Page 194

“Then Annie showed up,” I say, my voice rough. “And I don’t know how, or why, but she changed everything.”
I smirk slightly, shaking my head.
“She showed up, and suddenly, Robbie was smiling more. Talking more. Laughing.” I huff out a quiet breath. “And me? Well…” I hesitate, then look back at the headstone. “She fixed me, too.”
I rub a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly. “I don’t know if you had anything to do with that. I don’t know if fate is real or if things just happen the way they happen. But if you did…” I let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”
I glance back at Annie, catching the light of the sun in her hair as she leans down to talk to my son.
I turn back to the headstone. “Thank you for sending her to me when I needed her the most. For giving Robbie someone who sees him, who listens to him.” I press my lips together. “For saving me from myself before it was too late.”
I let the words hang there for a moment, letting the weight of them settle deep in my chest.
Then I take a slow step back, my eyes lingering on her name one last time.
“I won’t mess this up,” I murmur.
The wind rustles through the trees again, the leaves whispering softly around us.
And somehow, I know she heard me.
Chapter Forty Eight – Four Months Later
Annie
Cole is pacing.
Back and forth, running a hand through his already-messy hair, mumbling to himself.
The nurses ignore him.
I don’t blame them.
I, on the other hand, do not have the luxury of ignoring him, because I am currently lying in a hospital bed, breathing through another contraction, trying to remember why I ever thought pregnancy was a beautiful thing.
Spoiler: It’s not.
It’s painful, and exhausting, and right now, I am ninety percent sure I’m about to break Cole’s hand the next time he gets within grabbing distance.
“Cole,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
He stops pacing immediately, eyes snapping to me like he forgot I was actually here. “Yeah?”
Iinhale, exhale, and glare. “If you don’t sit down, I will personally make sure you never father another child again.”
His mouth opens. Then closes.
Then he cautiously steps closer to the bed and sits in the chair beside me.
“Better,” I mutter.
Another contraction rolls through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the sides of the hospital bed.
Cole tenses. “What do you need? Water? Ice chips? A doctor? Should I—”
“Stop talking,” I bite out.
He stops talking.