he first year was chaos.
Not the good kind. Not the kind that came from passion or danger or the thrill of building something new.
The hard kind.
The kind that made them question everything they thought they knew about love.
---
Lena cried.
A lot.
Not the soft, fussy crying of a baby who needed to be fed or changed or held. The kind of crying that came from somewhere deep. Somewhere no one could reach.
Colic, the doctor said.
It will pass, the doctor said.
Give it time, the doctor said.
But time moved slowly when you hadn't slept in three days. When your daughter screamed from dusk until dawn. When the woman you loved looked at you with eyes that were hollow and empty and full of something that looked like regret.
---
"You should sleep," Damien said.
It was 3 AM. Lena had been crying for four hours. Christabel was pacing the nursery, bouncing the baby, singing songs that weren't helping.
"I can't sleep."
"You have to sleep."
"I have to take care of her."
"You can't take care of her if you're falling apart."
She stopped pacing.
Turned to face him.
"Then help me."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
---
He took Lena from her arms.
The baby screamed.
Louder.
"It's okay," he said. "It's okay, little one. Daddy's got you."
She kept screaming.
He walked. Bounced. Swayed.
Nothing worked.
Christabel watched from the doorway.
Her eyes were red. Her hair was a mess. Her shirt was stained with milk and spit-up and tears.
"She hates us," Christabel said.
"She doesn't hate us."
"She hates being alive."
"She hates being uncomfortable. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
He looked at her.
"Yes."
---
The crying stopped at 5 AM.
Lena finally exhausted herself. Fell asleep in Damien's arms. Her tiny chest rose and fell. Her fingers curled around his thumb.
Christabel was sitting on the floor.
Her back against the wall.
Her face in her hands.
"She's asleep," Damien said.
"I know."
"You should sleep too."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because as soon as I close my eyes, she'll wake up again. And I'll have to start all over."
He sat beside her.
Lena still in his arms.
"Then don't close your eyes. Just rest."
"I can't rest."
"You can."
"I can't."
"Christabel."
She looked at him.
"I'm failing," she said.
"You're not failing."
"I can't make her stop crying. I can't make her happy. I can't do anything right."
"You're keeping her alive."
"That's not enough."
"It's everything."
---
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I didn't think it would be like this."
"Like what?"
"So hard."
He kissed her forehead.
"Neither did I."
---
The months passed.
Slowly.
Lena grew. The colic faded. The crying decreased.
But something else had taken its place.
Distance.
Not the physical kind. They still slept in the same bed. Still ate at the same table. Still sat in the same garden, watching the same sun set over the same city.
But something was missing.
Something had broken.
And neither of them knew how to fix it.
---
"You're different," Damien said.
They were in the garden. Lena was asleep in the nursery. The monitor sat between them on the bench.
"I'm tired."
"You've been tired for months."
"I have a baby."
"Other people have babies. They don't stop being themselves."
She looked at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I miss you."
"I'm right here."
"No." He shook his head. "You're not. You're somewhere else. Somewhere I can't reach."
"I'm taking care of our daughter."
"You're hiding."
---
She stood.
Walked to the edge of the garden.
Looked out at the city.
"You want to know the truth?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"Of her. Of you. Of myself."
He walked to her.
Stood behind her.
Didn't touch her.
"Talk to me."
"I look at her," Christabel said, "and I see everything I could lose. Every day. Every moment. Every time she smiles, I'm afraid it's the last time. Every time she sleeps, I'm afraid she won't wake up."
"That's normal."
"That's not normal. That's torture."
"Then let me help you."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you're not afraid." She turned to face him. "You look at her and you see the future. I look at her and I see the end."
---
He pulled her into his arms.
Held her tight.
"I'm afraid too," he said.
"You don't act like it."
"I've been hiding it."
"From me?"
"From both of you." He pulled back. Looked at her. "I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of losing her. I'm afraid of waking up one day and realizing that none of this was real."
"It's real."
"Is it?" He touched her face. "Because you feel very far away."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know how to come back."
"Then let me help you."
"How?"
"Let me take care of you. The way you take care of her."
---
She cried.
Not the silent tears he was used to. The kind that came from somewhere deep. Somewhere she had been hiding for months.
"I don't know how to let go," she said.
"You don't have to let go. You just have to share."
"Share what?"
"The weight. The fear. The exhaustion." He kissed her forehead. "All of it. I'm here. I've always been here. I'm not going anywhere."
"You might."
"I won't."
"You can't promise that."
"I can." He took her hands. "I am."
---
They stayed in the garden until the sun set.
Talking.
Not about Lena. Not about the empire. Not about the future.
About them.
