Chapter 100 Saint
Saint
Idon’t wake up in a panic.
That’s new.
I wake up because the house is breathing.
Because there’s a small sound down the hall that means Emmy is awake and about to announce it to the world.
Because Laney isn’t beside me.
For one sharp second, instinct flares.
Then I hear her voice.
Soft. Singing. Badly.
I lie there and listen.
And something in my chest shifts.
I find them in the nursery.
Laney is standing by the crib in one of my old T-shirts, hair a mess, swaying gently with Emmy against her shoulder. Emmy’s fist is tangled in her hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Laney is talking to her about nothing.
About the weather.
About how she’s going to grow up strong and stubborn.
About how her dad is very serious and very scary and very, very soft when no one’s looking.
I lean in the doorway and don’t move.
This is the thing I didn’t know how to imagine.
Not safety.
Not survival.
Continuity.
Laney glances up and sees me.
Smiles.
Just… smiles.
No fear behind it.
No question.
Just: you’re here.
She holds Emmy out to me.
“Good morning, Ranger.”
I take my daughter and feel something lock into place in my bones.
Not a promise.
A decision.
Later, Laney is making coffee, and Emmy is in her bouncer, kicking like she’s personally offended by gravity.
Laney laughs.
It’s easy. Unforced.
I watch her move through the kitchen like she belongs here.
Like she’s always belonged here.
And I realize something simple and terrifying:
I don’t want to ever do this without her.
Not missions.
Not mornings.
Not anything.
“Laney,” I say.
She looks over. “Yeah?”
The words are there.
They just aren’t ready to be spoken yet.
“Nothing,” I say.
She gives me a look like she knows that’s a lie.
She always does.
I drive into town later.
Not for supplies.
Not for work.
For a jeweler I remember from before everything went wrong.
I don’t know what I’m looking for.
I just know what I’m not.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing delicate.
Something that lasts.
Something that doesn’t pretend life is gentle.
The man behind the counter asks, “What kind of ring?”
I say, “One she can live in.”
He nods like he understands exactly what I mean.
That night, Laney is asleep before I am.
One hand curled around my chest.
Like she’s anchoring me to the bed.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time.
Thinking about roads.
And choices.
And all the ways I almost didn’t get here.
I turn carefully and look at her.
At the woman who walked into my life carrying a secret and stayed long enough to become my future.
“I’m going to marry you,” I whisper.
She doesn’t hear me.
But I mean it anyway.