Leah
The shoulders of my hospital gown are drenched from my freshly showered hair. Staring into the sink mirror, I comb through my damp waves before dividing them into sections, the tresses sliding like wet silk between my fingers.
I'm not ready to say goodbye to this.
“There she is.” Nick steps inside, hanging up his phone. “I was starting to think you moved into the shower.”
“I considered it,” I joke, glancing at him in the reflection as I braid my hair. “The cold water felt glorious.”
He presses his lips into my hair. “More hot flashes?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the mirror. “But it’s okay.”
“Leah—”
“It is.” I tie off my hair. “My body’s trying to figure out this whole menopause thing, and she’s being a little dramatic about it.”
His mouth twitches. “You know if you want to talk about it—”
“I know … but it's okay,” I say, mostly because I need both of us to believe it.
It’s my fifth day in the hospital, and even though I am grateful for all of the men and women who have taken care of me, I'm ready to sleep on my own with no interruptions.
There's a strong possibility I may get discharged soon since I'm tolerating my medication. Walking
I’m finally starting to feel like I might actually get out of here. My pain is mostly manageable with medication, I’m getting up and walking around on my own, and I’ve changed my ostomy bag by myself twice now. Not exactly a skill I ever imagined being proud of, but here we are.
If everything keeps moving in the right direction, I might get to go home soon.
Well, my new home.
“The movers just finished loading everything up, and Santi, Jon, and Tate are meeting them at my place. And Angus—” he glances at the clock—“should be getting his storytime with a cookie at doggy daycare right about now.”
We share a laugh as a comfortable silence settles between us.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
I don't waste any time. I step into his waiting arms, resting my head against his chest as his arms envelop me. “Are you sure you want all of this? You can still turn back. I wouldn't blame you.”
“That … can't be an honest question.”
I chuckle. “I'm just saying … you're sacrificing a lot. ”
“I don't see it that way. And besides—” he lifts my chin—“you’re worth it.” He presses his lips to mine once—then twice—before lingering close enough that our foreheads touch.
A voice clears behind us.
With his arm protectively around me, Nick and I spin around to find my parents standing just inside the door.
Mom’s eyes go straight to my face, then lower to where Nick touches me. Dad’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. They both elect to stay silent.
“What are y’all doing here?” I ask.
Mom recovers first. “You had an operation, sweetheart.” Her voice breaks on the last word as she comes toward me. “Where else would we be?”
“I'm grateful y'all came, but … the surgery was almost a week ago.”
“Didn't you get our flowers?”
I glance over at the pretty bouquet of white roses. “I did, and they're lovely. But—”
“We knew you were in great hands, and—” she gives my dad a look—“we didn't want to get in the way during those first few days of recovery.”
Honestly, she’s right. They would’ve been in the way. But it still would’ve been nice if they’d come. Even if they spent the whole visit flipping through channels or reading every last thing on the hospital menu. Anything to keep their attention somewhere else in the room … anywhere but on me.
They weren’t going to help me with my socks when it was time to walk the halls.
They weren’t going to sneak popsicles out of the freezer down the hall or straighten my sheets when I couldn’t get comfortable.
They definitely weren’t going to make sure my sweet baby angel got his doggy treat at storytime.
It would've been nice, but I got better.
So much better.
Nick’s hand settles briefly at the back of my neck. “You okay?”
I glance up at him and slowly nod. “Maybe give us a minute.”
He agrees, reaching for my cup. “I'll go grab some ice.”
I catch his fingers before he can pull away.
He bends and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering just long enough to tell me he doesn’t actually want to leave. “I’ll be right outside, darlin’.”
He gives my parents a curt nod before slipping past them into the hallway.
A chill filters into the silent room as my parents step in further. They casually glance around, assessing the place, but I know their eyes are snagging on Nick's folded up linens and overnight bag.
“So … how are you feeling sweetheart?” Mom asks.
“I'm fine.” Do they really want to know?
“Have they told you anything yet?”
