Chapter 3
Rain
I wake to a shift in the room. Cody is already awake.
I pull the blanket to my chin, squinting through the dim morning light at my husband.
I shift my weight, stretching my arms above my head.
He turns at the movement. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses sits perched on the bridge of his nose, catching the first pale rays of sun filtering through the window.
"Good morning, Cody. Did you even sleep?"
He gives a slow shake of his head. A faint grimace tightens the corners of his mouth. The sight pulls me upright. I rub the sleep from my eyes, pushing my hair back from my face.
"Are you in pain?"
He gives a slight nod, a low murmur escaping his throat.
I slide out from under the covers and walk around to his side of the mattress as I look down at him. "What happened?"
"I think I twisted it when I managed to sleep for a bit," he says.
"You could have called my attention," I say, the words soft but laced with a quiet frustration.
"I think I will get some of the ice, then," he replies.
A quiet wave of relief washes over me. It is Saturday. The kids do not have school, so there is no rush to wake them. Yet, a familiar pattern reminds me they will be up shortly anyway; their internal clocks always seem to align with the moments their father is moving.
I head down the stairs, repeating the now-familiar routine of wrapping ice cubes into a thick cotton towel.
Just as I expect, the distant echo of a bedroom door swinging shut reverberates through the house.
Rose. She possesses a distinct habit of closing her door with enough force to mimic a tiny alarm.
Her footsteps pad down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Another door opens and clicks shut.
I smile faintly. She is already inside.
Carrying the homemade compress, I walk back up the stairs.
I reach the master bedroom and push the door open slowly, intentionally quiet.
I like to savor these rare moments—watching him interact with the children without our usual boundaries getting in the way.
On a normal weekend visit, he would already be packing his briefcase, organizing his clothes for the overnight journey back to his real life.
Instead, he is still in bed. Rose is nestled securely against his side, tucked into the protective curve of his arm. She looks content, snuggled deep into his warmth.
The way you wish you could be, a quiet voice whispers in my mind.
My lips curve into a wistful smile. It is true. I would give anything to slide into that space, to rest my head against the heavy muscle of his arm and feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"I would love that," I mutter under my breath, the words barely audible.
I shake the thoughts away and step fully into the room.
"Mummy!" Rose breaks away from his side, her bare feet pattering across the rug. She throws her arms around my knees, locking me in place.
"Yes, baby. Now, what do you say?"
"Good morning, Mummy," she greets, looking up with bright eyes.
I squat down, carefully keeping the cold towel hidden behind my back. I press a firm kiss to her forehead. "Who is a good girl?"
"Rose!" she chirps.
The faint scent of her berry shampoo drifts up, and I lean in, peppering her cheeks with quick, playful kisses until a loud giggle bursts from her.
"Alright, go brush your teeth," I tell her, smoothing down her messy hair. "Give Daddy and Mummy some time to themselves, will you?"
She nods quickly, scrambles back onto the bed to plant a messy kiss on Cody’s cheek, and then darts out of the room, her laughter fading down the hall.
I pull the wooden chair closer to the mattress and sit down. I lift his leg with practiced care, placing the ice pack over the dark swelling around his ankle.
"How has the house been, Rain?"
The question catches me off guard. My fingers freeze against the fabric of the towel. I look up, blinking in surprise at his sudden attempt to start a conversation. I offer a small nod. "It has been good."
"Any more details?" he asks.
I stare at him, a knot of confusion forming in my chest. This is outside our routine. He never asks for details. "Is something wrong?"
He lets out a long, slow sigh, leaning his head back against the pillows. "No. But I just figured... it has been a while since we actually talked. Since I am staying here for a while, I want to make sure we don't stay awkward."
"Okay," I say softly.
"Yeah," he murmurs.
I clear my throat, focusing back on the cold cloth in my hands. "So, like I said, it has been good. Same old routine every day."
"Why isn't there a house help yet, Rain?" he asks, his gaze drifting over the room.
"I don't know," I admit, adjusting the ice. "I guess I just didn't want one."
"But you could get one," he says, his voice softening. "So you don't have to stress yourself too much."
The unexpected warmth in his words hits me in the chest, a sweet, melting sensation spreading through me. I look down at my hands to hide the flush on my cheeks. "I will think about it."
"No, you won't," he counters, a faint trace of amusement in his tone. "Because I know I have told you this over a billion times already."
I look up, meeting his dark eyes, and a genuine smile breaks across my face. "Yeah. That is true." I nod in agreement.
The silence returns, but it feels lighter now, stripped of its usual heavy tension.
"So, did you like the gifts I sent you for your birthday?" he asks.
My mind flashes back to the packages that arrived a few months ago. The same elegant blue bottles that have appeared on my vanity year after year. "The perfumes?"
"Yes, the perfumes..." He pauses, studying my face as my smile wavers. "I am guessing you do not like it," he concludes.
I slide the damp towel away from his ankle, setting it aside on the nightstand. I look up, meeting his beautiful face head-on. "The truth?"
A slow, rare smile spreads across his lips. I cannot help but smile back.
"Well, I don't really like it," I confess, the honesty lifting a weight from my shoulders. "It is not really my sort of fragrance."
A low laugh escapes his chest. I join in, the sound of our shared amusement filling the vast bedroom. He bows his head slightly, a lingering grin playing on his lips.
"I am just thinking of what you must have thought each time the gift came in," he says.
I laugh again, shaking my head. "I was thinking... he must have told a secretary to just get whatever gift seemed fitting for a wife."
The amusement fades from his expression. He grows still, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. "I picked it out myself, Rain."
Something in me goes still.
"What?"
"Yeah, I did," he says, his voice steady. "And I stuck to it because the very first time I gave it to you, you smiled. So I thought it was a safer option."
A soft, overwhelming sensation floods my heart, warming me from the inside out. He picked them out. Every single year, he chose them himself.
"Oh," I whisper, my throat suddenly tight. "The first time was because... it was the first time I was getting a gift from you. I liked the intention. Just like all of the others. I love the intention."
"But not the gift itself," he says, a wry tilt to his mouth.
"Yeah."
"What do you like, then?"
My mind goes blank. I have access to our shared accounts; I can buy any material object I want with the click of a button. Clothes, jewelry, shoes—none of it matters. Only one true desire rises to the surface, demanding to be spoken.
"I want you to be home during my birthdays," I say.
He stills. His black eyes stare straight into mine, drilling deep into my soul, searching for any hint of hesitation. The silence stretches between us, but it no longer feels cold.
Slowly, his expression softens. A deep smile spreads across his face, the prominent dimples appearing in his cheeks.
"Done," he says.