Chapter 8
Ana
We lie face up on the mattress, the silence of the bedroom soft and comfortable around us. He reaches across the sheet, his fingers sliding into mine, and grips my hand tightly.
“I have a feeling I will be pregnant,” I say, staring at the ceiling.
He turns his head toward me. “Why do you say so?”
“Oh, well, because I just feel it.”
I roll onto my side to face him, my eyes locking onto his grey ones. He gives a slow, thoughtful nod. I trace the faint lines of tension remaining around his jaw. “You’re still afraid, aren’t you?”
He nods, the raw honesty clear on his features.
I reach up, resting my palm flat against his bare chest. “Choose to think on the positive outcomes, Fred. So that fear of the bad does not rob you of the good things life has to offer.”
He studies my face for a long second, the worry in his posture melting away. A slow smile breaks across his lips. “Come here,” he murmurs.
I slide closer, my body moving against his until the space between us vanishes. He leans down and kisses me. This time, there is no hesitation, no sudden freezing, and no pulling back. He kisses me exactly in the way he wants to, and in the way I want him.
When we finally pull apart, our breaths mingling in the dark, I look up at him from the pillow. “Tell me... what did you think of me when you saw my location on the tracker?”
A low, breathy laugh escapes his throat, and he shakes his head. “Honestly? I felt scared. But I still wasn’t going to tell you I knew. I was just going to act like I was blind, because I didn’t want you to leave.”
I nod slowly, understanding the depth of his desperation.
“But I’m sorry,” he says, his voice dropping into a rough whisper.
“You’re sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry for putting you through the pain of having to hold yourself back. For making you think that I didn’t find you attractive. Because heaven knows how attractive I found you.”
A small smirk touches my lips. “Tell me.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my cheek. “Remember when you put on that dress during our anniversary? The first anniversary?”
I nod my head, the memory of the silk fabric clear in my mind.
“I thought about it all day at church,” he confesses, a faint flush rising on his neck. “I actually went into the sanctuary for confession because of it.”
A sudden laugh bursts from my chest, and I shake my head in disbelief. Fred lets out a genuine laugh of his own, his shoulders shaking against the sheets, but his expression remains entirely serious as the amusement fades.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his gaze pinning me to the mattress. “You don’t know how perfect you are, wife.”
I lift my head, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, and then shift my weight to lay flat against his chest. I prop my chin on his breastbone, peering up at him from where I rest. “And you don’t seem to know how perfect you are to me, Fred.
” I lean up slightly, leaving a soft peck directly on his skin, just beside his scar.
“I am sorry you had to go through all of that with your late wife.”
He offers a quiet, grateful smile, his fingers gently tracing the line of my spine. After a moment of silence, I look closer at him. “You said your mom looked at you with disgust. How?”
His focus goes distant for a split second.
“It was when she was rolling her box out of the door. I remember her looking at my stomach with disgust. That’s the image that stayed with me the most. Later, when I called her after that unsuccessful therapy session, she explained why she said those things.
She felt bad because she knew no one was ever going to be able to look at the crater and enjoy an intimate moment with me.
She felt like the infection and the state of the skin was her fault. ”
I nod against his chest, the final piece of his boundary clicking into place in my mind. The mother who was supposed to shield him had projected her own guilt onto his body, turning his healing into a source of shame.
“I will love you,” I tell him, my voice fierce and steady in the dark room. “I will choose to love you, even when it seems impossible not to.”
I press another deep kiss to his chest. He looks down at me, his fingers tangling in my hair as he lets out a soft sigh.
“What kept me from telling you for so long?” he asks, the question directed more at himself than at me.
A breathy laugh escapes my lips, and he smiles with me. I nudge his chin with my fingers. “Ask yourself.”