, only to stop by a few times. I know your dad struggles with how to help and Skye too, they've told me so- and I don't intend to upset you by telling you this, so please don't be. I just don't want it to be a surprise to you."

"I know. Thank you," I mumble, hearing his classic hum in return. It had been so long since I'd felt his facial hair rub against my face, and somehow, it sends a tranquility across my body. "I can only imagine how upset my dad is. He was supposed to be a grandfather for the first time. I've spoken to him but, of course, he didn't mention it. That's Chuck for you."

"He told me that he didn't want to upset you, Becks, and he's a quiet one from what I know. To no surprise, he said that he'll be okay, but it's you that he's worried won't be," Harry shares aloud. The volume of his revelation grows inside of my head, but my well of responses shrink away. "Your turn."

Diving into the web of thoughts that have scattered my brain lately, I'm not sure where to go next, and so that's what I say, "I don't know what to say. So much of it is scary . . to think . . . to share."

"You don't have to be scared to tell me, Becks. Nothing bad is going to happen if you say it out loud. I promise. No judgement, bug." Shaking my head doesn't rid my head of them, despite knowing from experience that it wouldn't. Seconds pass and they only grow more stubborn, wanting to be there, and I realize the only way to get them to leave is to say them.

"Harry, wh-what if we try to have another baby and th-they die too?" a shiver runs down my spine before I even say it. When I do, my mouth trembles against his collarbone. Despite squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the hot tears escape them, painting his skin.

If I hadn't known him for as long as I had, his silence would have scared me. Still, I'd be lying if it didn't phase me, because I wait impatiently until he speaks again.

"It scares the shit out of me too, Becks. I can't even . . think about trying for another, because I'm afraid too . . that we'd lose them. The doctor said how many times that it's usually a one time thing, but that doesn't make me stop worrying or being scared. I wish I could tell you that we'd be okay, but . . I don't even know that. I hope so badly we will be, but I don't know."

"We can't know, and that's what hurts the most."

The rumbling of an agreement tickles at my ears and against my cheek where it hugs his chest. Thoughts bloom left and right inside of my brain and aren't even slowed by his fingers combing through my hair. It was something that had never failed to bring me comfort and to lull me into a sleep. That is until now.

"What do we do then . . Harry?" I whisper, fear laced throughout my words. Again, he hesitates. I can almost make out the sound of the wheels turning in his head as he thinks. Lying next to him and wrapped inside of his arms, the tension in his muscles reflects his thoughts.

"I wish I knew, Becks. We just . . have to give it time, I suppose. They say time heals wounds, but a month later and I still miss our baby that we never met. I don't get it . . . I guess we'll give it some time and wait until we're ready, that's all that we can do. And to take care of ourselves."

"And each other," I break in, feeling the movement of his head nodding at my words.

"Yes, that too. It's more important now than ever," Harry says, announcing his words by pulling away to look me in the eyes through his wet pair.

"I can't say how sorry I am that I forgot to take care of you too."

There's just a tert shake of his head I see before my eyes are falling closed, and he's kissing me. I'd done this how many times by now, but it still feels weird. It had been a long time since I'd thought that, probably since my accident, and yet as I kissed him back it felt strange before it felt familiar. Like seeing an old friend. He couldn't know that's why the next tear fell down my cheek when we were looking at each other again, because of the way I'd forgotten him and us through all of this.

"You don't need to keep apologizing. Promise," he tells me with a warm tilt to his lips, just as he taps my nose with his finger. "Boops."

"I love you, Harry," it had been born in my mind shortly after meeting him, this very sentence. At first, they weren't the same words, but they always had held the same meaning. It stirs up emotion inside of me, as if I needed any more, as the Guilt Train speeds on, reminding me of how that thought had been absent from my head lately. It hadn't been the first missing phrase, but it had been the most important one, hadn't it?

Nonetheless, a few dapples of sunshine spread out on his lips as they return it, "I love you more, Becks." His smile waits, hesitating as my own lips do the same. Smiling and thinking.

"I love you the most."

