Page 38 of Worship Him

"I can imagine," I say, though I can't really. Not fully.

She looks down at her hands, twisting them nervously. "Adam, I?—"

But I cut her off. "Let's not do this now." My voice is firm, almost harsh again.

Her eyes snap up to mine, wide and searching. "Do what?"

"This," I gesture vaguely between us. "Rehashing everything."

She sighs and nods, a resigned look crossing her face. "You're right."

I take a step back, needing to break the magnetic pull between us. But she steps forward, closing the distance again.

"Adam," she says softly, almost pleadingly.

"Destiny," I respond, my tone an unspoken warning.

She bites her lip, clearly struggling with something she wants to say but can't bring herself to voice.

I shake my head slightly. "We need to focus on Avery right now."

"I know," she whispers. "But it’s hard."

"Yeah," I admit grudgingly. "It is."

For a moment, we're just standing there, looking at each other like we used to when things were simpler—before everything got so damn complicated.

"Take care of yourself," she says finally.

"You too."

I turn and leave quickly before either of us can say anything else that might complicate things even more.

As I walk down the hallway and out of her apartment building, my mind is a whirl of conflicting emotions—anger at how things turned out, guilt for missing out on so much with Avery, and something else that feels dangerously close to longing.

I push it all aside as I get into my car and drive away, focusing instead on what needs to be done next for my daughter’s sake.

15

DESTINY

Istep into the foyer of our old house, clutching Avery close to my chest. The familiar scent of wood and leather wraps around me, pulling me back to a time when everything seemed perfect.

Adam strides ahead, leading us to the nursery he’s prepared. His steps are confident and purposeful.

“Here it is,” he says, pushing open the door with a flourish.

The room is beautiful—soft pastels and warm wood tones, a beautiful and elegant room for our daughter.

A mobile of tiny stars hangs above the crib, catching the light and casting gentle shadows on the walls. I run my fingers along the edge of the crib, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness.

“You really went all out,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady.

“She deserves it,” Adam replies, his eyes never leaving Avery. “I want her to feel at home here.”

She gurgles in my arms, her tiny hand reaching out as if she knows this place is meant for her. Adam steps closer, his presence overwhelming.

He reaches out, and I hand Avery to him. Watching him hold her, I’m hit with a wave of emotions—pride, love, regret. It’s the first time I’ve seen him like this: vulnerable yet strong.

---