Then stopped.
Emily opened her eyes.
“Why did you stop?”
“To ask.”
She stared.
“Ask what?”
“If you're all right.”
Her expression softened.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She kissed him this time.
The fire snapped behind them.
Wind moved through the pines.
The entire world beyond the cabin seemed to disappear.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing needed proving.
When they finally pulled apart, Emily rested her forehead against his.
Daniel smiled.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Henry never asked.”
Daniel’s smile disappeared.
Emily touched his cheek.
“Don't let him into this room.”
Daniel understood.
He nodded.
“All right.”
That night they slept beside each other.
Nothing more.
Emily curled against his side eventually.
Daniel woke three times because his arm had gone numb beneath her.
He did not move it.
By morning, he could barely feel his fingers.
Emily woke first.
She found him staring at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong?”
“My arm is dead.”
She lifted her head quickly.
“You should have moved me.”
“I considered it.”
“And?”
“You looked comfortable.”
She stared.
“That may be the stupidest romantic thing anyone has ever done.”
“Thank you.”
“It was not praise.”
He flexed his fingers painfully.
Emily laughed.
Daniel decided the sound was worth a useless arm.
Their first morning as husband and wife began with burnt biscuits.
Emily blamed the oven.
Daniel blamed distraction.
She threw flour at him.
He kissed her in the kitchen.
Then stopped because she began laughing against his mouth.
The terror of the previous night did not disappear.
But something had shifted.
A secret spoken aloud had lost some of its power.
Not all.
Emily still watched Daniel whenever children visited.
She noticed the way he lifted little Samuel Briggs onto the fence rail.
The way he smiled when the boy asked endless questions about horses.
She wondered what Daniel would have been like with a son.
The thought hurt.
She hated herself for it.
Two weeks after the wedding, Daniel caught her watching him with Samuel.
That night, while they washed dishes, he said:
“You're doing it again.”
Emily froze.
“Doing what?”
“Looking guilty.”
“I do not have a guilty look.”
“You do.”
“What does it look like?”
“Like you’re trying to apologize with your eyebrows.”
“That is absurd.”
“It’s very distinctive.”
She handed him a plate.
He dried it.
Then became serious.
“Samuel.”
Emily looked away.
Daniel put the plate down.
“Come here.”
She crossed her arms.
“I’m washing.”
“The plate will survive.”
He took her hands.
“You don't need to feel sorry every time I enjoy being around a child.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
He sighed softly.
Emily whispered:
“I feel like I’m waiting for you to realize what you lost.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I can't keep proving a future I haven't lived.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“I can tell you I choose you.”