Page 157 of Jayson
“She will,” he promises. “Because she’ll know us.”
The stars keep blooming above us, brighter now—like the night sky knows we’re paying attention. Vega pulses in Lyra. Altair in Aquila. Deneb trailing behind them like a promise.
“The Summer Triangle,” I murmur. “Three stars, three constellations. Ancient navigators used them to find their way home.”
Jayson leans his head against mine. “So will she.”
We sit like that until the night deepens and the sky becomes an ocean of light.
And in the quiet, I wonder if the baby already knows the sound of his voice.
If she can feel the way he wraps me in his arms. The way he talks to my belly when he thinks I’m asleep. The way he looks at me now—like I’m starlight and survival and everything he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
And maybe she can’t see the sky yet.
But maybe, like love, she doesn’t have to.
Maybe some things are felt before they’re ever seen.
