"I think... I think I forgot who I was. Before I became a mom, I mean." Mads had been sitting with her legs crossed, a mere foot from me, as she said it. "But I didn't realize it either. It was like, once Lila was here, I just kind of... slowly stopped existing."
Wendy had been listening attentively as well, but I was sure she wasn't paying attention to the cross of Madelyn's legs like I was, the grip her laced fingers had on her knee, the way her eyes had kind of fogged over, thrown back into memories that I was surely apart of, but couldn't see.
Everything about her in that moment had read calm, collected. I was the one who felt like my insides were spilling out. I was the one who felt like my emotions were pouring out too quickly for me to get a handle on them. I was the one whose heart was galloping in my chest, furiously trying to get somewhere that I couldn't identify.
But Mads... she'd just gone on.
"Which sounds really terrible, but it didn't feel terrible at all," she said with a smile—not for me, but for Wendy. "It felt like the most natural thing in the world. To put all my focus, all my energy and love, into her instead of me. And I was happy to do it, so... I guess that's why I didn't realize that I'd disappeared until it was too late."
That was when she'd glanced at me. And when our eyes met, I felt a tear fall from mine and swiped it away. Mads had only smiled tenderly.
"Until I didn't know how to find myself again."
Those words—the understanding that had come from her explanation—had stayed with me ever since our appointment with Wendy yesterday. Our fourth session. The one that marked a month together in New York. A month together home. And after a month together again, it was only in the last week or so that it really started to feel like we were together again.
I edged around the long, flat boxes in the hallway, propped up on each other against the wall just outside the door to Lila's room. Music was spilling through the door, and the smell of paint had permeated the house, despite us having opened all the windows, but we were nearly done now, and I was looking forward to relaxing together.
Just the two of us.
Michelle had taken Lila for the day so that we could get some work done on her room. We'd bought the paint last week, just like we'd planned, and even gone shopping for her furniture—a crib, dresser and changing table. Then we'd gotten the other things—like lamps, curtains, toys, and a rocking chair among other little decorative touches that Mads insisted we needed, like stickers for her wall, and shelving for her books, and little statues of elephants and giraffes and monkeys to decorate those shelves in front of the books.
It was all a bit over my head, if I was honest, but I let Mads do what she wanted, remembering how Lila's room in L.A. had looked—all cozy and comforting—thanks to her mother's eye.
Of course, none of those things could be set up until we painted, and we hadn't yet painted because we didn't want Lila to be here when all the fumes were wafting through the flat. So, Michelle, deciding that we'd never get to it if she didn't press the matter, had insisted that she could take Lila today since she was off from work through tomorrow to give us some time to get things done.
We'd pick Lila up tomorrow afternoon.
Which meant that tonight would be our first night alone together since... well, since Lila was born.
And however the night unfolded, I would treasure every moment with the knowledge that just being with her, however she wanted me to be with her, was better than being apart.
Mads was squatting in a pair of shorts and a tank top, diligently painting the windowsill now that the walls were done. We'd gone with a soft yellow this time. Though neither of us had said it, it had occurred to me that maybe both of us wanted a fresh start, even though decorating Lila's room in L.A. had brought us immeasurable joy before she was born. I wondered if, for both of us, trying to recreate that room might bring back the wrong kinds of memories rather than the good ones.
So, yellow. Soft, bright, and it would look amazing when the sunlight hit it in the morning.
Mads didn't seem to hear me with the music playing—a playlist of hers she'd put on when we started—and I almost didn't want to disturb her focus, enjoying the way her mouth fell open as she worked, the splatter of yellow paint in her dark hair, the long, smooth skin of her arms, the muscles rippling as she pulled the paint brush up and down along the window frame. But I'd downed half my water bottle in ten seconds before even making it back here, so I figured Mads could probably use some, too.
"Here," I said, walking onto the drop cloth and stepping over paint trays and rollers and poles.
Mads looked over at me, a line of muscle in her thigh shifting as her weight shifted. "Oh, thanks."
She set the paint brush down in a tray and took the bottle from me, and sure enough, downed almost half in one go, her eyes moving around the room. I took another sip of my own.
