Page 174 of Walking in Darkness

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the face that emerged was Pax’s. Those fierce eyes seeming to burn from the page.

White flames.

The way they had done for all the years I’d drawn him, back when he was my darkest secret.

But now, there was so much comfort in that warmth. So much comfort in the way the image formed with the infant held protectively in his arms.

“That’s beautiful, Aria,” he murmured as he peered down at what I’d drawn.

“That’s what you’ve always been to me, Pax. Beautiful. So perfect in every way.”

I rolled onto my back so I was staring up at him. His shock of white hair billowed in the breeze, a bit longer than it’d been when I’d first met him.

The scar that cut through the right side of his face was still prominent, our bodies still riddled with battle wounds.

Reminders of what we’d fought for.

Of the purpose we’d been given.

A prompt for us to cherish the gift we’d been bestowed.

“I’m so thankful I get to share this life with you. This dream that I never thought I could receive.” Love flowed out with my words.

Pax brushed his thumb down my jaw. And he whispered a promise that he’d uttered long ago.

“You’re every dream I’ve ever had. Every vision in the day. Every hope that I’ve dared to have. All of me, it’s yours.”

He paused, then murmured, “You, Aria Morrison, are the reason my heart still beats.”

The rattled cry echoed through the night, dragging me from sleep. A tiny, sweet sound that squeezed my chest in a bout of love when I heard her need for me.

A dull glow filled our room when I flicked on the bedside lamp. I leaned over so I could scoop her out of her bassinet, and I sat up against the headboard and brought her to my breast.

Her cries were immediately stemmed when she latched on, and her little fist bounced around on my chest, trying to find something to hang on to.

I gave her my index finger, my insides fluttering with affection when she squeezed it tight.

Gently, I ran my thumb over the soft skin of the back of her hand as I gazed down at her.

Her precious, delicate face and the shock of black hair on her head.

This child who had become the fruition of our joy. An example of our love. The truest, purest gift that Pax and I had ever received.

That void of loneliness that he and I had once believed we’d forever be subject to filled with our devotion to each other. With our devotion to this family.

And she opened those eyes to me.

Big and wide and full of trust.

My daughter, with her beautiful pale-gray eyes.