Slowly, I pulled my son in, and as he fell against my shoulder, I hugged him tighter, absorbing his sobs and his tears. I rested my cheek on his hat and let some of my own tears fall.

13

Ella

My legs ached from standing at the window, trying to be inconspicuous as I waited for Simon to return Jeremiah. He wouldn’t take him—take my son from me—would he?

I inhaled in a sharp, annoyed breath. No, he wouldn’t. Simon was a good man.

My thoughts jumped around, as unsteady as my hormones and my body. With a sigh, I returned to the settee and flung the blanket over my cold feet, pulling it up over my chest. I picked up the bowl of steaming mushroom soup my mother brought me a few minutes earlier and dipped in my spoon, enjoying the aroma of thyme near as much as the rich, earthy taste. My mum was a smashing cook.

I set the now-empty bowl on the edge of the coffee table and closed my eyes. Beneath the excitement and love for my developing daughter resided a deep weariness. More than a decade past from my last successful pregnancy—my body had aged and needed more rest. But, perhaps equally as important, my mind needed to hide from the difficult choices I’d soon have to make.

I turned back to face the window, my eyes bleary from the exhaustion I couldn’t outstrip.

Jeremiah’s voice woke me. I jolted upright, nearly oversetting myself. I yelped, and flopped back onto the settee, my heart pounding.

Jeremiah stuck his head in the doorway.

“She’s awake,” he yelled back down the hall before stepping into the room and settling into the still-warm spot next to me. His cheeks held a note of pink from either exertion, cold, or fun.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” I dropped my hand from my heart and patted my hair. “So. Did you have a good time sledding?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “It was okay. Not much snow so we couldn’t get up the speed. And no one else was there, which made it kinda boring.”

I leaned over and brought him closer to my side. Jeremiah closed his eyes and leaned against me.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to stay in England. I’m sure it’s fun and all—I mean, the soccer’s awesome and they play rugby and cricket—but if we stay here, I’ll miss my friends. And I’ll miss kayaking and rock climbing and hanging out with Aunt Lia and Uncle Asher and playing all the coolest new games with Mason and seeing Clay’s band and . . .” he ran out of breath and shuddered.