"It looks good," she said.
"It does."
"Didn't take too long either."
"And you still somehow managed to get almost as much paint on you as you did the walls."
Mads looked down at herself. There were splatters all over her shirt and shorts, and a few quick stripes on her arms, one on her leg, and dried yellow all over her hands. She looked at me. "You have some on you, too."
I glanced down at myself. "A few splatters. Pretty sure that's to be expected."
Mads rolled her eyes, her lips lifting at the corners. "Well, excuse me."
She lifted her water bottle to her lips again as I chuckled, glancing at the window she'd just been working on. "One more then we're done."
I looked behind her to the other window in the room and set my water bottle down. "Let's get cracking then."
How different this experience had been to the one in L.A. For one thing, Mads wasn't incredibly pregnant, and so I was not glancing over at her every three seconds, waiting for a gasp of pain, or a hand to shoot to her round belly, sure that she was going to do something that would induce labor. And for another, rather than spending the whole time chasing each other down with paint, we'd talked. About missing Lila, even though it was just one night away from her. About how Lila would like her new room, both of us knowing that she was still too young to care what it looked like. About nothing. About everything. We'd smiled. We'd laughed. We'd paused to look at each other. We'd let the silences in between linger, humming or singing along to some of the songs that came on as we worked. And then, we'd come back to each other through another voiced thought. Another random opinion.
It was like, the more we'd been talking, the more I wanted to talk. It seemed to be the case for Mads as well, because over the last few weeks, we'd been talking more than we hadn't. About Lila, about our families, about logistical things, about scheduling, about each other, about our marriage, about where things had gone wrong, about why things had gone wrong...
And I'd never felt so free. So understood. Even in all the years we'd been together, I wasn't sure I'd ever felt quite this close to her.
The therapy sessions were working wonders. Wendy had guided us through each of our hardships in the past, had us talk about them in-depth, so that she could listen with a kind, patient ear. She'd asked us to walk her through the way we spoke to each other in our daily hour-long talks, what we talked about, if there was anything else we'd like to bring up or anything we hadn't said.
And since those initial conversations, when things were still awkward and tense between Mads and I, we could report that we spoke to each other with patience and consideration, listening more than hurrying to get our own thoughts out. We could say that we talked about our memories together. Even, sometimes, the more difficult ones, and still, we were able to look back at all of it with a smile. She gave us the chance to admit that, yes, there was something else I wanted to bring up, but Lila started crying, or your phone started ringing, or we'd simply gotten a little too nervous to talk about it. And it was working. All of it.
I shouldn't have had any doubt, but it was bringing us back together. Making us closer than we'd ever been.
"There's no right way to do this," Wendy would always say when one or both of us clammed up, which had happened a fair few times over the course of the last month. "You can't make a mistake in this room because we're going to talk through anything that gives you even a moment's hesitation or a split-second of doubt."
It had given us courage when she said things like that. It had made us feel comfortable and cared for and understood. And it had made us—or at least me—all the more willing to share.
We were quiet as we worked on that last window, feeling the warm breeze filter through the screen as the soft sounds of Cat Stevens played through the speaker in the middle of the floor. One of her father's favorite musicians. Mads was sitting at my feet, humming along and carefully painting the underside of the windowsill as I pulled the brush slowly down the side of the frame, when it happened.
One song ended, and another began. I looked down at her. She looked up at me.
The familiar guitar, the soft melody, then the words...
You look so wonderful in your dress.
I love your hair like that.
The way it falls on the side of your neck,
down your shoulders and back.
We smiled at the same time, and after setting my paintbrush down, I held out a hand.
She stared at it for a few moments before her eyes flicked up to mine, before her smile widened and she breathed a laugh—before she took it.
I pulled her up, my heart pounding as I tugged her closer, as my hands dropped to her waist, as she looked into my eyes, smiling, and looped her arms around my neck.
And as the chorus began, our paintbrushes forgotten on the floor, we started moving together, swaying gently from side to side, holding each other closer for longer than we had in weeks. The smell of paint still filled the room, but so did lots of sunlight from the open windows.
