Page 39 of Worship Him

“She’s beautiful,” he says softly, cradling her with surprising gentleness.

“Yeah,” I agree, unable to tear my eyes away from them. “She looks like you.”

Adam glances at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “I missed so much,” he admits, his voice rougher now.

“I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

We stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. The nursery feels both comforting and stifling—full of what could have been and what might never be.

“She’s going to love it here,” I say finally, forcing a smile.

“I hope so.” He kisses Avery’s forehead before gently placing her in the crib. She squirms a bit before settling down, her eyes staring at the stars above her.

Adam spends the morning with Avery, and I respectfully keep my distance, letting him figure things out on his own. He seems to have it all under control, which is both surprising and reassuring.

He cradles Avery in one arm while preparing her bottle with the other, his movements confident and precise. "So, she needs to be fed every three to four hours, right?" he asks, glancing over at me.

"Yup," I reply, trying not to hover. "But don’t overthink it, she'll let you know when she's hungry."

I help him cool the milk while he plays with her. Smiling, I hand him the bottle and he takes it without even glancing at me, focusing on Avery as she eagerly drinks.

When she finishes, he gently lifts her to his shoulder, patting her back with a practiced rhythm.

"Have you been practicing?" I ask, leaning against the doorway.

Adam smirks. "You taught me well."

A burp escapes Avery, and his face lights up with a mix of pride and relief. He lowers her back into his arms, rocking her gently. "What's next?"

"Diaper change," I say, pointing to the changing table.

He carries her over and sets her down carefully. As he changes her diaper with surprising ease, I feel a pang of guilt for keeping him from this for so long. He's become good at it—better than I expected.

"You're doing great," I remark. "Better than some people who've had months of practice."

He laughs softly, a sound that feels both familiar and distant. "I'm a quick learner."

We fall into a comfortable rhythm throughout the day. Adam feeds Avery again later in the afternoon, handling her with the same care and precision as before. His focus never wavers, even when she gets fussy.

As the day stretches into evening, he looks at me with a mix of determination and something softer—regret? Love? It's hard to tell.

"I want to make up for lost time," he says quietly.

"I know," I reply, feeling the weight of those words. "And you will."

We stand there for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to Avery, who gurgles happily in his arms.

The sight tugs at my heartstrings, filling me with hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find a way through this.

As the visit nears its end, I notice the sky outside has darkened to an ominous gray. Thunder rumbles in the distance, growing louder with each passing minute.

Adam’s phone suddenly buzzes on the table, and he picks it up, frowning at the screen.

“Flash flood warning,” he announces, glancing up at me. “You’re not going anywhere in this storm.”

I start to protest, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “It’s not safe,” he continues, his voice firm. “You and Avery are staying here tonight.”

The idea of spending the night in our old home sends a wave of discomfort through me, but I know he’s right.

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