Page 163 of Through the Storm

I laugh under my breath as I head out.

My life feels steady for once.

KATY

I hover in the doorway longer than necessary.

Mini-Ben is already tucked into Grandma Patty’s arms, perfectly content, one tiny fist clutching her sweater like he’s claiming her as his own.

“You can go,” Grandma Patty says calmly. “He’s fed. He’s dry. He likes me.”

“I know, I just?—”

Caroline appears from the kitchen, coffee in hand. “Katy. Please. We’ve got this.” She adjusts his little hat. “You deserve a weekend. Bothof you.”

I glance at Ben. He looks certain. Like this isn’t reckless, like it’s right.

Ella pops her head out from the hallway. “Danny and I are also here. Backup support.”

Grandma Patty snorts. “That’s three adults and a dog for one tiny baby. We’ll all survive.”

Ella grins. “Barely. Now go.”

I lean down and press a kiss to my son’s cheek. He smells like baby soap and warmth and everything that feels like home.

“You’ll be okay?” I whisper.

He smiles, and I guess that’s enough for me.

Ben takes my hand in his, steadying me, and for the first time since becoming a mom, I leave without guilt.

The town Ben takes me to is adorable and quiet in that intentional way, like it’s protecting its own peace.

Our inn sits right by the water, gray-blue stretching endlessly, the air crisp, the whole place tucked into the shoreline like a secret.

At first, the silence feels unfamiliar, but after a while it starts to feel like relief.

We walk without rushing. We eat slowly, the ocean stretched out in front of us, with no interruptions, no one needing anything. We laugh, we drink, we sleep uninterrupted and wake up almost confused by how good it feels.

Lunch lingers longer than it should. A second glass of wine turns into dessert. Because we have nowhere else to be. Nothing else to do. And it’s amazing.

Ben leans back in his chair, sunglasses low, his arm draped lazily over mine. “This is… really nice.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

I don’t miss the chaos. The bottles. The laundry. The constant pull of tiny hands reaching for me.

I sit with that, and then the guilt hits.

“I feel kind of terrible,” I admit.

Ben turns to me immediately. “Why?”

“I don’t miss him,” I whisper. “Not like I thought I would. I love him, but… it’s nice not being needed every second.”

“Katy,” he says gently, “that’s not a bad thing. It just means you’re human.”

“It feels selfish.”