“Not much.” I tenderly take a seat on the edge of my bed—and immediately regret it. A sharp pain pulls low across my abdomen. I grab my pillow, hugging it to my belly as I sink back. I catch my breath. “We’re still waiting on pathology.”
They exchange a look.
“When will that come back?” Dad asks.
“Hopefully soon.”
“And then?”
I shrug. “It depends on what's in the report.”
Another awkward silence charges between us.
Mom rubs her thumb over the back of my hand. “What happens when they discharge you?”
Here we go …
“Well, I'll go home.”
“With who?”
The question catches me strangely. She already knows the answer.
“With Nick.”
My parents exchange another knowing look.
“We thought maybe you could come stay with us,” Mom says carefully. “Just until you’re stronger. You shouldn’t be alone after something like this.”
“But I won’t be alone. I'll have Nick.”
“We know, but Nick has Grady.” Dad’s tone is gentler than I expect. “He has a child to take care of. That’s already a full responsibility.”
“I know.”
“And you’re going to need help.”
“I know that, too.”
Mom reaches for my hand. “We’re only saying we could help. You could stay in your old room. I can take you to appointments. Your dad can—”
“No.”
We all freeze, surprised by the word that came out of my mouth.
“I-I’m sorry. It's not that I'm ungrateful. It's just … I have it all figured out.”
“And, uh—” Dad chuffs—“when you're too weak in the middle of the night or to take your dog out, what? You're just going to call this man up, and he'll come to the rescue?”
“Exactly. Except I won't have to call him.” I blow out a heavy exhale. “I live with him.”
Mom stills, her eyes widening. Dad’s face deepens to a deep red—almost purple.
“What does that even mean, Leah?” he asks.
“It means I moved in with him.”
“When?” he fires back.
“Does it matter?”
Mom blinks at me. “Are you having relations with that man?”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Mom, good grief …”
She stands, pacing back to my father.
“Moved in.” Dad's eyes narrow. “As in living in the same house?”
A tired laugh escapes me. “That’s usually what moving in means.”
“Leah Grace ...” He sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “I don't even know where to begin … Are you in trouble?”
“What?”
“Is he threatening you?”
I bite back my laughter. “You can't be serious right now.”
“We're just trying to understand why you'd even be interested in … damaged goods?”
I scoff, feeling the blow of their words deep in my core.
“And he's not even a believer. You know what the Bible says about—”
“Enough,” I growl. “You will not speak of him that way. And I’m not a little girl anymore—”
“Then stop acting like it,” Dad threatens, his face hardening. “We are trying to protect you—”
“Then where were you when I married Declan?” I shout. “Where were you when he was hurting me?”
Neither of them moves. Mom’s lips part, but nothing comes out. Dad’s face goes slack, all that righteous certainty wiped clean in an instant.
I look between them, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I look straight at my father.
“You stood by while Matt abandoned his child.”
His face changes.
“You knew what happened. You helped keep it quiet. You let Grady become somebody else’s responsibility because dealing with the truth would have been inconvenient.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I made mistakes.”
“Yes. You did.”
The words hang there between us.
“And the man you’re so worried is going to corrupt me?” My voice shakes now, but I don’t stop. “He’s raising the little boy your son left behind. He loves him. He shows up for him every single day. He’s doing the hard part. The inconvenient part. The part nobody gets applause for.”
Dad looks away.
“So if you want to judge him because he doesn’t sit in a church pew every Sunday, fine. But don’t stand there and act like you have some moral authority over a man who has spent years cleaning up a mess this family helped make.”
Mom closes her eyes.
Dad’s jaw works once.
“Leah.”
I’m crying now. Quietly, angrily, exhausted enough that I don’t bother hiding it.
“He who is without sin, Dad, cast the first stone.”
Silence.
Real silence this time.
The kind that leaves nowhere to hide.
Mom finally stands.
“I think maybe we all need some time.”
My chest aches.
“Maybe.”
She bends and kisses my forehead.
“We love you.”
I close my eyes.
Do you?
“I love you too.”
Dad pauses near the door like he wants to say something else, but whatever it is never comes.
Then they leave.
And the door closes softly behind them.