Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(77)

“Here,” he said, pointing to the jar, “is where you will put all your hopes, one for each day she is not here in this house.” His accent grew thicker with emotion. “And when she finally comes home, you will seal it up and save it for when she’s older and needs it the most.”

“Beautiful,” Lailah whispered, having little experience with the unwavering romanticism that was Nash Taylor.

He’d won over the hearts of half of America with his overwhelming talent to turn words into melting chocolate with the flick of a wrist. His last stint in the hospital seemed to have tamed him slightly, and he hadn’t made a single inappropriate comment since we arrived.

“Me! I’m next! I wanted to go last, and now, it’s my turn!” Abigail bounced off the couch and handed Lailah a wrapped present that looked much like a book.

Their eyes met, and I could see this held special importance for Abigail. She watched every movement as Lailah pulled away the wrapping paper, exposing the pink leather below.

She flipped it over in her hands, and her eyes met Abigail’s.

“It’s a journal. The last time we talked, you mentioned you started writing in yours again, and I thought you could use another one, a nicer one. Also, I thought while the baby is still in the hospital, you could write her a list.”

“A list?” Lailah asked.

“Like yours,” Abigail said. “A Someday List. It won’t be just like yours because she’s a baby, but maybe you can add things in there that you guys can do later. I thought it would be cool if you had some things to check off right away, like take a walk on the beach or her first diaper change in her room. You know, things like that.”

I got up from my spot on the floor and joined Lailah on the couch, her eyes already misting with fresh tears.

“Thank you, Abigail,” she cried, her hands opening wide for the young girl. “I couldn’t have asked for a greater gift.”

They held each other tightly before we made our rounds, going from person to person, hugging and holding one another. Soon, dinner was ordered, and laughter filled the house.

There were no tears of sadness and no cries of loss, only the sound of hope and the promises of great things to come.

I LOVED SITTING out on the deck early in the morning before the world woke up.

It was quiet, new and fresh with possibilities, and the air clung to my skin, making my steaming cup of coffee taste that much better. Every morning I spent out here, watching the sun rising over the water, felt like a blessing.

Every day felt like a blessing.

I didn’t know if there would ever be a point in my life when that feeling would stop.

Did I really want it to?

Did I want to eventually fade into the rest of existence, unimpressed with life and the ways of the world?

No, I didn’t.

I loved my life and the constant amazement of it all. I would always be that girl who loved taking taxis just for the thrill of it and who never stopped looking at the ocean because it was too beautiful to turn away.

I would always be that woman who had survived.

The sliding door opened behind me, and I smiled, already knowing who it was.

“Look who beat us awake again this morning,” Jude said in that voice he’d adopted ever since the moment he first held her.

His dad voice, I called it. It wasn’t nearly as sexy as the voice he’d use in the bedroom, but it still gave me chills and goose bumps.

I looked up at them, my beautiful family.

Through it all, I would always be theirs.

Jude’s wife and Meara’s mother—nothing could get any better than that.

Having a child in the NICU was something you could never fully prepare for. It was something you could never explain to another who hadn’t experienced it either. Even after coming home from the hospital alone on that first day, we’d Googled and read everything we could, trying to make sure we were up on every piece of equipment she was hooked up to and medication she was on. We’d stayed in touch with doctors around the clock and planned our schedules around hers. Still, nothing could have ever prepared us for the grueling days of waiting for our child to finally come home.

Our family had helped in so many ways. They’d arranged meals, even come and cleaned for us, but nothing could bring Meara home faster. Only time and patience could do that.

We’d ended up seeking out those like us, the ones who were still waiting and those who’d finally made it out. Making friends with parents of preemies was probably the best thing either one of us could have done. It’d opened our world of support and given us people to talk to. They’d completely understood every emotion because they, too, had suffered through them all.

Forty-one days—that was how many days Meara had spent in the NICU. It was forty-one days until we had our celebration day and finally taken her home with us.

It was a day I’d never be able to forget.

I didn’t think I’d slept a single second that night. I’d just lain there, watching her in her bassinet by our bed, amazed and terrified at the same time. I had been so scared she’d somehow stop breathing, and we’d end up back in the hospital.

But she hadn’t, and now, two months later, she was still thriving.

And we were getting ready to say good-bye to our California home.

Our year on the beach had come to an end.

“What are you thinking about?” Jude asked as he and Meara settled in on the chaise next to me.