Page 154 of Anchor
Claire met his gaze. “So did you.”
“No,” Reid said quietly. “I almost lost everything, but you wouldn’t let me.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. She tucked her chin against the baby’s soft head and let herself rest against her husband’s shoulder.
ANN ARBOR – CLAIRE AND REID’S HOME – FOUR MONTHS LATER
The house was quiet. No monitors, no alarms, no sterile white light—just the steady hush of white noise purring from the corner and the soft glow of the night lamp. Claire sat curled in the rocking chair, the baby against her chest, her body slack from exhaustion.
Tuck’s sedative, warm milk, and relentless hours had finally done what nothing else could—her eyes had fluttered closed. For once, she wasn’t fighting it.
Reid stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He let himself watch her a moment longer, his throat tight at the sight. Claire, always pushing, always bracing, finally asleep, with their daughter tucked safely in her arms.
The nursery smelled like warm milk and lavender. The NICU nurses from Denver, now their nurses in Ann Arbor, had set everything up with military precision. And outside, Tree Town One kept the perimeter, unseen but always there.
Reid moved in quietly, crouched low, and slid the baby from her chest with care. Freya barely stirred, letting out a faint sigh before resettling. He laid her gently in the bassinet by the wall, tucking the blanket snug.
From his pocket, he pulled out the old compass, flicked it open, and laid it in the hood of the bassinet where Freya wouldn’t see it now but would one day understand. “Still points north.”
Reid turned back to Claire, who was still curled in the chair, head tilted, breathing steady. He bent and scooped her up in his arms, her weight soft against him. She stirred faintly but didn’t open her eyes as he carried her down to their bedroom and laid her gently on their bed.
He sat on the edge beside her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. And in the stillness, his mind carried him back.
The first night they’d walked up the steps of this very house. White siding, dark shutters, a neighborhood alive with quiet, ordinary sounds—dogs, kids, and the hum of life he’d thought was forever closed to him.
Claire had whispered, “I never thought I’d have this. A house. A family. A chance to feel… normal.”
And his own answer was as simple as it was true: “Normal’s overrated. But safe? Safe’s worth everything.”
He remembered unlocking the door, pushing it open, and smelling new paint. Remembered the way her hand tightened in his as she stepped across the threshold with their child between them. That was the night they began.
Now, sitting on the edge of their bed, he looked down at her. Her lashes fluttered faintly, her lips parting. “Safe,” he kissed her temple, “always.”
Her eyes opened just a sliver. She gave him the faintest smile, so fleeting he almost thought he imagined it. “I know,” she whispered, voice blurred by sleep.
And then she drifted back under, the trust in those two words wrapping tighter around him than any order or mission ever could.
THE END