You look so beautiful in this light.
Your silhouette over me.
"The way it brings out the blue in your eyes is the Tenerife Sea," I sang softly, bringing a knuckle up to her cheek, nudging aside a wayward strand of hair as I brushed her warm skin. Her blue eyes closed at the touch, then opened again, her lashes long and dark around them as she looked up at me, smiling.
Should this be the last thing I see,
I want you to know it's enough for me,
cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need.
So in love.
I sang along to each word, finding more meaning in each one now than I had on our wedding day. Because looking into my wife's eyes, after all that we'd been through since that day, thinking of our child—I didn't think I'd ever meant them more.
I could see it all there in her eyes, too. Swimming there in the blue.
Her body was warm against mine, and she tucked her head into the crook of my neck so that her cool breath fanned warm on the skin between my neck and shoulder. I let my head rest against hers, breathing in the smell of her shampoo.
Lumiere, darling,
Lumiere over me.
Lumiere, darling,
Lumiere over me.
Lumiere, darling,
Lumiere over me.
I closed my eyes, letting the music fill me up as I held her, moved with her—the two of us more in synch than we'd been in months. Years, even. And I made myself focus on each word, each moment, each feeling these moments gave me.
The smell of her hair, the heat of her body against mine, the feel of her waist between my arms, her breath on my skin, her head against mine...
The swell of emotion inside me to think that we'd been married for nearly three years, to think that we'd brought a baby into the world, to think of all we'd been through since Lila was born...
To think of the way she looked like us. Like me and Mads. The most perfect little representation of our love for each other. To think of the way I loved her. To think of the way Mads loved her. To think of the way she gave herself away without a second thought. To think of the way I'd let her. To think of the way we'd drifted apart, and the beautiful way we'd come back together.
There was so much I still didn't know. So much I still had yet to learn. But I knew the curves of her body just as well as I knew the workings of her heart. I knew the sound of her breath, so I knew how content she was in this moment, as our wedding song wrapped around us in the middle of our daughter's unfinished room, as the afternoon sun lit up the yellow walls. I knew that she loved me, that she'd give herself away for that love if I asked it of her.
And I knew that I would never make that kind of demand. Just as well as I knew that I would do the same for her if she asked. But she wouldn't demand that either.
Because we didn't make demands of each other. We trusted each other, now more than ever. We believed in each other. We hoped for each other. We loved each other—enough to fight for each other at every turn, but especially when things went wrong. And if that wasn't the most romantic thing in the world, I didn't know what was.
The song summed it up best.
So in love.
So in love.
So in love.
So in love.
I pulled back as the song drew to a close, feeling so much, I didn't know what to do with all of the emotion. I was just thankful it was the good kind.
Mads pulled back, too, her blue eyes like liquid—like the rippling waves of the ocean. And when she gave me a closed-lip smile, I didn't have enough time to fully smile back before she was tugging me forward by the collar.
She kissed me.
For the first time in weeks. Since well before I came to New York. I hadn't pushed her, too afraid that she'd push me away—tell me she needed more time. Things had just been too tense, too unsure. She still hadn't actually said the words "I forgive you", though the last couple weeks had given me the confidence to believe that she had.
So, this kiss—at the tail-end of this song—it very nearly brought me to tears.
So close, in fact, that my hands shook as I brought them to her face, and my lips trembled from the relief as I pulled back, too overwhelmed by all that it meant. Especially since she'd initiated it.
My hands fell to my sides when I pulled away, but I was smiling. Almost laughing. My breath came short. Her hands curled around my arms, squeezing gently so that I knew she wanted me to look at her. But it was hard, because tears had, in fact, filled my eyes.
Mads didn't say a word. And the song ended, another quiet one coming on it's place. An instrumental that she sometimes played for Lila to help her sleep.
And she looked at me—really looked at me for several long moments. I gripped her arms in return, and she slid her hands down until our fingers laced together. I brought hers up to my mouth, sniffing the tears away, and kissed the back of her hand, kept my lips pressed to her skin.
She watched me, waited patiently for me to meet her eye. And when I did—there it was again. All that certainty. That confidence. Her love for me.
