Night has fallen. The stirring air shudders the trees and fills the silence with a harsh, whirring sound.
The sky grumbles with thunder, the storm brewing in the distance now drawing closer. The air grows colder.
Neva lies in bed, Rhean sleeping peacefully beside her, both of them wrapped in the warmth of a thick duvet, shielding them from the chill.
She holds a photo album above her chest, just over her son's head, flipping through its pages—guilt and serenity weaving together, swaying her insides.
There's a knock at the door.
Neva lifts her head slightly and says, "Come in."
The door opens, revealing a grinning Rhett—and instantly, a smile blooms on Neva's face. He closes the door quietly behind him and approaches the bed with quiet grace.
Neva closes the album and sets it gently on the nightstand. She glances up at him, standing by the bed, his gaze full of tender love as he looks at her and their sleeping son.
She opens her arms and smiles sweetly.
And does he stop himself from immediately climbing on the bed and melting into her embrace.
They wrap around each other, and Rhett—hovering above—begins showering her face with soft, playful kisses, coaxing hearty giggles from her lips. Then he trails down her neck, soaking her skin with warm, wet kisses.
Drifting back up, he captures her lips gently—and they share a long kiss, ablaze with ardor and warmth.
Rhett now lies under the duvet, spooning Neva, his face buried in the soft curve of neck, her hair sprawled out on the white pillow like dark waves.
He breathes in deep, succoring himself with the comforting blend of her natural scent mixed with the floral scent of the soap and shampoo he's come to associate her with.
The same time he yearns everything of her, as though she has been away for eternity; yet it still feels she has never really been afar, that him—kissing and holding her is all so natural, so calming, like she has been here with him... each day and every night.
His arms tighten around her waist, pulling her even closer.
This is where he belongs; he is home.
Neva tenderly brushes away Rhean's wooly soft hair falling down his forehead, her fingers stroking, grazing lightly his skin.
His hair she reckons, the color and texture so much alike his father's own.
Her warm eyes skim down his brow—fairly dark and lean, slightly arched, much like her own.
His closed eyelids, framed by feathery lashes, cast long shadows over his chubby cheeks, his straight little nose, and his thin, heart-shaped lips.
In certain angles, he almost looks like a clone of his father.
And Neva relishes his heart she finds beautiful, and his sweet, innocent face.
He lies on his side, facing her, breathing softly, and her other hand gently pats his back. Then, her eyes suddenly dim.
For she is cursed by a wave of remorse washing over her—for her other two children that she left behind.
She would always tuck them in at night, read stories, and sing lullabies.
Neva swallows hard.
She doesn't want to leave.
The thought of living with him again is unimaginable.
She wonders how she ever spent so many years in his presence. It's decaying her soul, just the idea of returning back to Ishmael.
Two nights.
And it was enough to uncommonly evolve, completely shift everything in her life.
She can't remember savoring this affinity of the warmth of a home; but now as the pleasure of this while embraces her all, she wants to be selfish and never be miserable adrift anymore.
"Rhett?" Neva murmurs, her fingers caressing his hand.
Rhett, half-asleep, only lets out a soft hum in response.
"What if I did as that man said?" she asks, her thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of his hand.
"Do what, Angel?" Rhett mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
Neva bites her bottom lip, hesitating.
"If I called Ishmael… what would happen to the children?"
At that, Rhett's eyes open.
"You'll have their legal custody,"
"You wouldn't mind if they stayed with me?"
"No."
Neva falls silent.
So much ponders churning through her mind.
"Then what after?" she asks again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We build a home," he says softly. "Grounded in nature. Just the way you like. Wherever you like. And we'll live a long, fulfilled life."
Neva feels him smile against her skin, and a small smile flowers on her own lips.
"You'll let me choose?"
"Of course. Wherever your heart leads. You're my everything. I can only follow."
Neva chuckles softly. "What if I wanted to dream?"
"Then I'll work hard to smooth the path to your dream."
Like a candle meeting flame, Neva feels herself melting—soft, fluid, overcome.
She turns, and finds him already looking at her with those beautiful, hazy eyes, shimmering in the dim white light. His cocoa-colored orbs, swirling with unspoken emotion.
He leans in, lips warm and parted, and their mouths meet in a deep, thawing, slow kiss—fluttering through them like a silent vow, binding two hearts already entwined.
Their love swells, brimming with the sweet ache of hope—for a pleasant future together.
"And we'll grow a garden," she whispers.
"And we'll grow a beautiful garden," he echoes softly, smiling, rubbing their noses together in a playful, tender touch.