Page 130 of Kotori
"Not today. Today we just stay close and take care of each other."
"Can we stay?" Aya asks, looking between me and her sisters. "I want to watch over Papa too."
I look at their earnest faces, at the way they cluster protectively around his bed, and make a decision. "Go get your things. We'll camp out in here today."
They disappear together and return with an impressive collection of bedding, pillows, and comfort items. Aya drags her entire futon and half her stuffed animals. Kohana brings books and blankets. Mizuki carries pillows and looks more settled than I've seen her since the crisis started.
Together, we arrange a proper camp in the medical room. Aya's futon on one side, Kohana's reading corner near the window, Mizuki's makeshift bed where she can see the monitors.
"Paige-mama?" Aya whispers as I help her arrange her stuffed animals. "Are you scared?"
"A little," I admit. "But scared people still do what needs to be done. And what needs to be done is take care of Papa until he's strong again."
She nods solemnly, and all three girls settle into their chosen spots, creating a protective circle around their father.
I settle back into my vigil, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, listening to the quiet beeps of monitoring equipment. Outside, Kyoto wakes to another day, unaware that a war was fought in the industrial district. Unaware that a king nearly died and came home to the women who love him.
Istaythere,evenas the girls leave for lunch and a bath, under Hayashi’s strict orders.
Alone with him now, I allow myself to really look. Bandaged shoulder, bruised chest, but breathing steadily. Alive. Home. Mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Mine…
The sobs come from somewhere deep and primal, tearing out of my chest in ugly, gasping sounds. I press my hand over my mouth but it's too late, everything I've been holding back crashes over me like a wave.
I'm crying for the man who died. For his wife. For the terror of almost losing him. For the sick relief that it wasn't my hands washing blood from a corpse. But mostly I'm crying because I love him—love him completely, desperately, in ways that would have horrified the woman I used to be.
The tears are hot and endless. My shoulders shake with the force of it, months of transformation and terror and terrible joy finally demanding their due.
I love a killer. I love watching him return from violence. I love the way other men fear him, the way his darkness protects what's ours. I love that he nearly died and still dragged himself home to me.
What kind of woman does that make me?
The crying jag lasts until it doesn't—time has no meaning in this sterile room where monitors beep and my king heals from war. When it finally stops, I feel scraped hollow but strangely clean, like poison has been purged.
I wipe my face with shaking hands, smooth my hair, try to look like a woman who didn't just fall apart completely.
Around three PM, his breathing changes. His eyelids flutter, and I lean forward eagerly.
"Kaito?"
His eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, then finding my face with visible effort.
"Paige." My name is barely a whisper, but it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"I'm here. You're home. You're safe."
"Girls?"
"All safe. They've been camping out here all day, watching over you. They know you're hurt but they're not scared because they know their father always comes home."
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "Told you I had too much to live for."
"You did. You kept your promise."
"Always will."