The softest of chuckles pours from his lips as something glints in his eyes staring down at me. "Hey, there's my girl. She's back."

Nodding at him, I realize it's been too long since my lips have reached this high, but he always seems to bring them back. He never fails, afterall.

"I'm getting there. I'm trying."

Inching his face towards mine, my eyes follow his as he brushes his nose against mine, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," his words tickle at my cheeks like a feather, but they don't make me sneeze. They don't make me laugh, and most important of all, they don't make me cry. They make me smile and finally soak in the sunshine he pours onto me. "That's all we can do, Becks - is to try and get better. Eventually we will . . We'll be okay, I know it, maybe not right away but we will."

With the taste of his chapstick on my lips once again, I nuzzle my head into his neck and fall asleep there, for the first time in a very long time. One that had felt longer than all of the other times that I had been without him, even if it wasn't, but it surely was the worst of them all. Because he was there by my side but I couldn't find it in me to reach out and grab onto him. As he sings our song and lulls me into a cryless sleep, I promise silently to never let go again.

*

I woke with a start. It was a surprise, but after it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings, it wasn't. I had been waking up this way for weeks now, but it didn't make it any easier to breathe this time. Especially not when I found the bed empty beside me. That was something I wouldn't have minded if it were even just two days ago, but no, not now.

Throwing back the covers, my eyes searched the dark room, unbeknownst to what time it was. That didn't let me fall back into the covers and search for sleep again. I hadn't been rational for a while now, and I wasn't when I raced to the door. Somebody beat me to it and upon looking up, a half asleep Harry looked down at me. Confusion twisted his eyebrows into a question but I knocked that off when I circled him in a hug. The sound of a breath leaving him came and then did his arms around me, and my crying.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he murmurs, sleep adding layers to his voice.

"I woke up and you weren't there, I was so scared."

A sound that couldn't be described, other than a huff of acknowledgement comes now from him, "Oh, I'm so sorry, bug. I was just getting a glass of water from the kitchen . . It's still the middle of the night, let's go back to bed."

I let him guide me back to our mess of covers that we call a bed. He pulls them over us and at the feeling of his head hooked over my chin, I try to calm down. It's never been something that I was good at doing on my own.

"Was it a bad one this time?"

A nod.

"What was yours about?"

"You didn't just get up for water, did you?" I ask into the empty air, surely the rest of the city asleep without us. We weren't up early for work or up late from other things. No, I was certain that very few others across the world were awake for the same reason that we were.

"No," he answers, his chest heaving with a sound of sadness escaping him. If only it were that easy. "I'll tell you what mine was about, if you'll tell me about yours."

"You should've been a therapist instead of a lawyer, always getting me to talk," I joke, trying to ease the tension. That wasn't what I was doing, but instead, I was deflecting. Like always. "I was watching everybody around us having kids and . . and we didn't have any . . Your turn."

"We . . We were in the new house and we had a baby. Phoebe," Harry confesses, a hollowness to his voice that hadn't been there since that day. I could tell by the sound of his voice that the waterworks weren't very far. Soon, it was my turn to hold him as his body shook with cries as I tried to keep my own in check.

"That sounds like a good dream," I almost said, knowing there was no point to it. It's the very reason his body shook with each loud sob, because it only made the nightmare scarier.

It was only after a few horribly sung songs to him that his soft snores began, mine soon following.

*

Upon waking up the next morning, it still didn't feel real that I was allowed to be hopeful. To try and be happy and to not feel guilty about it. A small smile hugged the corners of my lips when I remembered the way she sang me to sleep last night despite the upsetting reason for the occasion. I tried to push the memory of that nightmare away and how hauntingly real it had felt. I let my smile linger at recalling the way she took care of me. I had craved it for too long now, the way that I had needed her and at last she had let me.

