Chapter 32

                                        

                                              
***Note: This chapter includes references to past trauma and emotional recovery. Sensitive themes are handled with care, but please take your time if needed.
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The house quiet. Different. There was a new sort of stillness in the air—with Macy upstairs permanently. Things had shifted, and I knew it was for the better.
We'd spent the evening getting her settled. We brought in a nightlight because she was scared to sleep in the dark—that was new, and clearly related to the circumstances
"Can we paint this weekend?" she'd asked as I set a water glass on her nightstand. 
"You want to paint your room?"
"Yeah. Well, the pink was okay because I wasn't here every day, but I'm older now and thought it would be cool to have something different, like—I dunno ..." her voice trailed off at the ened.
"We can paint if you like, but I don't know about this weekend. Why don't we see how your feeling? We'll have to go to the store, pick out some colors, get some samples and try them out. It can be a big job—and you're still recovering. I don't want you to overdo it, okay?" I'd said, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. 
"I feel fine. My arm doesn't even hurt anymore."
But exhaustion was written all over her face as she fought sleep. She was clearly worn out. She'd been through a major trauma, and it wasn't over yet. 
Caden and I both planned to take the rest of the week off of work to stay with her and look after her. I'm pretty grateful Mass has such robust leave laws that give me time, with pay, to stay home with her and make sure she's okay. Caden could do some work from home, reviewing new contract bids. 
"Okay, well, we'll talk more this week. Sleep tight, sweetheart," I whispered, kissing her forehead. "We're right down the hall if you need anything. I'll convince your dad to do pancakes in the morning, sound good?"
In response, she whispered, "paaaaaaaaaancakes!" I laughed quietly given that her eyes were closed and she was inches away from sleep, yet pancakes could elicit a smile and excitement from her. 
Now Caden and I were finally alone in our bedroom for the first time since before I went to Miami. It felt strange, and I was actually nervous—like we were both trying to remember how to be a couple. So much had happened.
"She seems to be adjusting well," Caden said, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks.
"She does. I didn't know what to expect, honestly." I was brushing my hair, watching him in the mirror. "I have to wonder how long she's been dealing with things at home and kept quiet. Like was Jessica like this for a while? Was this spiral new?"
"It's a good question. I'm hoping a counselor can help her with whatever she's feeling, and if it's been more long term than we realized, they can help her cope. The doctor did say kids are resilient and can sometimes do really well right after a trauma but to watch for delayed reactions, right? "
"It's true. Said she could have nightmares, too."
Caden stood up and walked over behind me, his arms settling around my shoulders as he put his chin on my left shoulder. Quietly, he said, "and what about you? How are you doing with all this?"
I leaned back against him, closing my eyes. "Honestly? Terrified I'm going to mess it up. Scared we're going to fall apart. Worried that I won't be enough for her. She's never been here full time, you know?"
"Firstly, we are going to work on us—I won't fall back into old habits, and I already put calls out to the therapists we looked at to see who has availability."