The wooden floorboards complained under my weight as I paced the length of the cabin, bare feet brushing splinters and dust. I’d walked the same path so many times the motion had lost meaning, but stopping felt worse. Stopping meant listening to my body.
Stopping meant thinking.
Every step sent a dull ache up my legs, a reminder that I wasn’t whole yet. That I might never feel whole again. Pain clung to me like a second skin,tight, irritated, impossible to shrug off.
My arms trembled as I held the small bundle pressed against my chest. Not from weakness alone, but from the constant awareness of him. Ronan wasn’t crying anymore.
He hadn’t slept either.
He only watched me.
Wide eyes followed my movements, dark and far too knowing for someone