Those are the thoughts that stayed with me when I pulled on my layers and did my morning walk, leaving her sound asleep with a kiss to her head. Despite the unwavering winter, it was something that had meant more to me than I'd initially planned. Even on the mornings where it took me half an hour or more to talk myself into getting out of bed, I still went on for a walk. It had started small, seeing as how I'd lost any workout regimen when everything had come crashing down. I started small and just walked around the block, but now, I had worked my way up to half an hour walks around the neighborhood.

By the time I'd made my way back to the house, I could hardly feel my nose and could think of nothing better than to slip back into bed with her. The letdown was more severe than I'd expected when I didn't find her in between the sheets. I couldn't be sure if I was surprised, but that was forgotten entirely when I also couldn't find her in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or in the living room. I didn't even waver at the bottom of the staircase before climbing it, ripping open doors frantically in search of her. No longer did I fret about the coldness of my limbs as an anxious warmth had spread over me. The thrashing of my heart and the irrational thoughts filling my head all came to a halt when I opened the door to the nursery, and there she was, sitting on the bed where everything was too.

Something swelled and shattered deep inside of me, leaving me breathless as I stood there, watching her. I looked on as she half faced me, clutching a gray onesie to her chest as guttural sobs consumed her. Recognizing it wasn't what made my hand fly to my mouth, and I wasn't sure what did that. It must have been a combination of the first thing we bought for our child that had passed away, and the fact that she was holding it. What had done it for me was opening this door to see her in here. The room of all rooms. It was where our baby was supposed to sleep, and slowly we had filled it with things meant for them. Now, it had become a mausoleum of sorts, and not once had I stepped foot in here since that fateful day at the hospital.

Pressing my hand against my quivering lips didn't silence the sounds they made as the rivers coursed down my face. Something resonated inside of me, telling me that she knew I was there. My vocal chords had taken a vacation the second I entered the room and laid eyes on her. Unlike them, my legs still worked and they carried me over to her. Sitting down beside her felt regretful when her cries became louder to my ears, and so did their trails on her cheeks. Her body shook harder when my arms came around her, holding her against me from behind. Mumbling her name had never felt so laborious or excruciating, but when she said our daughter's name, I knew it didn't compare.

"Can we . . . ," she started to say, a rockiness to her voice that was becoming far too normal as of late. "Can we look at it all together and then . . can we pack it away?"

Nodding against her cheek, I hummed an agreement. Looking down at her hands rolled into taut fists around the fabric, a memory swam into view, one I'd been trying to forget. She'd finally come around to the idea of being pregnant and during our first shopping trip after my accident, we'd perused the baby aisles happily. The FRIENDS 'Could I Be Any Cuter?' baby onesie had caught our attention right away, and we couldn't wait to put our little baby in it.

Pressing my lips to her shoulder now, I look on as she folds it nicely, smoothing her hand over the letters and the dark spots from her tears. With my mouth against the slope of her neck, my eyes followed when she took out the stuffed giraffe, a sob catching in her throat. There I remained, slowly finding my voice and smoothing my thumb over the plushie, knowing our baby would never play with the gift from her grandmother.

I took the next thing out of the bags we had been gifted from friends and family over the last few months. More stuffed animals and clothes passed through our hands, as did knitted blankets, hats, and more. With each one, the shoulder of her shirt grew wetter with my sad realization that our daughter would never get to love these things, because she was well and truly gone. She was never going to be born and be brought home to live in this house with us, or any other.

It shook my body for long after we placed each folded and caressed item into the plastic bin. She took longer to calm down inside of my arms, and even singing our song couldn't make it all better. For a good while now I had come to accept that nothing would except for time. Maybe not even that either.

*

In some way and somehow, it had been one of the worst days, despite the feeling I had that things were getting better. Slow it may be, but they were. It had almost been a month now since we'd lost our baby and it still hurt as much as the first day. I know he could hear the words bouncing around inside of my head, even if I didn't say them.

"Today was hard, huh?" Harry's murmured words smell of minty toothpaste when they hit my face. The words in my head can't find a way to my lips, and nor can my eyes find his. "How about this, bug. Can you rate how your day was? 10 being the worst ever pain and 0 being none?"

