Chapter 22: A moment of peace
The apartment held its breath. In the nursery, the soft, rhythmic sound of Waverly’s sleep monitor was the only whisper. In the bedroom, the world had shrunk to the warm cave of their bed, the duvet a tangled island in the dark.
Hannah was curled into Matt’s side, her head on his chest, listening to the steady thump beneath his ribs. His fingers traced idle patterns on her bare shoulder. The scent of him—laundry soap, clean skin, a hint of the coffee he’d drank hours ago—was her favorite perfume.
“So,” Matt said, his voice a low rumble she felt more than heard. “Got a question.”
“Mmm?”
“That six-week checkup you got coming up. That’s the all-clear, right? For… everything?”
Hannah smiled against his skin. She knew exactly what ‘everything’ meant. A month of healing, of ice packs and cautious movements, of a closeness that was emotional, logistical, deeply intimate, but physically chaste. “Yeah. That’s the one. Assuming everything’s where it should be.”
“And is it? Where it should be?” His hand slid down to her hip, possessive and gentle.
She giggled, a soft, airy sound in the dark. “Feels like it. No more… surprises.” She shifted, wincing only slightly. “The doc said everything’s textbook. So, theoretically, after next Tuesday…” She let the sentence hang, a promise in the quiet.
“Theoretically.” He repeated the word, tasting it. “I can work with theoretical.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve been very patient.”
“You have,” she conceded, tilting her face up to his. The streetlight from the window caught the amusement in his eyes. “A saint.”
“Not a saint.” He grinned. “Just strategic.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the future a pleasant, warm shape between them. Hannah’s mind, always restless, began to drift from the haze of contentment to the practical world waiting outside their door. “What’s the word from the warehouse? Things still running sideways since Roy quit?”
Matt sighed, his chest rising and falling under her. “Pretty much. They promoted Jenkins to floor manager. You remember Jenkins.”
“The guy who once taped over a fire exit because the draft was ‘annoying’?”
“That’s the one. So it’s a whole new kind of chaos. A lot of ‘this is how we’ve always done it’ while everything falls apart. They’re hiring two new temps next week.”
Hannah absorbed this. Her maternity leave had another month. The thought of going back to that noise, that concrete chill, those fluorescent lights, felt like planning a trip to the moon. A hostile, boring moon. “Great. Something to look forward to.”
“Hey,” Matt said, sensing the dip in her mood. He nudged her gently. “You don’t gotta think about that yet. Plenty of time.”
“I know. It’s just…” She struggled to articulate the dread. “It feels like I’m finally getting my head above water here. With her. With you. With this.” She gestured at the room, at their life. “And part of me is just waiting for the next wave to knock me down again. Like I don’t get to have this much good without paying for it.”
Matt was quiet for a long moment. His hand stilled on her back. “You remember what I told you? After Waverly was born, when you were in that hospital bed looking like you’d seen a ghost?”
She remembered. The antiseptic smell, the relentless, gentle beep of the monitors, the sheer, terrifying vulnerability of it all. Him, solid and quiet in the chair beside her, holding her hand. “You said life just needs to take its course.”
“Yeah. And I meant it. The bad stuff isn’t a payment plan, Hannah. It’s not karma cashing a check. It’s just… life. Random and messy. And so is the good stuff. You gotta let this,” he squeezed her gently, “just be good. Without waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Tears, sudden and hot, pricked at the corners of her eyes. She hated crying, but since giving birth, her emotions were a live wire, sparking at the slightest touch. His words didn’t feel like a platitude. They felt like permission.
“I’m trying,” she whispered, her voice thick.
“I know.” He shifted, rolling onto his side to face her fully. In the dim light, his features were soft, his expression serious. “And while you’re trying, I got something. Might make the warehouse seem a little less like a death sentence.”
“What?”
“Talked to Brenda in HR. She’s a friend of my mom’s, you know? Anyway, they’re piloting a new schedule. Four ten-hour days. Gives people a three-day weekend. It’s for the lift drivers first, but she said she could probably slot you in when you come back. More time here. With her.”
The information landed, clean and bright. A tangible piece of good, practical and real. Not a theoretical future, but a possible one. A three-day weekend. An extra day of watching Waverly discover her own fingers, of lazy mornings in this bed.
“Matt… are you serious?”
“Dead serious. It’s not a guarantee, but Brenda sounded confident. Said they need reliable people, and you’re reliable. Even if you did take a few months off to perform a miracle.”
A sob broke from her then, a short, wet gasp of pure relief. It wasn’t just the schedule. It was him. It was him remembering her offhand fear, him navigating the bureaucratic maze of their workplace, him building a raft for her before she even knew she was back in the water. He was already there, on the other side of the wave, waiting to pull her out.
She didn’t say thank you. Words felt too small. Instead, she closed the inch between them and kissed him. It was deeper than their playful banter, infused with a month of quiet longing and a surge of unmistakable, grounding love. It tasted like salt and promise.
When they parted, both were breathing a little harder. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, charged with a new, potent energy.
“Theoretical, huh?” Matt murmured, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, smearing a tear.
“Shut up,” she said, laughing through the remains of her cry. She kissed him again, brief and firm. “Next Tuesday.”
“I’ll mark the calendar.”
She settled back into the crook of his arm, the earlier anxiety melted, replaced by a weary, solid warmth. The hum of the refrigerator was a familiar song. Waverly’s monitor whispered its steady proof of life. The other shoe wasn’t dropping. Not tonight. Tonight, there was only this: his heartbeat under her ear, his plan taking root in her mind, and the delicious, patient certainty of what was coming next.