Page 106 of Finding Gideon
Feet to the floor. Slow. Quiet.
I shifted my weight, every muscle tight with the effort to stay quiet. Waited. Malcolm didn’t stir. His breathing stayed slow and even.
I grabbed my joggers off the chair and tugged them on. The hoodie came next, sleeves soft from too many washes. I didn’t bother with socks. The floor was cool beneath my soles, but it grounded me.
The door latch clicked when I opened it. Barely a whisper, but it sounded louder than it was. I glanced back. Malcolm hadn’t moved. His face half-buried in the pillow, brow relaxed. Peaceful.
I stepped into the hallway. Pulled the door closed with two fingers, slow enough not to wake him.
The house was dark. Still. That middle-of-the-night hush where everything felt suspended.
The kitchen clock ticked.
I padded past it, straight to the back door. Slipped out and eased it shut behind me.
The air hit me then—not cold, but brisk enough to make me tighten the drawstrings on my hoodie. Grass damp against my feet. Night sounds low and familiar. A soft rustle in the trees. Crickets. Wind through the barn rafters.
I crossed the yard to the sanctuary, the building a shadowed outline in the dark. I didn’t need a flashlight. I knew the path.
Lights were off inside, but the smell met me before I opened the door—hay, milk replacer, the faint antiseptic tinge of the clinic equipment we’d dragged in. I stepped in and let the door fall shut behind me.
The lamb was where we’d left him. Curled into a corner under the heat lamp. Breathing light but even. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.
I crouched beside him, careful not to make sudden movements. He didn’t startle.
Didn’t wake either.
I eased down onto the floor, cross-legged beside his crate. I just needed to be near him.
His little body shifted once, a twitch in his front leg. Nothing alarming. Probably dreaming—if lambs did that.
I rubbed at my chest. That tight feeling hadn’t gone away.
What if he didn’t make it?
What if I woke up tomorrow, and he was gone?
My fingers curled against my thigh. I hated that part. The waiting. Not knowing if what I’d done was enough. If I’d missed something. If he needed more than I had to give.
I leaned closer to check his breathing again. Still steady. Still there.
“You’re tougher than you look,” I murmured. “Aren’t you?”
He didn’t stir.
But I smiled anyway.
For a long while, I just sat there. No need to speak. No need to move. Just listening to the rhythm of his breaths and the way the building creaked when the wind shifted outside. It was the quiet kind of company—the kind that filled a space without pressing in too hard.
Eventually, I let my back rest against the wall. Head tilted. Eyes heavy.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep.
Didn’t even realize I had.
Not until?—
Something pulled me awake.