I find it in me to nod my head at his words, encouraged by his hand lacing with mine. The amethyst rings he'd surprised me with not long ago roots me to the moment as I brush my thumb along its stones.

"Eight . . and a half," I whisper, seeing from the corner of my eye how his head moves in acknowledgement. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, it's hard to not see how he bites at his lip. His one tell that could reveal everything. "Your turn."

"It was rather close to a nine for me, as well, but . . . ," his words run away from him, and for some reason, it pulls my eyes over to him. Before seeing them, I know that the wet trails down his cheeks are what made my heart find him with my eyes. "I feel guilty even thinking about it, let alone saying it, but . . it felt good somehow to go through her things together and pack them away. I don't know how I'll ever not miss her, but it feels like some kind of closure."

His confession comes to me as a surprise, but not one that pulls my hand from his or otherwise. No, it keeps my eyes on his and turns my lips up in a comforting smile.

"Me too," I concur, looking on as a sad smile flashes on his face. It's gone as fast as his hand gets caught in his hair.

"God, I never knew something could be th-this fucking hard," he stammers, pressing his thumbs against his eyes. His overgrown curls move when his head shakes.

"Neither did I," it's a whispered reply, coming just before I'm mentally brought back to the day Myles told me that Harry had been shot. Laying my eyes on his naked torso now, I curse myself for getting used to the pink scars littering his body from that day.

Suddenly, I'm doing it all over again, wondering which day had been the worst of my life. Then or the day I'd been told our baby didn't have a heartbeat anymore. I'd done it how many times now and was never able to decide. I hadn't lost him but I'd lost her, and that's what made the two fateful days so different. Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhale and open them again, deciding that I don't need to rank them. They both were excruciatingly awful in their own ways, and will always be some of the worst days of my life.

"It kind of makes you want to drink, huh?" I say before I know what I'm doing. The guilt is instantaneous despite the honesty filling my words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-."

"No, you're alright, Becks. You're just speaking the truth and that's what I've wanted for us - to be honest with one another," letting his hand fall from his hair, so do his words from my favorite pair of lips. Turning to lay on his side from being on his back, the bedside lamp sheds light on the black ink covering his skin. "It's made me want to drink so badly, almost as much as when we broke up and all of those other times, so that I could forget. Has it made you want to?"

"Yeah. I was a little mad at you sometimes for it," the admission comes and on its tail end is the guilt, strong and present as ever. His eyes still shine but with that sentence they dull. I blink and it's gone, but the regret pooling from my words doesn't.

"You don't need to feel bad for saying that. I can tell by the look on your face that you are. You can be honest with me, I promise."

"Thanks, and you can with me too. Always, Harry," I respond and the momentous curling of his lips tells me that he heard. "Can I ask . . did you at all . . drink?"

"No," he sighs loudly, dipping his eyes, they fall on my left hand. He'd done it time and time again, and yet, the sensation felt stronger than ever, the way he played with my rings. This time is different though and so is the flash of a smile on his face. "I don't think the urge had ever been stronger, but I resisted. I admit I was close at times, but each time I was, I called my sponsor or Myles. We'd talk for hours in my study, either about you and the baby with My' or about the urge to drink. If I'd had a bottle around here . . God, I knew I'd probably have emptied it and even that thought scares me. I don't want to be like this, Becks." Sniffling, a shiny tear falls from the tip of his nose and onto my knot ring.

"How bad is it today, Harry? Rate it."

"A good seven," he confesses, tearing a hole in my heart when his wet eyes briefly meet mine. "But I had a meeting this morning on Zoom before you were awake, and those have helped a lot. I didn't want to do them at first . . after we'd lost her, but I kept with it, and it made a world of difference . . Myles has really been there for me too- No, don't even say it. Don't apologize again, you have nothing to be sorry for," his words grow murky with tears, ones that I feel against my forehead when his lips sponge a kiss there.

