Chapter 10 - The Light on the Porch
Five Months Later.
The soft hum of a lullaby filled the sunlit nursery on the second floor of our mountain home. The room was decorated in warm cream tones and soft sage green, with a dark walnut crib sitting near the window overlooking the evergreen forest.
I sat in the wooden rocking chair, holding our newborn daughter against my chest. She was two weeks old, born on a quiet, snowy Tuesday morning. She had a mop of soft dark hair and her father's striking, intelligent amber eyes.
The nursery door creaked open softly.
Alessandro walked in, carrying a fresh bottle of warm milk. He looked tired, with light shadows under his eyes from late-night feedings, but he looked happier than I had ever seen him in his life.
He pulled up a small stool beside the rocking chair and sat down, watching us with pure, unadulterated adoration.
"How is she?" Alessandro whispered, reaching out with a long finger to let our daughter wrap her tiny hand around it.
"She just finished nursing," I smiled softly. "She's getting sleepy."
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, looking up at my face.
I looked around the quiet, safe nursery, then out the window at the peaceful mountain valley. I thought about the scared twenty-five-year-old girl who had sat on a bathroom floor six months ago, staring at two pink lines in absolute terror. I thought about the diner, the hotel, the guns, the blood, and the terrifying shadows that had once threatened to consume us both.
"I was thinking about something I told you at the Obsidian Hotel," I murmured, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
Alessandro tilted his head. "What's that?"
"I told you that I missed the feeling of having someone leave a porch light on for me," I whispered, tears of joy sparkling in my eyes. "A place where I felt safe. A place where I belonged."
Alessandro smiled, reaching out to gently cup my jaw, his thumb wiping away a stray tear of happiness.
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"You'll never have to look for that light again, Elizabeth," Alessandro swore softly, his voice full of endless love and unwavering devotion. "Because as long as I am breathing, you and our daughter will always be home."
He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, then to our daughter's forehead, as the golden afternoon sun bathed the nursery in warmth, warmth that would never fade.
