Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Something in Autumn’s posture looked not only submissive but fragile. Seth hadn’t spoken much about their marriage, but the woman had been almost dependent on him. Had that played a role in their strain?
The next picture ripped the breath from Heavenly’s lungs. Autumn in a hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, cradling a tiny newborn against her chest. Seth leaned over them, pressing a kiss to the baby’s downy head like a proud father. The look on his face—raw vulnerability mixed with the unguarded joy of a man who believed his world was complete.
Heavenly’s throat closed up. Her vision blurred. She blinked against the tears, but they came spilling down.
The Seth in that photo had been convinced their tomorrows were guaranteed. That he’d watch his son grow to a man, that he’d grow old with his wife.
She turned to study Seth. This version of him was wary and haunted. He was afraid to believe in the future.
And she understood precisely why now—not in a purely academic way, like, of course losing his family had been catastrophic. As she stood amid the rubble of his former life, understanding came with all the subtlety of a punch to the gut.
She swallowed back tears and pressed on.
Hanging to the left was a professional portrait of the three Coopers, maybe two months after Tristan’s birth. They all wore white shirts and khakis, smiling against the soft-focus background. They looked like any young family—tired, happy, and convinced they had all the time in the world.
Instead, that world had crashed down less than thirty days later.
Heavenly bit her lip to hold in a sob, but it was no use. Her chest buckled. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to breathe.
But the sadness pressed in from every direction, threatening to crush her.
In the living room, she saw neatly arranged baskets of toys—wooden blocks, plastic keys, a stuffed giraffe. A pristine bassinet crouched beside the couch, its white eyelet fabric yellowing with years gone by.
She imagined Seth coming home after a long shift, tie loosened, scooping up his cooing son from his bouncy seat and inhaling his milky-sweet scent. She pictured it so clearly, the vision hurt. Autumn had probably smiled from the kitchen before they’d shared dinner, bath time, then a lullaby. The boring, precious rhythms of family life.
And then, on Christmas Eve, some faceless monster had ripped it all away. Destroyed Seth’s family in a single explosion. Made sure that he came home to find—
Heavenly couldn’t finish the thought.
She tried to brace herself on the nearby doorjamb. But her knees weakened. Her stomach turned. Her realization felt like a stab in the heart.
How had Seth survived such horrific tragedy? How had he kept breathing and living and pushing ahead when everything he’d known and loved had been cruelly incinerated in the blink of an eye?
Movement in her periphery pulled her back to the present. She turned to find Beck staring at the bassinet, his expression carved with fury and brutal restraint—as if his will alone was keeping something damaged and violent inside him from breaking loose.
Heavenly grabbed his hand. Squeezed. His trembled as he gripped hers in return, his jaw working.
Their eyes met—hers blurry with tears, his taut with glossy restraint. In that moment, they understood without exchanging a single word: We’re asking him to risk everything again. To put his heart on the line and trust that his future wouldn’t be ripped away a second time.
The magnitude of what they’d demanded of him was staggering.
“I’ll show you the rest,” Seth murmured behind them, his voice rough and raw.
She turned. He looked as if he was made of glass—like one whisper, one sympathetic touch might shatter him into infinite, irreparable pieces. She ached to go to him, wrap her arms around him, and promise him everything would be all right. But she couldn’t guarantee that. No one could.
For weeks, she and Beck had given lip service to the idea that tragedy could strike at any moment. But Seth alone had not only known that; he’d lived it.
Shame that she hadn’t listened, hadn’t really understood, engulfed her.
Beck wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. She leaned into him gratefully as they followed a rigid Seth down the hall in heavy silence.
They entered the master bedroom. The decor was basic—navy comforter, white shutters, and matching nightstands. Surprisingly dust-free surfaces and knickknacks combined with a closet full of clothes. It felt like a place where people still lived. Like Autumn might call out from the kitchen. Like Tristan might fuss from his nursery. As if they’d all return at any moment and resume their lives.
But they wouldn’t, not ever again.
Seth had carried that knowledge, adrift and alone, for nearly nine terrible years. And looking around her now, Heavenly wondered how he could possibly be ready to start over and create a new family. He swore he was…but was that wishful thinking? Or more kind lies than actual truth?