The fifteenth week, they started over.
Not from the beginning.
From the place where they had left themselves behind.
And bit by bit, they came back to life.
---
It started with a conversation.
Not the kind they had been having. The kind about business. About enemies. About the war.
A different kind.
The kind about nothing. And everything.
They were in the garden. Lena was asleep in the nursery. The monitor sat between them on the bench.
"I've been thinking," Christabel said.
"About what?"
"About who I used to be."
"And who was that?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I was someone who read books. Who took baths. Who stayed up late watching movies that made me cry."
"You still do those things."
"No." She shook her head. "I used to do those things. Now I work. Now I fight. Now I survive."
"Surviving isn't living."
"I know."
"Then let's live."
---
The next day, she took a bath.
Not a quick shower. A real bath. Hot water. Bubbles. A book she had been meaning to read for months.
Damien found her there.
"The baby's asleep," he said.
"Good."
"You're reading."
"I'm trying."
"What book?"
She held it up.
He smiled.
"You've been trying to read that book for a year."
"I've been busy."
"You've been surviving."
She set down the book.
"I'm trying to live."
"How's it going?"
She looked at him.
"It's going."
---
He sat on the edge of the tub.
Took her hand.
"I want to try something."
"What?"
"I want to take you on a date."
"A date?"
"A real date. Not a business dinner. Not a meeting. A date."
"We have a baby."
"The nanny can watch her."
"We're in the middle of a war."
"The war can wait."
She looked at him.
"You're serious."
"I've never been more serious about anything."
---
They went out that night.
Not to a restaurant. Not to an event. To a small café on the other side of the city. The kind of place where no one knew their names.
They sat in the corner.
Held hands across the table.
"I feel like a teenager," Christabel said.
"I feel like myself."
"Which self?"
"The one who fell in love with you."
She smiled.
The real one.
"I remember him."
"Where did he go?"
"He got buried. Under the empire. Under the war. Under the fear."
"And now?"
"Now he's digging his way out."
---
They stayed at the café until midnight.
Talking.
Not about business. Not about enemies. Not about the war.
About nothing.
And everything.
About the books they used to read. The movies they used to watch. The dreams they used to have.
"I wanted to be a dancer," Christabel said.
"I wanted to be a pilot."
"What happened?"
"Life."
"Life happened to both of us."
He took her hand.
"Maybe it's time we started dreaming again."
---
The next morning, she woke before Lena.
Not because the baby was crying. Because she wanted to.
She walked to the nursery.
Stood over the crib.
Lena was sleeping. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"Good morning, little one," Christabel whispered.
Lena didn't stir.
"Your father took me on a date last night."
She touched Lena's cheek.
"It was wonderful."
---
Damien found her in the kitchen.
Making breakfast.
Not eggs. Pancakes.
"You're cooking," he said.
"I'm trying."
"It smells good."
"It smells like pancakes."
He sat at the kitchen island.
Watched her move around the kitchen.
"You're staring," she said.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
She set a plate in front of him.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you even when I don't know who I am."
He took her hand.
"I love you because you don't know who you are. Because you're trying to figure it out. Because you're not giving up."
"I wanted to give up."
"But you didn't."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
---
That afternoon, Sarah came over.
She brought news.
"Kline is backing off," she said.
"What?"
"He's had a change of heart. Or a change of strategy. Either way, he's pulling back."
"Why?"
Sarah smiled.
"He's afraid of you."
"Of me?"
"Of both of you. The way you surrendered. The way you walked away. The way you chose each other over winning."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It makes perfect sense." Sarah sat on the couch. "He thought he could beat you. He thought he could break you. But you broke yourselves first. And now he doesn't know what to do."
---
Christabel was quiet for a moment.
"So we won?"
"You stopped."
"Same thing?"
"No." Sarah shook her head. "Different thing. Winning would have made you like him. Stopping made you like you."
"And who's that?"
Sarah smiled.
"You're figuring it out."
---
That night, Damien put Lena to bed.
Not Christabel. Him.
He read her a story. Not a baby book. A real story. One of his favorites.
"There was a boy who wasn't afraid of anything," he read. "Until he met a girl who was afraid of everything. And he realized that being brave wasn't about not being afraid. It was about being afraid and staying anyway."
Lena stared at him.
"Bah," she said.
"That's right," he said. "Bah."
---
Christabel was in the doorway.
"She said it again."
"She said it to me."
"She said it to both of us."
He closed the book.
Set it on the nightstand.
"She's going to be a talker."
"She's going to be just like you."
"God help the world."
"God help anyone who tries to shut her up."
---
They stood over the crib together.
Lena was asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"I'm glad we stopped," Christabel said.
"Me too."
"I'm glad we chose each other."
"Me too."
"I'm glad we're still here."
He put his arm around her.
"Me too."
---
The next morning, Christabel went back to work.
Not to fight.
To build.
The office was different now. People looked at her differently. Not with fear. With respect.
She had walked away from a war she could have won.
And somehow, that made her more powerful than ever.
---
Sarah met her in the lobby.
"You look different," Sarah said.
"I feel different."
"Good different?"
"Alive different."
They walked to the corner office.
The sun was rising over the city.
"What's next?" Sarah asked.
Christabel looked out the window.
"We build," she said.
"Build what?"
"A future. For Lena. For Damien. For us."
"That's a lot of building."