Leah
Tuesday night, Jacob brought Bella home asleep against his shoulder.
She had made it through dinner, a bath at his house, and exactly half of a story about an opinionated kitten before her body gave up. Her paper crown had slipped over one eyebrow. A stuffed cat hung from two fingers like it had passed out with her.
“She fought it,” Jacob murmured when I opened the door.
“She always does.”
I stepped back to let him in.
He carried her down the hallway with the practiced care of a father who knew exactly which floorboard squeaked outside her room. That used to hurt in a clean, familiar way. Tonight it hit differently.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms. Bella’s face was tucked into his neck. His hand covered most of her back, protective without effort.
I hated that I notice
