Something told Brett that Jeff’s confidence didn’t just come from the thought of the idea. “You’ve been doing that already, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But only at her bidding. She wanted to know if it helped.”

“And has it?”

“Weirdly enough, yes. I love to golf. The course, even just the smell of it, relaxes me. And talking to Chloe usually clarifies whatever it was that was building up inside me.”

The way a shower relaxed Brett?

“So what happens if sometime you guys disagree, and talking to her only makes you angry?”

“I hang up and calm down. If I can’t, I go home and sleep in the guesthouse. And if there comes a day when this doesn’t work, I find something else that does.”

It sounded so...doable.

But there were those statistics. The three-to-eleven-percent success rate among abusers who sought treatment.

Brett listened. He was pleased for his friend.

And he’d never felt so incomplete in his life.

* * *

ELLA’S MORNING SICKNESS WORSENED. She texted Brett. Told him she was throwing up a lot, and that the doctor said it was normal.

She went for her regular monthly visit and texted a healthy baby report. She’d passed the first trimester and was well into the second with no sign of fetal distress. He was like her insurance adjuster. She just had to keep him informed of facts.

Nothing more.

She told herself she was happy. And only let herself think about the baby she was carrying, not the man who’d fathered it.

Nora Burbank had filed charges against her husband. And filed for divorce, too. She was working at a computer center owned by The Lemonade Stand. She’d be living at the Stand for a while. Nora had suffered too long without any kind of support.

Ella was thrilled to know that she’d helped give the woman another chance at a happy life.

She wanted the same for her brother, as well.

Jeff was a regular visitor in her home these days. Chloe had asked for weekly visits, clearing it with Ella first, and her brother now slept over every Saturday night and made them all breakfast every Sunday morning.

The second Sunday in February, Ella walked into the kitchen to find her brother there alone.

“Chloe’s packing,” he said, turning potatoes that she’d just seen him drop into the pan. He didn’t look in her direction.

“Where’s she going?” Ella asked, grabbing hold of the small distention of her stomach as she felt a flutter. The sensation had been happening on and off for a couple days.

“Home.”

She’d known, of course. Chloe hadn’t said anything. But she hadn’t looked Ella in the eye for the past few days.

Was she that much of a stick in the mud? So rigid that people were constantly worrying they were going to disappoint her?

“Did she talk to Sara about it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what Sara said?”

“She said that I had to make my own decision,” Chloe said, joining them, fully dressed. She smiled at her husband. “She also said that she thinks I’m ready to make my own decisions.”

Ella felt the words as a jab to her. But knew they weren’t. Ella looked at Jeff. “Did you talk to your therapist?”

She loved them both so much. And they might not get another chance if they screwed this up. Moved too quickly.

“I did.”

“And?”

“I’m going to be okay, sis,” he said. “I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not perfect. I can’t handle everything. And that doesn’t make me less of a man. I always thought I could do anything I put my mind to. But when Cody was born, all that wasn’t easy. I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You could have asked for help. I’m a nurse, Jeff. I’d have been there in an instant,” Ella said.

Jeff yanked on a strand of her hair. Kissed the top of her head. “I know that now,” he said, going back to his potatoes. “I’d just never had to ask before. It didn’t occur to me that that was what I was supposed to do. My natural instinct was to believe I could handle it. That I was supposed to be able to handle it.”

Looking at her brother in her kitchen—making breakfast for them, mixing pancake batter for Cody and making lovey eyes at his wife—Ella fully believed he could handle anything.

That was the Jeff she knew.

The man he’d always been. It stood to reason that he’d just take for granted that he could handle whatever came his way.

Just as being the son of an abusive man, being a victim, having his mother turn on him, were all things Brett knew about himself. And Ella had expected Brett to fit her concept of what a husband would be like in a normal, loving relationship. She’d expected a partner who could be open with her. Because that was all she’d ever known because of the relationships she’d witnessed. It was what she wanted and needed.

No wonder they hadn’t been able to stay together.

“We’re going to make it,” Jeff said now, putting his arm around Chloe’s waist as she joined him at the stove, watching as he cracked eggs into the pan over the potatoes.

“I hope so.”

What he said made sense. Ella wanted to believe.

She just wasn’t sure she had it in her anymore.

* * *

BRETT WAS HOME Sunday evening, having just hung up the phone from Jeff, who was also at home, his family settled back in with him, when his phone indicated an incoming text message.

He’d heard happiness in Jeff’s voice, but an equal amount of apprehension, as well. Because Jeff feared that he could slip back into his old ways again.

Truth was he could. But in Jeff’s case, Brett didn’t think so. Now that Jeff was aware of his problem, now that both he and Chloe were tending to it, now that they were around others who knew to watch for the signs, he was going to be fine.

He’d told Jeff to text him anytime he had doubts. But this text wasn’t from Jeff.

I think the baby’s moving.

He read it again. And realized his hand was shaking. Not out of panic. Or fear. He wasn’t feeling tense. Just...nervous.

They’d never reached this point the last time. Movement indicated life. A growing human being.

He pushed speed dial.

“Hello?”

Was she at home alone? He wanted to share the moment with her. It was theirs.

And he wanted to make certain there wasn’t anything wrong. For her sake. Ella couldn’t take another miscarriage. Didn’t deserve one.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like air bubbles. It’s been going on for a couple days—a lot more today than before. The way I’m feeling is exactly how the internet describes first baby movement. You said you wanted to be kept informed.”

Yes, and there was a warmth to her voice that had been missing from her recent communications.

“When you put your hand on your stomach, do you feel any movement against your hand?” And how did that stomach look? He hadn’t seen her in weeks.

She’d lost their first child before she’d started to show.

“No. Apparently it will be a bit before he gets that big and strong.”

Brett had an image of very tiny arms and legs trying to stretch. Thoughts raced through his mind. All of them coming at once. Good ones. Bad ones. His breathing got shallower.

And he said, “I’m giving you my house.”

“What?”

“I said I’m giving you my house.”

“I don’t want your house.”

“Yes, you do. You love it here. The backyard.” The way he blurted the words made him sound like a petulant child.

“Brett, you are not giving me your house.”

“You can’t really do anything about it,” he said. The idea was brand new to him. But he was warming to it. “I mean, you could choose to sell it after I gift it to you, I guess...”

And she’d have enough money from the sale to buy whatever she needed. But if she didn’t sell it—she’d be living in a place designed for peace.

“There are four unused bedrooms upstairs. You can design the nursery however you want. Or use my downstairs office for the baby and have an office upstairs if you want to. And a couple guest bedrooms. For when Chloe and Jeff come to stay with you.”