Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Winona

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Soft. Herbal. Faintly floral.

Chamomile.

I turned my head slowly on the pillow, my body sore and unwilling. My limbs felt like sandbags, like I'd been underwater in my sleep. The light filtering through the curtains was thin and pale, as if the sun wasn't sure it wanted to be here either.

My throat felt dry. My skin, chilled beneath the sheets.

Then I saw it.

A mug.

Steam still curled from the top, rising into the air like a wisp of breath. Balanced beneath the mug's base was a small folded piece of paper. It looked like it had been set down with care, like even the paper knew it mattered.

I stared at it for a long moment, not moving. Not trusting what I saw. Then, slowly, I pushed myself up, wincing as my muscles pulled tight in protest. My fingers curled around the mug. Warm ceramic met my skin, grounding me. I brought it to my lips with both hands, like a child holding something sacred.

The first sip was cautious.

Heat kissed my mouth and slid down my throat. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in days—maybe weeks—I felt it.

Warmth.

Not just physical, but emotional. It poured through me like light behind closed lids. The honey was faint, gentle, exactly how I always made it. How he used to make it, back when things were simpler. Before silence filled the space between us like smoke.

My eyes welled. My heart ached in ways I hadn't prepared for.

When I opened my eyes again, I set the mug down and reached for the note beneath it. My fingers hesitated.

It was folded in thirds—neat, intentional. I unfolded it like it might break.

Three words.

I love you.

No name. No flourish.

Just him.

I stared until the ink blurred. Then I placed the note gently in my lap, pushed the covers off, and stood.

That's when I heard it—a soft thump at my feet.

I looked down.

A baby catalogue.

My brow furrowed as I reached for it. The cover felt soft, like suede. Familiar. I'd picked this exact one up weeks ago and left it on the coffee table, assuming he'd ignored it.

But he hadn't.

I opened it slowly.

There were markings. Stars and circles. Little arrows in his handwriting—"Too bulky?" and "Looks safe." My chest tightened as I flipped through the pages. Notes were scattered like breadcrumbs. Swaddles. Bottles. Cribs.

I paused at a dog-eared page.

Footed pajamas with tiny cartoon lions.

And beneath them, in his careful scrawl: "You always said our baby would be brave."

The book trembled in my hands.

I didn't cry the way people do in movies. There was no wailing, no collapsing to the floor. Just... a slow, quiet ache. Tears slipped free, one after the other, dotting the page like punctuation.

He had done this.

Silently. Alone.

For me. For our child.

And he never told me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, hugging the catalogue to my chest, and closed my eyes. Not because I was cold this time.

But because I needed courage.
——
The garden smelled like lavender and wet stone.

Sierra was already seated when I arrived, tucked beneath one of the carved arches in the courtyard. Her hair was down, a hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder, fingers wrapped around a sparkling water bottle.

She didn't speak when I sat beside her. I didn't either. The silence between us wasn't awkward—it was heavy. Full. Like the air was holding its breath.

"I didn't lie," I said finally. My voice was soft, uncertain. "Not once."

She didn't look at me.

"I didn't know," I added. "About any of it. I was just as blindsided."

She shifted slightly, her hands stilling.

"I know," she murmured.

"But I'm still sorry," I whispered.

Sierra turned her head just a little.

"Sorry that this happened?"

"No. I mean... yes. But I'm sorry you ever met me."

Her eyes snapped to mine, startled.

"If you hadn't," I went on, voice cracking, "none of this would've touched you. You wouldn't have been dragged into my mess. You wouldn't have had to watch everything fall apart. You wouldn't be grieving something you never even asked to lose."

She inhaled slowly, but I couldn't stop.

"I hate that I pulled you into this. That knowing me cost you so much. I'd undo it all if I could. I'd go back and keep you from getting close, if it meant protecting you."

Sierra turned to face me completely, her face unreadable.

"Winona," she said, low and clear. "Don't you ever say that again."

I froze.

"I'd rather suffer like this a thousand times over," she said, "than have never known you."

I didn't know what to say.

"You changed my life," she continued, her voice steady. "Not because of who you're married to. Because you saw me. You let me be messy and dumb and real. You never judged me, even when you had every right to. You taught me what it looks like to stay. Even when it hurt. Even when it broke you."

My tears came again, faster this time.

"I don't know how to fix this," I said. "I haven't even seen him. I don't know what I'd say if I did."

"He's giving you space," Sierra said, with a small shrug. "Again."

I gave a shaky laugh. "Didn't think he was capable."

She smiled faintly. "We all surprise ourselves eventually."

"I don't want to forgive him," I admitted. "Not easily. But... it feels like he's changing. Quietly. Like he's doing it when no one's watching."

"Then don't rush to forgive," she said. "Let him earn it. Let him prove it. And one day, without even realizing it, you'll feel it—the moment the weight of it all shifts. That's when you'll know."

"I'm scared."

"You should be." She reached out, threading her fingers with mine. "Love isn't safe. Especially not love that comes back to life after dying."

"Will it ever feel the same?"

"No," she said. "It won't. But sometimes... it's better. It's honest. It's grown. It knows where the cracks are and chooses to stay anyway."

I let out a long breath, like something deep inside me was finally exhaling.

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Then you'll still be you. Whole. Enough. Loved."

I leaned my head on her shoulder. Her hoodie smelled like soap and rain and something vaguely citrusy. Home.

"I missed you," I whispered.

"I never left," she whispered back.

And for the first time since everything shattered—

I believed her.