His children were fed, clothed, loved. The house was chaotic, but functional. No one was neglected or overlooked. "You're staring," Jonas said without looking up from the pot. Lena startled.
"I'm sorry. I was just thinking." "About?" "About how capable you are. How you've built a good life here, despite everything." Jonas was quiet for a moment. "Doesn't always feel good. Some days it feels like I'm barely keeping my head above water, like one more thing will sink us all." "But you keep swimming." "What else can I do?" He finally looked at her, and his eyes were tired, bone tired, soul tired.
"They're counting on me. Can't let them down." "You won't," Lena said with absolute certainty. "You're not the kind of man who lets people down." Something shifted in Jonas's expression, surprise, maybe, or recognition, like he was seeing her clearly for the first time. "Neither are you." He said quietly. "The kind of woman, I mean." The moment stretched between them, weighted with something Lena couldn't name.
Then Eliza started fussing, and Ruthie swooped in to pick her up, and the spell broke. Supper was the same chaotic affair as breakfast and lunch, but this time Lena felt part of it instead of separate from it. She knew now that Daniel liked his food cut into squares, and David didn't. She knew Esther would try to feed half her vegetables to Rose under the table unless watched carefully. She knew Maggie ate in silence, but listened to every conversation.
She was learning them. And they were learning her. After supper, after dishes, after the children were bathed and read to and tucked into bed, Lena found herself alone with Jonas again. They sat by the fire, the house finally quiet, the weight of the day settling over them like a blanket. "Thank you for today," Jonas said, "for helping, for being patient with the children, for He paused, searching for words.
For fitting in so easily. That's rare." "They're easy to love," Lena said simply. Jonas studied her face in the firelight. "Reddick's a fool." "What?" "For turning you away. For making you think you weren't enough." His voice was fierce, protective.
"He's a fool, and you're better off without him." Lena's throat went tight. "You don't know me well enough to say that." "Don't I?" "I've watched you for 2 days now. I've seen how you are with children, patient, creative, genuinely interested in them as people. I've seen you work without complaint, help without being asked, adapt to a strange household like you've always been part of it." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, yes, I do know enough to say Thomas Reddick is a fool, and whatever he told you about your worth was a lie." Tears spilled down Lena's cheeks before she could stop them.
"He said I was damaged goods, useless, that no man would want a barren woman." "Then he's not a man. He's a coward hiding behind cruel words." Jonas's jaw clenched. "A real man sees worth beyond biology, sees the whole person, not just what they can provide. And any man worth his salt would be damn lucky to have you." The words broke something open inside Lena, some last desperate grip on the shame and worthlessness that had defined her for so long. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Jonas moved to sit beside her, close, but not touching. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry." "You didn't. I mean, these are good tears, I think." Lena lowered her hands, tried to smile through the wetness. "No one's ever said anything like that to me before.
Daniel certainly never did. He blamed me for everything, for not getting pregnant, for not being the wife he wanted, for disappointing him. And when he left, I believed him. I believed it was all my fault." "It wasn't." "I know that now. Logically, I know, but believing it here." She pressed a hand to her heart.
"That's harder." "It takes time," Jonas said gently. "Healing always does." They sat in silence for a while, watching the fire burn down to embers. Lena felt wrung out, but lighter somehow, like something poisonous had been lanced and drained away. "Can I ask you something?" she said eventually. "Anything." "Why did you stop?" "That first night, in the rain.