Chapter 11 - The apartment smelled like lavender and warm milk when we got home.
Natalie was sitting on my sofa, flipping through a magazine. She looked up as I unbuckled Clara from her stroller.
"How was the city?" she asked, her eyes searching my face for cracks.
"Bright," I said. "Crowded."
"Did you go in?"
"No."
Natalie smiled, a small, proud thing. "Good. You don't have to."
I put Clara on her playmat. She immediately started gnawing on the stuffed dalmatian Mark had given her.
"Mark met us," I said casually, walking to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.
Natalie didn't say anything for a long moment. Then I heard the magazine snap shut.
"Mark," she repeated. "The firefighter Mark. The one who brought you the ring."
"Yes."
"Did you ask him to come?"
"No. We just... talk sometimes. He checks in."
Natalie leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me drink. She didn't push. She didn't make a joke. She just nodded.
"He seems steady," she said.
Steady.
It was the best word for him. Mark did not rush into burning buildings to prove a point. He did not let guilt steer his life. He just showed up.
"He is," I said.
May you like
I looked at Clara, happily babbling at her new toy.
I didn't know if I was ready for steady. But for the first time in a year, I wasn't terrified of it.