"I would if you'd let me," a weak joke passes my lips and a hint of his chuckle sounds. Holding his eye contact had felt so difficult for so long, but now, I want nothing more than to keep it. "I can't believe I'd forgotten about your meetings, but I'm really glad to hear you've been keeping up with it. Thank you . . But still, I'm so sorry for forgetting about you, and your . . "

"My alcoholism. You can say it, Becks, it's okay. It's not going to upset me . . It's true, I'm an alcoholic. I probably always will be, but hopefully it stays that way, in the past."

Nodding doesn't feel like enough but words escape me, like they so often have recently. I'm saved by the bell, quite literally, when a ding! interrupts our conversation. Rolling onto his stomach, Harry almost looks like a different person with the majority of his tattoos now hidden.

"Oh, yeah," he murmurs, making the bed move when he turns around. "I have yoga tomorrow in the morning."

When his eyes meet mine something in them prods at me, and my feeling sparks, almost knowing what he'll say.

"Would you like to come with? My favorite instructor is back again. I haven't been in ages but think it'd be good to go back, and to get out of the house," Harry proposes, his phone locking with the electronic click! Dropping it onto the covers, he moves around until he's comfortable again, waiting for an answer. "You don't have to if you don't want to, it's just an idea, bug. I don't-."

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually. It's um, still done with the lights off mostly, right?" I craft my question carefully, waiting for his response that soon confirms my wonderings.

"Yep, as far as I know. So, if it hits us we can do our crying and nobody will know any different."

"Good," is all I say when I thread my arms around his middle, searching for the beating of his heart with my ear.

With the stroking of his fingers through my hair came a relaxation like no other. It was one that I hadn't been able to find in so long.

"Thank you," his words coast over the top of my head, stirring me from my almost sleep. "For coming back to me, Becks."

"Thanks for picking me back up."

"Always," was the last word he spoke before I drifted off to sleep with his lips pressed to my head, humming a song.

*

Before I opened my eyes, I knew it. I could tell by the sun shining on my face. I hadn't felt that in months, the London winter having descended on us months prior. Gray skies kissed with snow flurries had replaced the robin blue skies I knew that I'd see, the warblers and chickadees singing around me already. Flicking my toes skywards, soft stalks of wheat grass and flower petals tickled my legs. It smelled of sunshine and dirt when I breathed in my surroundings, just like the smells of summer back in Madley.

Already, I knew where I was and that upon opening my eyes what I'd see. Tears already sat underneath my eyelids when I opened them, spilling over my waterline when I knew she'd be there, waiting for me.

I was in heaven, wasn't I?

The trees around me kissed the sky with their golden branches and ripe fruits dangling from their limbs. Not one ivory cloud dotted the sky, the blue of robin's eggs filling it instead. No, that wasn't what my thoughts focused on or fought for. With my eyes, I forgot about them and the warbling brook off in the distance. I searched for her, left and right, and up and down.

But I couldn't find her anywhere. Not behind the towering maples over my shoulder, tucked into the cluster of black eyed susans to my left, or even next to the fawn asleep a few paces away, its mother beside it. They came faster down my cheeks as breaths halted in my lungs, searching for my own baby.

Only could my chest fill again with air when I turned back to face ahead, and by a miracle, there she was. The same olive dress hung down to her knees, and a smile bigger than the last time clung to her rose colored lips. His mouth. His nose too, and most beautiful of all, Harry's sage eyes sat in hers below shoulder length curls the same chestnut shade of his.

"Mummy!" she shouted in a voice dripping with honey, one that covered me all over when her arms came around me.

"Phoebe," I cried into her hair, the smell of Harry's vanilla and notes of citrus surrounding me. My hands shook as they raked through her hair soft as ribbons, and I held on. I never wanted to let go, because I knew that she was my baby. My Phoebe Anne.

Neither did she, even when she pulled away to look into my eyes with her glistening pair. His giggle escaped her lips as I made quick work of the tears painting her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Mummy."

My head couldn't shake faster and my heart couldn't keep up with how it grew at the sight of her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweet Pea, it's nobody's fault."

