Two #2
Her brow furrowed, red eyebrows pushing the freckles on her forehead together as she poured her soul into our kiss. My hands explored her warm skin, hauling her body against mine. Her lips parted, and we tangled—slowly, deeply. The way she liked.
I’d heard people say that the excitement in intimacy dies over time.
That was true. The sweaty hands, racing heart, and sleepless nights tapered off as our years together ticked by. But something else took its place.
Safety. Companionship. Being fully known and loved.
We agreed that this was way better.
Without breaking our kiss, I moved her into the shower and she hissed when the water hit her back.
“Too hot?” I murmured.
“No. Kiss me.”
I guided her beneath the water again, and we got lost in each other.
“They have really pretty sunrises here. Should we just stay awake?” Sarah, naked under the covers, whispered against her pillow.
We’d gotten a second wind, and what I estimated taking thirty minutes took more like ninety. Worth every minute of lost sleep.
Lifting my watch, I tapped the backlight. “Dawn won’t be for another couple hours. I don’t think I can stay awake that long.”
“I realized long ago that the only way I’ll ever get you to watch a sunrise with me is if you pull an all-nighter.” She yawned.
“Those aren’t my good hours.” I’d never been able to drag myself out of bed that early. I marveled that the world's most chronic night owl married the world’s earliest bird.
She gave a soft laugh, patting my bicep. “Trust me. I know.”
“I will one day. I promise.”
“We might not have one day, Peter. We know that better than anyone.”
Boy, did we ever.
I shifted, pulling her into the little spoon position. But even as we fell silent and her breathing evened out, Sarah’s joy at the hospital nagged at the corners of my mind. I wanted her to hold a baby of her own. It was one of her biggest dreams—prioritized on her list.
“Sarah,” I whispered, “Are you happy?”
“Mmhmm. Very.” She snuggled in to prove her point, probably misreading my question.
“I meant in life. Like the way we are. With me.”
“Yes, Peter. Of course.”
Considering Sarah and I had been together since we were fifteen, I had an incredibly patient wife. I graduated college late, bought a house late, married her late, and started this conversation far too late.
Honestly, I didn’t deserve her.
When I looked back on the path of my life, it could have only been Sarah.
She had sat through not one, but two rounds of leukemia with me—loving me as my hair fell out, playing video games on my hospital bed, and wheeling me around the hospital floors.
I couldn’t even remember those days without a lump rising to my throat.
She survived the long nights and prayer vigils when I scraped close to death—holding my hand, waiting with my family, and talking to me when I couldn’t even hear. And when I was diagnosed with adult-onset epilepsy, she faced it with me—head high with no regrets in her rearview.
Throughout the years, I’d dealt with fears—incapacitating fears.
Yeah, I went to therapy and talked it out, but when decisions needed to be made, I delayed.
I didn’t want to make the wrong one. Our life together had been a nauseating rollercoaster of highs and lows, and day by day I worried we were catapulting into a low without realizing it.
It’s why, no matter how much I wanted to, I struggled to pull the trigger on kids.
IVF was no joke. And it was the only way for us to conceive due to chemotherapy. Thankfully, my parents had the wisdom to preserve that option for me all those years ago.
But Sarah’s perfect lips kissing the top of Wren’s fuzzy head played on repeat in my memory.
My sister wasn’t exactly “ready” for Wren, but no one could deny she was now at peace with her baby’s arrival. Maybe I wouldn't be ready for a big change until I had to be.
Sarah’s happiness was worth the risk, wasn’t it?
Theoretically, yes, it was.
“But you would be happier with a baby.” I whispered the words, disbelieving I’d said them.
She paused for a moment. “Yes…I would.”
My heartbeat seemed to ricochet, echoing off the walls of my chest as anxiety swooped through me. “Maybe…you should call Dr. Jones on Monday.”
Her warm body turned to stone in my arms. Then she wriggled around until she faced me, her eyes searching mine in the dark. “What did you just say?”
I gazed at her and spoke slower. “Maybe you should call Dr. Jones on Monday.”
She shook her head. “You can’t say that if you’re not serious.”
“And what if I am?”
She rolled her lips together, blinking. “You’re—you’re ready?”
I had held her back in so many ways. If it were up to her, she’d have a minivan full of children right now.
I nodded, incapable of speaking as light from the window glinted off her pooling tears.
Finally, I choked out. “I haven’t had a seizure in a long time.
Both of us are healthy. Everything we’ve had to wait on isn’t a problem right now.
We have the savings set aside. I think…I think we should just do it. ”
“You’re serious.” She didn’t believe me.
“I am.” I swiped a strand of hair off her forehead. “What do you think about that?”
She nodded, a tear escaping to race down her cheek. My wife didn’t get emotional often and seeing her cry, even happy tears, made my chest feel funny. “Yes,” she croaked. “I’ll call. You—you don’t want me to wait until after tax season though?”
I shook my head. “Don’t wait. It’ll take a while to get an appointment anyway. We should get the ball rolling.”
White teeth shone in the dark, her huge smile lighting up the room.
I smiled down at her. “I love you, Sarah.”
A soft cry lifted from her shaky smile. “I love you, Peter.”
As we drifted to sleep, our world flickered to black.
Just before her precious dawn.