4. Kody
CHAPTER 4
KODY
The moon casts long shadows across the porch when I finally shut the front door and lock it behind me. It's been a few days since the wedding, and things have settled into a rhythm. Not easy, not exactly comfortable, but a rhythm all the same. Paige keeps to herself mostly, but she's good with Sadie. Really good. Better than I expected anyone could be after knowing us for less than a week.
She's been organizing things around the kitchen, quietly wiping down cabinets and labeling containers while cataloging everything. She even rearranged the spice rack, which Sadie found hilarious because she tried to spell out silly words with the labels. Most days, Paige is calm, steady, and focused.
She does more pre-K lessons with Sadie than I'd know what to do with. Colors with her on the rug. Sings those soft little songs under her breath while folding laundry. They go on nature walks and visit the horses every day, and she has Sadie help her bake in the kitchen, saying the measurements are teaching her math.
I watch them sometimes when they don't notice, and there's this pull in my chest. Like something I didn't know I was missing is slowly clicking into place. It’s as if a home I never thought I'd have might actually be real. But I don't let myself think too long on it. That kind of thinking gets dangerous since this is all temporary.
Still, tonight... something's off.
Paige barely touched her dinner. She pushed her food around on the plate. Her eyes are a little glassy, and her skin even paler than usual. When she stands to take her plate to the sink, she moves slowly, like every step takes effort, and wobbles just enough to make my gut clench with dread.
"Why don't you lie down? I can do dishes and if you are hungry later, I can warm you up some leftovers." I say, trying to sound casual. Trying not to show the panic rising in my chest.
She smiles weakly and shakes her head. "I'm fine. Just tired."
But the way she leaned against the counter for a second longer than necessary told me something different. I'm thankful she did go to bed and let me take on the dishes and nighttime routine with Sadie.
"Is Paige okay?" Sadie asks me while I put her to bed that night.
"Yeah, she is just tired. She didn't sleep well last night, so she went to bed a bit early today. I bet she is back to normal tomorrow," I tell Sadie as I tuck her in. She smiles at me, and that seems to ease her fears. I might worry about Paige, but there is no reason for Sadie to.
"Okay. And can we get some chickens?" Sadie asks, making me chuckle.
"You will have to ask Shane and Caitlin about that one,” I say, and that seems to appease her for now. But I will give Shane a heads-up in the morning that the question will be coming.
Later that night, the house is quiet. I have a hard time falling asleep, it's so quiet. I guess I doze off at some point because a thud wakes me up.
Not loud. Not violent. But off. Enough that I'm sitting upright, trying to get my bearings. My first thought is Sadie.
I'm on my feet in seconds, checking Sadie's room first. She's curled in bed, Bear-Bear clutched to her chest, one foot poking out from under the unicorn blanket, her tiny snores filling the room.
The sound didn't come from her room.
I move through the hallway, each step heavier than the last. There's a faint light coming from the kitchen. The low yellow glow of the stove bulb shines dimly.
Then I see her.
Paige is on the floor.
She’s crumpled in a heap beside the fridge, her arm half-stretched like she was trying to catch herself. Her skin is ghostly pale, and her breathing is shallow and rapid.
"Paige!"
I drop to my knees beside her. Her eyes are fluttering, her forehead damp with sweat, and her lips are moving, but I can't make out the words.
Panic claws at my chest.
What the hell is happening?
Then, like lightning through my brain—it hits me.
Her diabetes.
Where's her bag? I rack my brain and my gaze darts around until it lands on the counter. Scrambling up, I dig through the bag with trembling hands until I find the glucose gel. I tear it open and rush back to her.
"Hey, hey. Paige. Come on, baby. You need to take this. Stay with me."
Her eyes don't track me, but when I press the gel to her lips and gently squeeze it into her mouth, she swallows. Not much, but enough. Her breathing hitches, then starts to steady. Not perfect, but better.
Sliding to the floor, I cradle her head in my lap, brushing the hair away from her face with shaking fingers.
"You're okay," I whisper. Over and over. Maybe if I say it enough, it'll be true. "You're safe. I've got you. You're okay."
I lose count of how long I sit there. By the time I come to my senses and remember my phone is on my nightstand in the bedroom and I should go get it to call 911, her skin loses that waxy sheen. Her lips move again, and this time, I think she says my name.
But I don't leave her side. Instead, I carry her to bed, gently as if she might shatter. I pile pillows behind her, tuck a blanket around her, and sit against the headboard. She leans into me without saying anything, her head resting lightly against my chest. Her breathing evens out, slow and steady.
But it's more than that. The way she tucks into me, instinctively, like she trusts me to be the place she can rest. It undoes something in me. Her hand, small and cool, finds mine in the dark, and I close my fingers around hers without thinking. It's not just about making sure she's okay anymore.
It's about the quiet ache in my chest that won't stop tightening. About how her presence beside me fills a space I didn't realize was empty until now. How the scent of her hair, faint and floral against my shoulder, somehow steadies my racing heart.
She dozes off and on. I don't sleep at all. I keep my hand wrapped around hers, not because she asked, but because I need that contact. Need to know she's still here and still okay.
When the first streaks of dawn touch the sky through the window, she stirs again.
She blinks up at me, face pale and drawn. "I'm sorry," she whispers. Her voice is so soft it's almost not there. She tries to sit up, but I stop her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't," I murmur. "Don't pretend this doesn't matter."
Her lips tremble. Her eyes go glassy.
"I ran out of insulin last month," she says, voice thick with shame. "The clinic gave me some. It wasn't enough. I thought I could stretch it, just a few more days..."
God. My throat tightens. Not with anger. With helpless fury. At the world. At the system. At whoever let her fall through the cracks like this.
She shouldn't have had to fight this hard to survive.
"I should've seen it," I say. "I should've asked. I should've?—"
"No," she cuts in, shaking her head. "You've already done enough."
"This is why I married you," I say quietly.
She looks up, startled.
"Not for love," she whispers.
"For survival," I finish for her.
She looks away like she's embarrassed, but I gently tilt her chin back toward me.
"Then let me help you survive."
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't pull away either. That silence feels heavier than words, and it settles into my chest.
"Rest. I'll get breakfast going,” I say as she shifts back to her pillows.
By the time Sadie stirs awake, the kitchen is filled with the smell of eggs, toast, and coffee. Paige is wrapped in a blanket, perched at the table with a cup of juice between her hands. Her eyes are tired but clearer. Sadie sits beside her, chatting about a dream she had with flying raccoons and glitter rockets.
I glance at Paige every few seconds, making sure she's still okay. She catches me once, and there's something soft in her gaze. Grateful. But also a little scared.
Sadie notices, too. She scoops marshmallows out of her cereal and drops them into Paige's bowl like it's a healing spell.
"You okay, Miss Paige?" she asks.
Paige smiles faintly. "Getting there, sweetheart."
After breakfast, Paige curls up on the couch with a blanket, and I finally do what I should've done days ago. I call the doctor to get her set up with proper refills. After I tell him about her fainting last night, I make an appointment for her to get more insulin and get a few regular check-ins scheduled. I leave nothing to chance.
When I hang up, I find Paige standing in the kitchen, staring out the window like she's somewhere else.
"I'll pull my weight," she says quietly.
"I know," I reply. You already have been."
She looks over her shoulder at me. Her eyes are clearer now, but tired. Like she's still waiting for the catch.
"But I'm not going let you break while doing it," I say.
She swallows hard. Her eyes shimmer.
That wall between us—the one we've both been pretending doesn't exist—starts to crack. Not all the way. But just enough.