Page 106 of The Sculptor

And then he pulls me into his arms, and every tear, every sacrifice, is worth thisonemoment.

A moment where I hug him for all the things we missed together.

I hug him for all the nights I missed rocking him to sleep and the early morning feedings I never got to do.

I hug him for the mid-afternoon snuggles we’ll never know.

I hug him for the first steps I’ll never see and for the tooth fairy I’ll never get to play.

I hug this man, offering every single bit of a silent apology.

We weren’t there on the first day of school.

We didn’t see him hit a home run at his Little League games. We didn’t get to tuck him into bed and whisper in his ear that we loved him.

I simply stand there, holding my son and grieving the moments we’ll never get back when I realize how grateful I am just to get the opportunity to have this one moment with him. Some parents will never get to hold their children again, and I can’t help but be eternally grateful for this chance.

“You are more beautiful than I imagined,” I finally say through tears as Remington pulls back, flashing a smile that melts my heart.

“Let’s not tell Dr. Drab that. He might get jealous.”

“Dr. Drab?”

He winks, and I know without a doubt that this is Duke’s child. “I think you call him Duke,” he says with a chuckle.

“Ah, yes,” I say, my smile dropping at the thought of his father.

He sighs, stepping back and removing his leather jacket. “I’m only doing this once because I find it seriously cringe.” He winces, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to do. “But Duke can be convincing when he talks about you.”

“He told you about me?”

Remington snorts. “Get a little bourbon in him, and he won’t shut up singing your praises.”

Somehow, my heart feels too big for my chest right now. Having my son speak about his father, who is telling him about me—nothing feels more like home than that.

“Anyway,” Remington continues like he’s annoyed with this whole thing. “I’m supposed to tell you that he sent back his heart and—I can’t believe I’m doing this shit.” He rolls his eyes and pulls up his sleeve, showing me the hand-drawn heart on his arm—the one I’d recognize from anywhere. The very one his father painted on me many years ago.

He drew it on our son.

He sent it back on our boy.

Our heart.

Our purpose.

Our future.

A teardrips onto Remington’s arm, and he takes my hand, moving it to his chest, and sighs dramatically. “He wants me to say that he sent back both of his hearts. He hopes you’ll find it in you to bring them back home.”

Ramsey

After Remington pushed through my motel room like he lived there and started packing my bag like I never had an option of not going home, I realized we left Halle outside without a thank you. But Remington assured me Vance was parked a few feet away and was on his way home with her as we speak.

I hated I couldn’t thank her in person, but Remington waved off my concern, saying Halle would likely text me later becauseshe’s nosy and demanding like that.

Thankfully, I’m used to demanding.

Seeing that heart painted on Remington’s arm, feeling his beating heart beneath my hand… there was no chance I wasn’t going home to both my demanding boys after that—even if one of them has a lot of groveling to do.

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