“It is yours, Falk,” Hannah says again, more emphatically this time.
I watch her eyes, but her expression doesn’t change. I have no doubt that she believes what she’s saying, but I’m not sure I can believe it.
Four times—that’s it. Four times over three days. The last time was the morning before she was taken from me.
Swallowing hard, I reach down and run my hand over her stomach, caressing her slowly. Hannah places her hand on top of mine again and guides it down around and underneath the bulge. A moment later, I feel a bump move across my palm.
“Is that…is that the baby?”
“He’s kicking,” she says with a smile. “He’s saying hi.”
“Was that his foot?”
“I’m not sure,” Hannah says with a shrug. “Maybe a knee or an elbow. It’s hard to tell.”
I’ve never felt anything like it. It seems completely unnatural and totally right all at the same time. I move my hand down a little more, trying to figure out just where the little guy went, and I feel another bump.
Looking back into Hannah’s eyes, I can’t explain how I feel. The idea that this child could be mine hadn’t entered my thoughts before she said it. I hadn’t considered the possibility at all. Now that I’m thinking about the very idea that this child could be exactly what she says—a son that comes out looking like a combination of Hannah and me—has my head spinning and my heart racing. I’m elated and excited, but there’s also a hint of terror deep down inside of me.
If this baby is mine, then maybe she’ll be able to put all of it behind her. Maybe she won’t see the child as a constant reminder of what she’s endured.
I stroke the side of her face and lean in close to her. I watch her eyes, not completely sure how I will be received. When she glances down at my mouth and her eyes close slightly, I close the distance between us and press my lips firmly against hers.
If Hannah believes the baby is mine, then I’ll believe it too.
Chapter 7
Hannah and I stay in the shelter for several days. There are plenty of supplies to keep us going, so there’s no need to go outside. I still exit twice a day—once in the morning and again in the evening—just to make sure there aren’t any signs that someone has tracked us here.
I find nothing.
Hannah progresses faster than I could have imagined. She’s not exactly herself, but every day she’s a little closer. She has nightmares and cries a lot, but when that happens, I just hold her, and she calms down pretty quickly.
I have no idea how much of it is trauma and how much of it is pregnancy.
We sit down together and calculate the due date of the baby based on when we were last together. She’s roughly six weeks away from giving birth, and I know we have a lot of preparation to do before that time.
“We should meet up with the rest of the group before you’re due,” I say. “The more help we have, the better.”
“I don’t think Christine ever had any children,” Hanna says. “What about that other woman you said you found?”
“Katrina? I doubt it. She’s pretty young.”
“How much help do you think they’re going to be?”
“Not sure,” I say with a shrug. “I just know they’ll be more help than I will.”
“Don’t you want to be there for the birth of your son?”
“You have no idea if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Of course I want to be there,” I tell her. “I just don’t want to be there alone!”
“I thought you were a big, bad military hero!”
“What the fuck does that have to do with babies?”