"I didn't want to leave you and Daddy, Mummy," she confesses in a choked sob, bringing her dainty hand to hold my cheek. I smile back at her, unsure of how my lips could reach so high as I stare at the baby that I'd lost. "But I didn't have a choice."

"It's okay, Pea. I promise. Daddy and I know," my words are shaky, and so are my hands that card through her hair. Tan freckles dot her cheeks and nose, tickled by thick dark lashes donning her eyes. She's real. My Phoebs. "We love you so much, you'll always be our baby girl."

A nod replaces her words before she dives back into my arms again. Her cries sound like muffled squeaks against my front, and if I thought it were fake, her hands caught in the back of my dress confirm it. Her tepid tears soaking through the fabric. Her sunshine warmth against mine, just like his. Harry.

No sooner had I lifted my head and parted my lips, does a tree creaking in the distance catch my attention. Her head lifts too, the same color of her curls appearing from behind its trunk.

"Daddy!" she exclaims. I couldn't mistake it anywhere, the loud laugh that I hear from across the field. It's the one that has filled my dreams and made all of them come true. Peering down at her, her lips are pointed skywards again as she beams at me. "It's Daddy, Mummy! We're together again. A family."

I've blinked and he's only a step away, dimples set deep into his cheeks. Once more, his sunshine is dancing across my face as he looks at me.

"I always knew she'd be beautiful, just like her Mum," Harry remarks

fondly, eyes falling and I follow them. Instead of a young girl wrapped in my arms, a pink baby is cradled in them. The very one I'd found crying in that hospital crib, waiting for me. "Our Phoebe, baby Pea."

Something like a happy hum fills my lips as he takes the last step and wraps an arm around me, the both of us.

"My girls," Harry coos, sponging a kiss to my temple before bending down to press a whispery kiss to our daughter's forehead. It wrinkles at the touch, but she relaxes and continues to stare up at us. Again, his sage greens sit in her eyes as the dimple in her left cheek twinkles when her lips give a smile.

I lean into him, feeling his nose pressed against my temple as she coos, her beautiful face growing hazy in front of my teary eyes.

"It's okay, Becks, we don't have to be broken anymore. She's okay, she'll always be our baby, our daughter. We won't forget her, she knows that, and she won't forget us either. They'll take care of her for us until we come back," he murmurs, lifting my head with his words to find familiar figures walking out of a cluster of oak trees from our left.

"Grandpa Holte," I whisper in amazement, catching the smile on his wrinkled face.

"And mine too," Harry adds when we see his grandfather appear from behind a birch tree. The wind whipping through the trees and the singing of the birds quiets and so does my heart when I see who appears at my grandfather's side.

"Grandma Ann," I hardly hear it myself, the words that I speak caught between tears. The smile framing them grows at the sight of a black goldendoodle bounding towards us, Harry's dog Lola who passed away not long after we'd met.

"They'll take care of her for us," Harry repeats. I see it in his eyes when I reluctantly look away from our family walking towards us. He nods and a corner of his mouth lifts again. "She'll watch over us, Becks, just like they've all been doing. She's our guardian angel, our little Phoebs."

I nod to his words, closing my eyes when his forehead touches mine, resting there. Only do I open them again to look down at the curious baby who remains quiet, reaching a hand over to smooth back her ebony colored hair. His lips graze my forehead once more and I bury my head into his neck, cradling her tiny head.

"It's okay, Mummy," I hear, her honey sweet voice saying in my head. "I'm okay, and you and Daddy will be too. I want you both to be happy, because it's okay to be . . It's okay."

The twinkling of the alarm clock steals me away, and I'm suddenly staring at the ceiling. Soft light peeks in through the curtains, dancing across the walls and duvet cover. Turning my head, I feel the coolness of the pillow graze my cheek as I search for him. As if he knew what I was thinking, his messy head of curls turned towards me. A sleepy smile pulls at his lips, a tired twinkle in his eye.

"You wouldn't believe the dream I just had, Becks. I-It was about . . about the baby. Phoebs."

"Try me," I smile, already feeling the onset of tears as he smiles back at me, them not far off in his eyes either.