Page 14 of Redemption

“It was hard to watch,” she admits, her voice steady yet soft. “Seeing you like that...”

“I know, Red.” I look down, my voice breaking. “I was terrified. I kept thinking about you, the kids, everything we'd always wanted to do together, and it fucked me up.”

“I could see that,” she says, and I’m stunned by how calm she remains. “But you did everything right. You stayed strong.”

Hearing that almost undoes me. My breath shakes, and my eyes blur with unshed tears. The relief of her acceptance, her unwavering support, is overwhelming.

“You’re not angry?” My words are raw, almost like a plea.

“Angry?” She shakes her head, bewilderment on her face. “No, Caleb. I’m relieved. It could have ended so much worse, and... you came home to us. It took you longer to mentally be here with me, but you're physically here, and regardless of what's gone on between us, you've been here the whole time.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I’d been holding. Her arms wrap around me, and I sink into her embrace, like a man lost at sea finally finding solid ground.

“Thank you,” I whisper into her hair, my voice choking with emotion.

We stay like that for a while, letting the quiet envelop us, each heartbeat reminding me of how precious this all is. Her forgiveness, her empathy—it’s more than I ever hoped for.

After a while, we pull back slightly, still holding each other’s hands. The shadows in the room no longer feel oppressive; they’re simply part of the night, part of the life we share.

“Caleb,” Ruby says gently, “you’re human. You faced something terrifying and came through it. That doesn’t make you weak.”

I nod, absorbing her words like a balm to the wounds of doubt and fear that have festered since that day. Her belief in me is a light in the darkness, guiding me back to what truly matters.

“I’ll be more careful,” I promise, the oath binding not just to her but to myself.

She smiles, the shadow of fear replaced by a calm determination. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Her words linger in the air, a vow thicker than the shadows and lighter than the heaviness we’ve shed. As we settle back against the pillows, the remnants of the evening’s tension ebb away, leaving a soothing lull.

The world outside continues, the rustle of the trees, bugs making noise, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of our room, there’s a peace I hadn't expected to find tonight.

I close my eyes, feeling Ruby’s presence beside me, and for the first time since the incident, a sense of tranquility fills me. Worries about judgments, misinterpretations, and the dark 'what-ifs' are replaced with the steadfast foundation of her trust and love.

Tonight, the footage was a mirror to my vulnerabilities, but it was also a window into the strength of our bond, showing me the depth of resilience love provides. With Ruby by my side, I realize that I’m not just a police officer, not just a husband or father—I’m all of these things because we face life together.

“Thank you,” I say again, knowing these two words hold everything I can’t fully express.

Ruby kisses my forehead gently, her touch both grounding and uplifting. “Always,” she replies, and her voice is the most reassuring sound in the world.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RUBY

Tears are streaming downmy face as the video fades out. I feel as if I'm going to be sick, but I know Caleb needs me to be strong right now.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my mind is spinning with everything that could have happened. I imagine the hollow echo of a life without Caleb, waking up to silence, the weight of loss pressing down on my chest every morning, the bed cold and empty beside me. The thought is unbearable, a dark storm that threatens to swallow me whole.

Caleb shifts beside me, his presence a reassuring anchor. I look at him, really look at him, taking in the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes that tell stories of long hours and difficult decisions. He's not just a police officer; he's the man I love, my partner, my anchor in this chaotic world. The video of his altercation, those terrifying moments, keep replaying in my mind. Each time, I flinch at how close things came to being irreversibly different.

"Babe," he says softly. His voice pulls me back, wrapping around me like a lifeline. "I’m here."

I nod, swallowing hard. I reach for his hand, feeling the callouses on his palm, the solidity of his grip. I focus on this one simple truth: he’s here now.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, not entirely knowing what I’m apologizing for. Maybe it’s for all the times I took him for granted, or for letting fear cloud my happiness. Letting him leave, and not forcing him to tell me what was actually going on? "I was so scared."

He squeezes my hand. "I know. I’m sorry too. For everything."

The past months drift between us like a shadow. Caleb’s been distant, not just physically but emotionally, his mind consumed by work and the danger that comes with it. It’s been a struggle to reach him, to feel connected when his world seemed light-years away from mine. But now, here, in this fragile moment, there’s clarity between us. It’s as if the risks he faces every day have peeled back layers and reminded us of what truly matters. I should've known this, I mean I've been his wife for years. This isn't the first time we've dealt with a call fucking his head up.

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