“Our little girl is right there,” he says, pointing at a small bassinette I can just make out the outline of in the dark corner. “She’s okay. Healthy and beautiful and perfect.”

I try to nod but only manage a small one. I wonder if he sees it.

“How long?”

As I ask the question, I start to remember. We were at my father’s funeral. But that’s not possible. I heard him. I swear I heard him. Was I dreaming?

“A few months.”

Months?

“Three, to be exact,” he says as if he hears my confusion.

Three months? I’ve lost three months?

I see the nervous girl who handed me Abel’s letter. I see his words again, his threats. See Hazel and Michael’s terrified faces in the back of that car. And then out in the parking lot. Abel trying to get me into the car. Santiago speeding toward us. And Abel driving toward me…

“Shh.” Santiago coaxes when the beeping sound picks up as my anxiety does. “You’re safe. Our baby is safe. Your father and Eva are safe. Hazel and Michael and everyone you care about are safe.”

He touches my cheek, and I put my hand over his as he wipes a tear away with his thumb and then gets up, moves the blankets, and very carefully nudges me over a little, just enough that he can lie on the bed beside me. This is better, I think. Much better. Now we’re face-to-face on the same pillow, and he’s warm and solid. His arm is around me, and I can feel his heartbeat under my hand before I move it to touch his face, to trace the lines of his mouth, the ink of his tattoo.

“I am sorry,” he says after a very long time. He brings his mouth to my forehead and kisses it, one big hand never leaving my cheek. “I am sorry for everything that’s happened to you because of me.”

“No.” It’s another croak. My throat almost hurts with the effort.

“Shh. Just rest.”

Again, I try to nod. Again, I’m not sure I succeed.

“I love you, Ivy. I know that now. I’ve known it on some level for a while, I think. Or at least I’ve felt it even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t put words to it. I love you.”

I smile, open my mouth to tell him I love him, too, but he puts a finger to my lips when I try but struggle to form the words.