There was Mads again. My Mads. My girl. Once more, she'd made it back to herself. And this time, she'd taken me on the journey with her. A journey that had been terrifying and nerve-wracking and wonderful and worth it. Every step of the way.
"Harry," she whispered, holding my hands in hers.
I couldn't even say anything back. I could only work to quell the tears.
She smiled at me, pressed a lingering kiss to the top of one of my hands in return, then dropped one, eyeing me as her smile turned mischievous, as she tugged on my hand and led me towards the door of the room. I followed without a word, knowing where this was headed, but still in a state of disbelief. Still reeling from that one chaste kiss.
I hadn't dared hope these last few weeks. We had so much work to do on our relationship. I didn't want to complicate any of that with sex, no matter how badly I wanted to be with her that way again. I knew I'd fucked up. I knew she had to work through things in her own time. I knew I couldn't expect anything. I could only wait patiently for her to give me the cue. I could only wait until she was ready. Until she wanted to be with me again.
And I didn't mind the wait all that much. The talking, feeling so close to her—it was almost better than sex sometimes. The last thing I wanted was for her to give into me before she was fully present and ready to. Before she wanted to.
But the Mads who guided me into our bedroom, the Mads who sat me down on the edge of our bed, the Mads who stepped between my legs and let me trail my fingers up her smooth thighs to her waist as she cupped my face with both her hands—she was my Mads again.
My girl.
She brushed back the hair at the sides of my face, holding her lips so close to mine, I felt my mouth open, ready for her. Half terrified, half excited, but ready for this.
"I love you," she murmured, hovering above me.
And my eyes, already closed, waiting—shot open.
We'd talked about loving each other in therapy, but mostly in logistical terms. For the most part though, it went unsaid. We were in therapy because we loved each other. We'd gotten through everything we'd gone through because we loved each other. We were trying, every single day, to make this work because we loved each other.
It was just understood.
But I didn't know how badly I needed to hear those words from her, in that simple, straightforward, meaningful way, until she'd said them.
She kissed me again. Forcefully this time. Like she didn't want me to have any more lingering doubts. Like she wanted to assure me in every way that I'd earned her forgiveness. That we were well on our way to getting beyond this.
And then her knees were on either side of my legs, her body straddling mine, and I held her close, kissed her back just as fiercely, letting her know I understood.
Letting her know I was grateful.
I hadn't touched her skin like this in ages, and my hands were greedy as they snuck up under the back of her shirt. She was wearing one of her breastfeeding bras, but the endless amount of heated skin had me going a bit mad, tugging her tank top up, and up, and up until it was over her head.
She tugged her hair from its bun and looked at me as it fell around her shoulders in a tangle of waves, splattered by trace amounts of yellow paint. I smiled, reaching up to brush some of it down, away from her face. She grinned back and we both started to laugh a little breathlessly as my eyes followed the trail of my fingers.
"We should probably keep this on," she said, referring to her bra. "Unless you don't mind a little breastmilk."
I smiled and set about getting the bra off her, laughing as she laughed, not caring for a split second about any amount of breastmilk making an appearance. I just wanted to see her. Touch her. Have her.
All of her.
She'd pumped in the midst of us painting Lila's room anyway, and she giggled some more, shaking her hair again as I got the bra off her, and her full breasts sat heavy on her chest. I kissed the vast amount of skin between them, wrapping my arms more tightly around her, breathing her in.
Mads let out a soft breath above me, her arms tightening around my neck. And the next thing I knew, her hips were moving, slowly rolling back and forth as I littered the skin of her throat and chest with kisses.
She had my shirt over my head next, and tossed it onto the floor behind her before grabbing my face and kissing me, her hips still sliding forward then back, forward then back on my lap. I was growing harder by the second. I knew she could feel it, too. Her tiny pair of shorts and my gym shorts were doing little to disguise what she was doing to me, and just enough to make sure the friction had me dizzy with desire.
