Page 107 of Finding Gideon
A shift in the air, maybe. The silence. The kind that didn’t just feel quiet—but wrong.
I blinked. My neck ached from the angle I’d slumped against the wall. My back twinged as I sat up straighter. The sky outside the small window had gone from pitch to pale gray—almost dawn.
And the crate was too still.
I leaned closer. “Hey…”
No response. No rise and fall of his tiny chest.
My heart kicked hard, once, then dropped.
“Hey, no, no, no—” My hands moved on instinct, checking his side, then under his jaw. Nothing. No rise or fall. No flutter.
He was warm, but he was gone.
My throat burned. I sat back on my heels, palms flat on the floor, staring.
It didn’t make sense. He’d been okay. Weak, sure, but fighting. He’d taken his feedings. He’d nestled into the towel like he meant to stick around.
And now?—
I scrubbed both hands over my face. Could’ve sworn I heard a sound, but it was just the hum of the building. The whir of the fridge in the corner.
I let out a breath, long and shaky, and pressed my palms to my knees. “Damn it.”
There wasn’t anything left to do. Nothing to fix. I hated that most of all.I sat there, hands limp on my knees, shoulders curled forward like I could fold in on myself and disappear. Just me and the quiet.
Then I heard the door creak open behind me.
I didn’t look up.
Footsteps paused, then Malcolm crouched by the crate. He looked in once and knew. His jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything, just let out a breath and turned toward me.
By the time his arms wrapped around me, my face was buried in his shirt, damp and hot. He didn’t tell me it was okay or that I’d done enough. He just held on.
For a long time, we sat like that. No explanations. No noise but the hum of the fridge and the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
When I finally spoke, my voice cracked. “I thought I could do this. Thought I was strong enough. But maybe I’m not.”
His hand rubbed the back of my neck, grounding me. “You are,” he said quietly. “Strong doesn’t mean you never break. It means you keep caring, even when it hurts.”
I closed my eyes.
“Loss is part of this. The pain doesn’t mean you failed,” he said. “It means you cared.”
Everything in me caved. Not all at once, but like an old wall finally giving in after too many storms.
“I love you,” I whispered.
He leaned in until our foreheads touched, his voice just as low. “I love you too, you stubborn, beautiful man.”
Chapter 35
Gideon
Steam curled from the mug in my hands, rising into the quiet.
Behind me, paws skidded across the floorboards, followed by the unmistakable sound of Malcolm muttering, “Hold still, you little menace.”
