Worship Him

15. Destiny

15

DESTINY

I step into the foyer of our old house, clutching Avery close to my chest. The familiar scent of wood and leather wraps around me, pulling me back to a time when everything seemed perfect.

Adam strides ahead, leading us to the nursery he’s prepared. His steps are confident and purposeful.

“Here it is,” he says, pushing open the door with a flourish.

The room is beautiful—soft pastels and warm wood tones, a beautiful and elegant room for our daughter.

A mobile of tiny stars hangs above the crib, catching the light and casting gentle shadows on the walls. I run my fingers along the edge of the crib, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness.

“You really went all out,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady.

“She deserves it,” Adam replies, his eyes never leaving Avery. “I want her to feel at home here.”

She gurgles in my arms, her tiny hand reaching out as if she knows this place is meant for her. Adam steps closer, his presence overwhelming.

He reaches out, and I hand Avery to him. Watching him hold her, I’m hit with a wave of emotions—pride, love, regret. It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this: vulnerable yet strong.

“She’s beautiful,” he says softly, cradling her with surprising gentleness.

“Yeah,” I agree, unable to tear my eyes away from them. “She looks like you.”

Adam glances at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “I missed so much,” he admits, his voice rougher now.

“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

We stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. The nursery feels both comforting and stifling—full of what could have been and what might never be.

“She’s going to love it here,” I say finally, forcing a smile.

“I hope so.” He kisses Avery’s forehead before gently placing her in the crib. She squirms a bit before settling down, her eyes staring at the stars above her.

Adam spends the morning with Avery, and I respectfully keep my distance, letting him figure things out on his own. He seems to have it all under control, which is both surprising and reassuring.

He cradles Avery in one arm while preparing her bottle with the other, his movements confident and precise. "So, she needs to be fed every three to four hours, right?" he asks, glancing over at me.

"Yup," I reply, trying not to hover. "But don’t overthink it, she'll let you know when she's hungry."

I help him cool the milk while he plays with her. Smiling, I hand him the bottle and he takes it without even glancing at me, focusing on Avery as she eagerly drinks.

When she finishes, he gently lifts her to his shoulder, patting her back with a practiced rhythm.

"Have you been practicing?" I ask, leaning against the doorway.

Adam smirks. "You taught me well."

A burp escapes Avery, and his face lights up with a mix of pride and relief. He lowers her back into his arms, rocking her gently. "What's next?"

"Diaper change," I say, pointing to the changing table.

He carries her over and sets her down carefully. As he changes her diaper with surprising ease, I feel a pang of guilt for keeping him from this for so long. He's become good at it—better than I expected.

"You're doing great," I remark. "Better than some people who've had months of practice."

He laughs softly, a sound that feels both familiar and distant. "I'm a quick learner."

We fall into a comfortable rhythm throughout the day. Adam feeds Avery again later in the afternoon, handling her with the same care and precision as before. His focus never wavers, even when she gets fussy.

As the day stretches into evening, he looks at me with a mix of determination and something softer—regret? Love? It's hard to tell.

"I want to make up for lost time," he says quietly.

"I know," I reply, feeling the weight of those words. "And you will."

We stand there for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to Avery, who gurgles happily in his arms.

The sight tugs at my heartstrings, filling me with hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find a way through this.

As the visit nears its end, I notice the sky outside has darkened to an ominous gray. Thunder rumbles in the distance, growing louder with each passing minute.

Adam’s phone suddenly buzzes on the table, and he picks it up, frowning at the screen.

“Flash flood warning,” he announces, glancing up at me. “You’re not going anywhere in this storm.”

I start to protest, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “It’s not safe,” he continues, his voice firm. “You and Avery are staying here tonight.”

The idea of spending the night in our old home sends a wave of discomfort through me, but I know he’s right.

The rain is pounding against the windows now, a relentless drumbeat.

“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. “But just for tonight.”

He nods, already moving to close the curtains against the storm’s encroaching gloom.

I look over at Avery, feeling a mix of gratitude and unease.

The memories of my former life are everywhere—photos on the walls, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It’s like stepping back into a past I’m not sure I’m ready to face.

“I’ll set up the guest room,” he says, already moving out of the room and toward the stairs.

As he leads me down the hallway, I can’t shake the weirdness of being back here. I shake my head and try to focus on Avery’s safety instead of the gnawing unease in my chest.

“Listen,” Adam starts as we reach the guest room door, “I didn’t mean to sound like an ass just now.”

I smirk despite myself. “You’ve always had a way with words.”

He gives me a look that’s almost a smile. Almost. “Just trying to keep you and Avery safe.”

“I know,” I admit, stepping into the guest room. It’s pristine, untouched by time or turmoil.

Adam lingers in the doorway. “Do you need anything else?”

I shake my head, feeling awkward under his scrutiny. “No, this is fine. Thanks.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding and turning away. The click of the door closing feels like an exclamation point on our strained situation.

I sink onto the bed, running a hand through my hair. The sound of rain beating against the window grows louder, mingling with distant thunderclaps. Now my phone buzzes with a warning alert—staying was definitely the right call.

Still, being here feels like opening an old wound. Memories flash before me: our first night in this house, laughing over takeout in bed; passionate arguments about work and life; moments of quiet contentment that seemed so simple then.

I pull myself back to reality and glance out the window. It’s really looking bad out there.

I’m startled slightly by a knock on the doorframe. Adam stands there, looking almost hesitant—a rare sight.

“I made some tea,” he says. “Thought you might want some.”

I smile despite myself. “Thanks.”

He hands me a mug and lingers for a moment longer than necessary before silently leaving again.

Just as I’m about to take a sip, Avery’s sharp cry has me rushing to her room, but Adam’s already there. He picks her up and holds her safely in his arms.

It only takes a few moments for him to calm her down and she falls asleep almost immediately. He puts her back in the crib, covering her with a plush pink blanket.

After ensuring that Avery is going to stay asleep and setting up the baby monitor, Adam and I find ourselves in the living room. The tension between us is thick, almost suffocating.

I can’t hold it in any longer. The dam breaks, and tears stream down my face.

“I’m so sorry,” I sob, burying my face in my hands. “I screwed up so badly. I shouldn’t have kept her from you. It killed me to do it.”

He watches me, his expression unreadable. I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, but he stays silent.

“I never cheated on you,” I continue, my voice trembling. “I would never do that. How could you think that?”

His eyes soften just a bit as he steps closer. “Destiny, stop,” he says quietly.

“I understand if you hate me,” I say through my tears. “I would hate me too.”

He pulls me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, a familiar comfort I hadn’t realized I missed so much.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m angry and frustrated, sure, and you made a mistake—a big one—but I don’t hate you.”

I cling to him, my sobs quieting as the warmth of his embrace seeps into me. It’s been so long since I felt this close to him.

“We need to move on from this,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “For Avery’s sake. We can’t let this define her childhood.”

I blink up at him, surprised by his words. “You really think we can?”

“We have to,” he replies. “She deserves better than this mess we’ve made.”

I nod slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s right—Avery deserves parents who can put aside their differences for her.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I promise.

“We both will,” he says with a small nod.

We stand there for a moment longer, the storm outside a distant echo of the one inside us. But for the first time in a long while, there’s a glimmer of hope.

Adam’s arms tighten around me again, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His scent envelops me once more—a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely him—and it’s like coming home after being lost for so long.