About the distance that had grown between them. About the fear that had kept them apart. About the love that had somehow survived.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For pushing you away."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know." She looked at him. "But I am anyway."
"Then I forgive you."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
---
The next morning, Damien woke before her.
Lena was still asleep.
He made breakfast.
Not burnt toast. Real breakfast. Eggs. Fruit. Fresh juice from the market.
Christabel walked into the kitchen.
Stopped in the doorway.
"You're cooking?"
"I'm trying."
"It smells good."
"It smells like smoke."
She laughed.
The sound was rusty. Unused. But it was real.
"I missed that," he said.
"Missed what?"
"Your laugh."
---
She sat at the kitchen island.
He put a plate in front of her.
"You don't have to do this," she said.
"I want to."
"Why?"
"Because you're my wife. Because I love you. Because taking care of you is not a burden. It's a privilege."
She looked at him.
Her eyes were wet.
"I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything."
"I don't know how to be loved."
"Then let me teach you."
---
Lena woke at noon.
Not crying. Cooing.
Damien went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
Held her against his chest.
"Good afternoon, little one," he said.
She smiled.
Not a gas smile. A real one.
"Your mother is in the kitchen," he said. "She's eating breakfast. She's trying to remember how to be happy."
Lena cooed.
"I know," he said. "It's hard. But we're going to help her. Together."
---
He carried Lena to the kitchen.
Christabel was still at the island. Still eating. Still crying.
"She's smiling," Christabel said.
"She's smiling at you."
"No. She's smiling at you."
"She's smiling at both of us."
Damien handed Lena to her.
Christabel held her daughter.
Looked at her face.
"You're so beautiful," she whispered. "You're so perfect. I'm sorry I've been so scared."
Lena reached up.
Grabbed Christabel's finger.
"She's holding on," Christabel said.
"She's not letting go."
"Neither am I."
---
That night, they put Lena to bed together.
Not separately. Not taking turns.
Together.
Damien read a story. Christabel sang a song. Lena fell asleep between them, her tiny body warm and soft and perfect.
"She's going to be okay," Christabel said.
"She's going to be more than okay."
"Are we?"
He looked at her.
"We're going to try."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
---
They went to bed.
Not to sleep.
To hold each other.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"You already apologized."
"I know." She looked at him. "But I'm going to keep apologizing until I believe that you've forgiven me."
"I forgave you the moment you came home."
"That was months ago."
"I know."
"And you've just been waiting?"
"I've been hoping."
"For what?"
"For this." He touched her face. "For you to come back to me. Not to the penthouse. To me."
---
She kissed him.
Not gently.
The way she used to.
He kissed her back the same way.
"I've missed you," she said.
"I've been right here."
"I know." She touched his chest. "But I couldn't see you. I was too scared."
"Of what?"
"Of needing you."
"You need me?"
"More than anything."
"Then need me." He pulled her close. "Need me every day. Need me every moment. Need me so much that you forget how to be afraid."
"That's not healthy."
"Neither are we."
---
They made love.
Not the desperate kind. Not the hungry kind.
The kind that came from remembering.
Remembering why they had fallen in love. Remembering why they had fought so hard to stay together. Remembering why they had built a city and a garden and a life.
Afterward, they lay tangled together.
The city was dark.
The baby was asleep.
"I'm going to be better," Christabel said.
"You don't have to be better."
"I have to be present."
"Yes."
"I have to be here."
"Yes."
"I have to stop being afraid."
He turned his head.
Looked at her.
"Fear isn't the enemy. Fear is proof that you care. The enemy is letting fear win."
"And how do I stop letting it win?"
"You fight." He kissed her forehead. "Every day. Every moment. Every time you feel it creeping in, you fight."
"Will you fight with me?"
"Always."
---
The next morning, Lena woke at dawn.
Not crying.
Laughing.
Christabel went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
"Good morning, little one," she said.
Lena smiled.
"I'm going to be better," Christabel told her. "I'm going to be present. I'm going to be here. I'm going to stop being afraid."
Lena cooed.
"I know," Christabel said. "You've heard that before. But this time I mean it."
She carried Lena to the window.
Looked out at the city.
"This is where you live," she said. "This city. This building. This penthouse. It's not perfect. Neither are we. But we're going to love you. Every day. Every moment. Even when we don't know how."
---
Damien found them at the window.
Christabel in her robe. Lena in her blanket. Both of them watching the sun rise over the city.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm showing her the world."
"She's seen the world."
"She's never seen it like this."
He walked to them.
Put his arm around Christabel.
Looked out at the city.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like it's ours." She looked at him. "Like we built it. Like we belong here."
"We do belong here."
"I know." She smiled. "Now."