Chapter 30
Thirty
It felt like weeks had passed by the time we stepped back into the cabin, though in reality, it had been less than twelve hours. The air was stale with the memory of the morning, of the lives we’d lived before everything shifted.
George met us at the door, tail wagging, eyes bright and hopeful. Dean crouched low, rubbing behind his ears. “Sorry, buddy,” he murmured, voice heavy but soft. “I never meant to leave you this long.”
He grabbed George’s leash off the table, then walked toward me with heavy steps that showed his exhaustion. He brushed his lips over mine and nodded toward the bathroom. “You look tired. Why don’t you take a shower while I take George out?”
I managed a nod, but something inside me was still off.
The cabin was unchanged. The bed unmade just like we’d left it, sheets tangled up at the foot. But it felt like a decade had passed since we’d last been here, instead of just hours.
I flicked the light on as I entered the bathroom, where the mirror was harsh and unrelenting. It showed the hollows under my eyes, the emotion which had left me spent.
But it was more than that.
It was sorrow. It was grief. It was so many emotions I didn’t know what to do with.
I flicked on the shower, peeled off my clothes, and stepped beneath the spray before it had time to heat.
The cold water bit against my skin, but the shiver that came over me wasn’t from temperature.
It was everything else. The memories, my loss, the anger at the hand I’d been dealt, and all the sadness I tried to forget, piling onto my chest until I couldn’t pull in a full breath.
I didn’t hear him come in, didn’t even realize I’d been crying, but then Dean was there, his solid form behind me, turning me around to face him.
“Em.” His voice was rough, thick with concern. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I pressed myself into his chest, and his arms wrapped around me.
I opened my mouth, trying to talk, but what came out was broken, fragments that didn’t make sense even to me.
He would be eleven now.
The same age Dean was when he lost his parents.
Dean pressed his cheek against the side of my head, his breath steady where mine was broken. “You’re in shock,” he said gently. “Your adrenaline’s still high. It’s playing tricks on you.”
But it wasn’t adrenaline.
The words clawed their way out, jagged and raw. “I had a son.”
It wasn’t a sentence.
It wasn’t a cry.
It was a sob.
His arms tightened at my words, and even though it was barely an explanation, he nodded.
“He was seven pounds, eight ounces.” I pushed forward in a rush, worried I would lose my courage if I stopped. “He had blonde hair, the smallest little nose I’d ever seen.” My voice cracked—the sound swallowed by the water. “I loved him so much.”
Dean’s breath hitched—barely a sound—then his hand slid to the back of my neck, warm and steady.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Breathe baby, you’re okay.”
His forehead leaned to mine as his thumb traced a slow circle.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m listening.”
I dragged in a shaky breath, my fingers holding onto his forearms—like the action alone was the only thing keeping me from sinking.
“I was nineteen.” The words scraped out of me, rough and hollow. “I couldn’t afford to keep the lights on. I couldn’t afford to feed us.”
My chest caved in on the last word, and Dean crushed me to his chest, his arms wrapping around me like he could hold all my pieces together. His lips brushed my ear, soft and steady, shushing me—not to silence, but to soothe.
“I made the most difficult decision of my life,” I whispered. “I… I gave him up for adoption.”
Saying the words aloud felt like peeling back skin—exposing raw flesh. “He was four weeks old. And I loved him more than anything.”
I took a shaky breath, willing myself to continue. “But I couldn’t give him the life he deserved. I couldn’t—I wasn’t—”
Dean’s breath broke, a sound so low it vibrated against my cheek. His hand curved behind my head, holding me as if he could shield me from my own memories.
“Em,” he whispered, voice fierce and gentle all at once. “Hey. Look at me.”
I lifted my face, barely enough to meet his gaze.
“It’s okay,” he said, his thumb brushing the tears away from my cheek. “You did what you needed to do. You chose him. That’s the bravest, most unselfish thing I’ve ever heard of.”
Before I could fall apart again, Dean reached past me and turned off the shower, the sudden quiet ringing in my ears. Then he stepped back, found a towel on the counter, and wrapped it around me—slowly, tenderly—his hands steady as he dried my arms, my trembling shoulders, the back of my neck.
And then, without hesitation, without a single wasted breath, he slid one arm under my knees and lifted me into his arms. He held me against his chest as he stepped out of the bathroom and into the warm light of the cabin.
Then he carried me across the room and laid me gently onto the bed, stretching out beside me before pulling the blankets over the both of us. His warmth wrapped around me as he tucked me into the crook of his arm, holding me tight until my shivers stopped.
“What was his name?” Dean asked softly.
My throat seized, but I forced the word out for the first time in eleven years, my voice splintering on the sound of it. “Griffin.”
Dean’s arms tightened instantly, pulling me deeper into his chest as though he could shield me from the ache.
“That’s a good name,” he murmured, the words falling soft and reverent, wrapping around me like a bandage I hadn’t known I needed.
His hand stroked a steady path along my spine. “You’re a good person, Em.”
Hot tears fell to my cheeks, and I shook my head, desperate to reject any words of praise, to push them away before they split me open.
But he didn’t let me pull away.
Dean’s hands came up, framing my face with a steadiness that unraveled something deep inside me. His voice was barely a breath. “Em,” he murmured, “I won’t pretend to know what that was like for you.”
His thumb swept a tear from my cheek, slow and careful, like he was afraid he might hurt me if he moved too fast. “Most people never have to make a choice like that. Most people never carry that kind of weight.”
He swallowed, lowering his forehead to mine.
“But you did, and I’m here for you, listening. To every word you want to share with me.”
Something inside me buckled—deep and sudden—I gripped his forearms as a quiet, broken sound slipped out of me.
Dean’s breath hitched at the noise—enough that I felt it against my cheek. His hand slid to the back of my neck, his thumb tracing a slow, steady circle, anchoring me.
For a moment, we just breathed together.
His chest rising against mine.
Mine shaking against his.
He didn’t rush me. Didn’t fill the silence.
He just stayed with me. Holding me. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft enough to shatter me.
“What did he look like?” he whispered.
The question was gentle, careful, an invitation instead of a demand—and it hit me so hard my whole body swayed.
I closed my eyes, letting the memories flood in. “His hair glowed yellow in the sunlight,” I began. A sound that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh at the same time.
Dean’s hand tightened at the back of my neck, and he pulled me closer.
“He had the most perfect little nose I’d ever seen,” I said “All babies have cute noses. But his… I don’t know. His was—mine.”
Dean let out a breath against my temple. A sound filled with emotion and understanding.
I swallowed hard against his chest. “He would curl his fingers around my pinky so tight.”
“Aww,” Dean murmured, pulling me closer. “Go on.”
And so, I did.
I told him things I’d never told another person.
About the family I’d chosen to adopt him. About how I’d kissed his forehead every night of the four weeks that he was mine. About how the last time I held him, I whispered into his ear that he would never remember me, but that I would remember him every single day of my life.
And Dean listened.
To every word.
Every breath.
Every cry
As though I was sharing something sacred.
And for the first time in years, the memories of my son didn’t feel like chains around my neck—didn’t feel like shame or failure or something I had to keep hidden to survive.
Eventually my eyes slipped closed, and in that quiet space between us, I realized something achingly simple: I had never felt more accepted in my life than I did in Dean Weston’s arms.