Ten minutes ago, I might have argued with him, but there’s something so peaceful and balanced about this moment that, yeah, the prospect of another child seems manageable, possible, perfect, even. It’s a longer conversation for a different moment than this one, but maybe. And if what just happened leads to something else happening, we’ll take it as it comes.

I reach up to brush my fingers through Hugh’s thick hair, but he stiffens with a sniff and moves away, staring past the shed, the tenderness bleached from his expression. His eyes are coldly pensive. It’s the same expression he wears when he’s pacing his study trying to get around a tariff problem.

I’m getting emotional whiplash looking at him, and suddenly, those gentle words resound in my head. Another life.

I think of the books scattered open on his desk. The lists of people left on Lute.

That cannot possibly be what he meant.

I yank my shirt down and start back toward the drive, forcing a chipper clip into my step. “Kids’ll want lunch soon. Should we do a picnic?”

“You go ahead. I’ve got a few things to see to.”

Incredible how quickly I can pinball from lust to irritation. We’re a far cry from those dizzy first months together, those manic days on the ocean crossing, strolling the decks with Gran, sneaking away to his queen suite every chance we got, burying myself in him and his grief when he learned his father had died, putting Gran on her airplane to Florida and flying to Lute together for the funeral, those hedonistic months that followed, a whole summer and autumn spent in a blur of sunny European towns, barely leaving our hotel rooms except to eat. Back then, sex led to more sex, squabbling over small hurts but always in a progressive, getting-to-know-each-other way. Little cuts to seal the pact.

Sex didn’t lead to indifference back then and hardly ever a few things to see to. Now, even sex behind the woodshed is a to-do list item.

I keep walking.

Hugh’s stride catches up with mine. “I’m sorry. Just … you’re right.”

“About?” I’ve said nothing.

“I should spend time with you all today.” He frowns so deeply his mouth looks like it’s etched in stone. “It’s hard to look at them. Hard to look at you.”

I cough up a laugh. “Hard to look at me? What were we just doing, then, exactly?”

I kick up pebbles as we walk until he slows and stops. A stubborn part of me wants to keep going, dogged, but I don’t. I turn to face whatever he needs to say.

“I can’t lose you.” He spreads his arms wide. “Any of you. Can’t do it. Won’t survive it.”