Page 146 of Dual

I nod, tears starting to blur my vision. “She’s not fighting anymore. We’re not fighting anymore. We’re just... us. Allof us, together.”

“Anna,” he says, my name a prayer and a promise all at once.

“I know she can’t always surface like that,” I continue, the words tumbling out as understanding crystallizes. “I know there will still be times when the walls go up or when she gets scared. But tonight... tonight she let you love her. Really love her. All of her.”

He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. “I do love her. Both of you. All of you. More than I can ever properly say.”

“Then show me,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him again.

This kiss is different from all the others—soft and sweet and full of promise, but also deep and consuming. It’s the kiss of lovers who have found their way back to each other through pain and loss and impossible odds. It’s the kiss of partners who trust each other completely, who know they can weather any storm as long as they’re together.

When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard again, desire rekindling despite everything we’ve just shared.

“Again?” he asks, his voice rough with want and wonder.

Instead of answering with words, I guide his hand between my legs, letting him feel how ready I am for him again. His eyes go dark with renewed hunger, and I feel an answering heat build low in my belly.

This time, when he enters me, it’s on the soft couch in our sanctuary, surrounded by the tools of our pleasure and the evidence of our love. This time, we move together slowly,savoring every sensation, every connection. This time, we make love with the knowledge that we’re complete, that we’re enough, that we’re exactly where we belong.

And when we finally reach our peak together, crying out each other’s names in the dim light of our private world, I feel something settle deep in my soul. A certainty that this is our happy ending—not because the story is over, but because it’s just beginning.

We are whole.

We are loved.

We are home.

FORTY-FOUR

DOMHNALL

The familiar scentof Dr. Ezra’s office—leather and old books mixed with something clean and medicinal—hits me as soon as we walk through the door. My chest tightens automatically, muscle memory from sessions where I’d sit in that chair and feel like I was being dissected, layer by careful layer.

But today feels different. Today, Anna’s warm hand is tucked into mine, her wedding ring catching the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows. Today, our three-month-old son Connor is nestled against my chest in his carrier, his tiny fist curled around my finger like he’s anchoring me to something real and good.

“Domhnall. Anna.” Dr. Ezra rises from behind his desk, that same measured smile I remember. “And this must be Connor.”

“He’s perfect,” Anna says, and there’s such fierce pride in her voice it makes my throat tight. She reaches over to adjust Connor’s tiny knit cap, her movements gentle and sure. “Ten fingers, ten toes, lungs like a set of bagpipes.”

I snort softly. “Gets that from his da, I’m afraid.”

Dr. Ezra chuckles as he settles into his chair, pen and notepad at the ready. “How are you both adjusting to parenthood?”

“Exhausted,” Anna and I say in unison, then share a look that makes my chest warm. Even bone-tired and running on caffeine and stubbornness, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dark circles under her eyes and spit-up on her shoulder and all.

“But good exhausted,” she adds, her voice soft. “Happy exhausted.”

Connor stirs against my chest, making those little mewling sounds that mean he’s working up to full-volume hunger demands. Anna immediately reaches for him, and I help transfer him to her arms, watching her face transform as she settles him against her chest. The way she looks at our son—like he’s made of starlight and miracles—still stops my breath.

“He’s beautiful,” Dr. Ezra observes. “He has your eyes, Domhnall.”

“Poor lad,” I mutter, but I’m grinning as I say it. Connor’seyes are the same steel-blue as mine, but when he looks at Anna, they go soft and wondering in a way that reminds me exactly how I feel about her every damn day.

“Don’t listen to your daddy,” Anna coos to Connor, rubbing gentle circles on his back. “Your eyes are perfect. Everything about you is perfect.”

I watch her with our son, this fierce protective love radiating from every line of her body, and something settles deep in my chest. She’s so present with him, so grounded. The Anna I fell in love with all those years ago was constantly floating somewhere else, somewhere safer than her own skin. But this Anna—ourAnna—is right here, right now, completely embodied in this moment.

“How has the transition been for both of you?” Dr. Ezra asks, his pen poised. “Individually and as a couple?”