Page 69 of Her Faithful Protector

“Let me see it,” I whisper, meeting his restless hand hovering the scar between his shoulder blades. It pains me to witness his current state, and I’m questioning if this is merely a glimpse into the depths of his brokenness.

He calms, and I drive his hand away from the scar, afraid he’ll scratch it and make it bleed.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles, and a familiar touch lands on my hand.

I seize the moment to attend to Quinton.

“Mommy’s here. It’s all right. It’s all right.” I hold my baby in my arms, rocking him back and forth, comforting him with gentle strokes on his back, and planting kisses on his tear-streaked cheek. I grab his giraffe teether and dangle it in frontof him before gradually offering it to him. He takes it, but he won’t stop crying.

Still rocking Quinton, I approach Jack.

He looks at me in anguish and shakes his head in disbelief, murmuring, “Ava, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to take Quinton outside, then I’ll come back.”

He nods.

I settle down on the couch in the living room to breastfeed Quinton while processing what just happened. So this is why Jack always wakes up before me. It’s the first time I’ve seen the reason behind his morning huffing, like a runner who’s out of breath.

After a few minutes, Quinton starts wriggling, his ‘I want to play’ kind of fussing. So I place him on the mat, surrounded by toys we’ve accumulated during our time here in Helena. Among the usual suspects ofPaw Patroltoys, there are also a few of his new favorites—a truck-shaped pillow and a squishy rubber donut. Although, the giraffe teether is still his number one.

I let Elmo do his usual thing, keeping a watchful eye on Quinton.

“Mo!” Quinton babbles, resting his head on the pup’s back, dipping his fingers into Elmo’s thick fur.

“Yes. Elmo.”

Suddenly, Quinton smiles at me. “Mama.”

His call resonates with intention, a departure from his usual babbling that often resembles successive ‘ma.’ I smile back at him. “Quinton? Did you just say ‘Mama’?”

He reaches out one arm to me as if wanting to shake hands. “Mama.”

“Yes. I’m your mama.” I take his tiny hand, trembling withhappiness. I lay down beside him on the mat, embracing the small bundle of love close to my heart, wishing I could hear his call under less tense circumstances.

Right then, Jack emerges from the bedroom. The density of his pain is evident, and it breaks my heart to witness. What he did in bed just now doesn’t hinder my admiration for him, nor has it altered who he is to me. The situation has changed, but he has not. His posture is slumped and defeated, but he’s still my hero.

I kiss my baby and whisper to him, “You wait here with Elmo, okay? Mama will be back.”

Resetting myself, I approach Jack. He welcomes me with a tight, sorrowful hug as if he was mourning a loss.

“You okay?” I look up at him, running my fingers through his hair, knowing he intends to shave it all off before our trip to Hawaii.

“Yeah.” He gulps, rapidly blinking as if trying to erase the haunting images of his nightmare. “How’s Quinton?”

“He’s fine.” I steal a quick glance at my baby, who appears content while snuggling up with Elmo. “He just called me ‘mama.’”

Jack’s glum expression fades away, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes and a gentle touch as he strokes my cheek. His smile stretches wide. “That’s fantastic. I wish I heard it.”

“It won’t be a one-off, for sure. So you will hear it soon,” I say. “Should I…teach him to say ‘dada?’”

His laugh is hesitant, but his touch is firm as he cups my chin. “Did I scare you just now?”

I purse my lips, torn between wanting to spare him further guilt and the need to address the problem. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Suddenly, his eyes widen and lock onto the front of myrobe, fixated on a small bloodstain. “Did I…?” He gasps, peeling the robe back to sneak a glimpse at my chest. “Did I do that?” he exclaims upon seeing the scratches.

“Jack, you didn’t mean it.”

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