Desperate for more, I kissed her greedily. One hand landed on her back to flip us around. She let out a whoosh of breath as her back hit the bed, as her breasts splayed to each side of her chest, her nipples still peaked. But it was her eyes—Jesus, those eyes—that caught my attention. That held my gaze as I slowly slid her shorts down her legs, along with her underwear. There was a playfulness in the blue, and when she bit her lip and sat up, I couldn't help my smile, couldn't help touching her, my hands going to her bare waist as she got on her knees, putting her at my height as her hands went to the band of my shorts and her lips tugged at mine.
She slid my shorts down my legs along with my boxers, then followed them as they pooled around my feet and slid off the bed, crouched down in front of me, and took me into her mouth.
I groaned. Tried hard to keep my eyes open so that I could watch intently. Her hair was soft in my hands, and her mouth was hot and soft around me, her hand steady and warm around the rest of me. And she moved slowly, taking her time, those eyes flicking up to mine in that same playful, loving way that made my already erratic heart fall over itself as I watched.
I kept my fingers soft in her hair, gripping only when I couldn't help it—when her tongue moved in ways that had me breathless and attempting to count to ten in my head just so that I could prolong the pleasure. But when I wasn't sure how much longer I could last, when she became even more enthusiastic, the pressure of her mouth and the suction it created very nearly bringing me over the edge—I groaned again and pulled away, reaching down to lift her by the elbow and hurrying to kiss her and get her back on the bed.
It was too much. All that I was feeling emotionally—the things she'd made me feel physically. It had been so long so we'd been together like this. Really together. With no words unsaid between us. Without exhaustion cutting it short. And I wanted to make it last as long as possible. I wanted to enjoy the look in her eyes as long as I could.
She smiled again as I climbed over her, her eyes locking on mine as I leaned in to kiss her again. My tongue dove into her mouth, and she met me in kind, her hands moving over my back so that I felt the soft drag of her fingernails as my hips settled between her legs, as I felt between her legs to find her already wet.
Her breath caught. I kept my fingers there, moving them up and down, my eyes nearly rolling back at the slick softness of her and the thought of what she'd feel like around me as her lips, tongue, and teeth roamed over my throat and chest. I sank back on my heels, meeting her eye and smiling when I noted the glint in the blue. She smiled back, completely breathless, chest already heaving, and watched as I leaned down, as my tongue dipped between her folds.
A quick breath came out with a soft whimper, and I watched her as she watched me—as her brows furrowed, as her lips fell open, as she sucked in a breath through her teeth, her eyes closing for only a second while I licked and sucked and licked some more.
As she had taken her time with me, I took my time with her, my hands hooking beneath her legs and curling over her thighs, holding her steady as her back arched off the bed, as her gasps grew louder and her legs started shaking.
"Yes, yes, yes," she breathed, her eyes closed as her hands threaded through my hair, gripping to keep me in place. I wasn't going anywhere.
I kept up the movement that had her whole body tightening, legs quivering, had her breath coming in small, quick bursts, knowing she was only seconds away from coming.
I flicked my tongue more quickly in one specific spot, feeling her hands tighten in my hair and watching as her body went rigid and shuddered all at once—as she fell apart above me with a long string of moans that ended with softer, shorter, more breathless whimpers.
Kissing the insides of her thighs, I watched her breathe, come back to herself, but didn't wait for her to look up at me before climbing over her again, dropping kisses to her soft skin on the way, smiling to myself at the yellow swipes of paint on her arms. Her eyes were open when I reached her lips, and her hands came up to my face, pulling me down to her mouth so that she could kiss me as thoroughly as I wanted her to.
One hand drifted back down to the apex of her thighs, touching her there as I kissed her, desperate all over again to feel her around me. Mads let one hand fall from my face, and the next thing I knew, her fingers curled around me, and she broke the kiss to guide me inside her.
I couldn't help the sigh that came from somewhere deep in my chest as I felt her warm and soft and tight around every inch of me, and I froze for a moment, unable to move from the relief of it all. The relief of being inside her, the relief of being forgiven, the relief of feeling her love—the relief of looking into her eyes in that intense moment of connection and seeing the girl I was still head over heels in love with staring back at me.
