Page 35 of His Surrender

Liana immediately lifts her head, wobbling determinedly as she looks between us.

“She’s getting stronger,” Aubrey says proudly.

I lower myself onto the blanket beside them. “I can actually tell.”

“Told you that tummy time mattered.”

“You were right.”

She smiles without rubbing it in.

For several minutes, neither of us says much. The breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves through the park. Children laugh somewhere in the distance.

I glance back down at my daughter lying between us.

One week ago, I couldn’t imagine my life ever feeling normal again.

Now, stretched out on a blanket in Central Park with Liana happily kicking her feet and Aubrey smiling beside her, normal doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.

By the time we pack up the blanket and settle Liana back into the stroller, the park has grown noticeably busier.

Families weave around us while cyclists ring their bells as they pass. A golden retriever trots by with a tennis ball hanging from its mouth.

“I could stay out here all day,” Aubrey says, taking one last look around before falling into step beside me.

I glance toward the sky. “Let’s not push our luck.”

She follows my gaze. “What? It was sunny ten minutes ago.”

“It was.”

Dark gray clouds have rolled over Manhattan with surprising speed, swallowing the patches of blue that were hanging overhead all morning.

“I think we’re about to—” A cold drop lands squarely on the bridge of my nose.

Aubrey laughs. “You’re kidding.”

Within seconds, the gentle sprinkle turns into a steady rain.

“Oh no,” Aubrey says, hurrying to the stroller.

I don’t hesitate. “Blanket.”

She immediately reaches into the basket beneath the stroller and hands me the one we sat on.

Together, we stretch it over the stroller before I pull the weather shield forward, covering as much of the opening as possible.

I peek inside. Liana blinks up at us, completely oblivious to the sudden chaos.

“I think she’s dry.”

“So, are we running?” Aubrey asks, already laughing.

“We’re running.”

I grip the stroller handle and take off.

The rain comes down harder, soaking through my sweatshirt within seconds.