My hips drew back before driving forward again, and my brain felt completely disconnected from my body, letting my muscles move without its direction. It logged information as my hips kept up that steady movement—the flush in her cheeks, the heat of her skin, her legs wrapped around me, her teeth biting down on the curve between my neck and shoulder, her fingers gripping my lower back, drifting down to my ass. But it was more concerned with remembering. Her sighs were the same as they'd always been, an undercurrent of need and desire drawing a whine out of her as well. It wanted to remember the way our bodies felt pressed together, especially with the moisture from her breastmilk leaking between us making our chests slip more easily against each other. It wanted to remember the look of her parted lips, red and puffy, perfectly kissable.
I kissed her then, my muscles driving my hips forward, and my brain wanted to remember the sound of it—the quiet slap of skin meeting skin, setting an audible tempo, her moans and the grunts I couldn't help laying over it like a melody. She kissed me back, the sounds she made vibrating into my mouth as her tongue met mine.
And then my brain disappeared, forgetting to remember, forgetting everything but each thrust, each sensation, the delicious coil of pleasure tightening low in my stomach, curling up from the base of my spine. One of her hands slipped between us, and I could feel the top of it moving quickly against my skin as release barreled through me, as I spilled inside her, pure muscle memory driving my erratic thrusts as my mind went completely blank with pleasure.
The desperate sounds she made before I'd fully come back down told me that she was coming too, and I could feel the proof of it as she tightened rhythmically around me. Eyes opening, I found her with her face screwed up, her hand still moving quickly between us, and I kept up my thrusts until she quieted, until I felt her settle around me, until her head fell back to the mattress and her whole face softened, eyes closed in contentment.
My breaths were still coming hard, as were hers, and I watched her—stayed inside her, using my forearms to hold myself above her as I brushed back the hair at her temples with the tips of my fingers. My brain was in control again, noting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the long lashes over her closed eyes, and her dark wavy hair, dotted with yellow paint, fanned out on the comforter behind her head.
Mads. My Mads. The woman I was desperately in love with. My wife. The girl who'd given all of herself time and time again to ensure our happiness—to ensure our daughter's happiness once she'd brought her into the world. The girl who had worked hard to forgive not only me, but herself, again and again.
My girl.
My heart was only just slowing down, and the gentler pace allowed me to feel the way it ached for her. In every moment, every breath, even though I was still inside her after a round of mind-blowing sex. Watching her like this, knowing her heart and who she was, having the privilege of loving her—watching her enjoy every last bit of what I'd done to her, still feeling the ripple effects of what she'd done to me...
I only wanted to do it again.
Her blue eyes opened, almost startlingly bright as they met mine, and she smiled, hummed even, completely sated.
"You're good at that," she murmured.
I chuckled, leaned down, and said against her lips, "So are you."
Her hands drifted around to my lower back, further down as she returned the kiss. That playful glint was still in her eyes when I pulled away. "Think you might be up for another round?"
I smirked, pulling out of her, ready to dip down between her legs again and keep this ride—this feeling—going. "I thought you'd never ask."
___
Author's Note:
GUYS. When was the last time I wrote a sex scene for this story???? Like what chapter? IT'S BEEN TOO LONG HASN'T IT.
SOZ.
Hope you, um... enjoyed this one lol. MY BABIES ARE BACK AND HAPPY AND IN LOVE AGAIN. Nothing makes me prouder :)
Now to break the difficult news... As you've probably noticed, this is Ch. 40 (WHICH IS INSANE), and as such, we only have 4-5 chapters left (WHICH IS SCARY AND BREAKING MY HEART A LIL BIT). But I'm actually pretty sure it's only going to be 4 more chapters... (I'M SORRY). HOWEVER, I will absolutely make it 5 if I need to. Can you believe when I started writing this story I actually thought it *might* have only 30 or so chapters???? Who was I? It's like I don't know myself at all lmao.
So yeah. 4 left. I'm fine. You're fine. We're all FINE. I could start to get all sentimental now, but I'll spare you and save it for that last chapter. For now, I'll just say I love you, and I'm grateful for you, and you're all the most amazing people ever to have gotten this far with me. Thank you endlessly. Meet you babes back here in two weeks. xx