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Lia went into labor.
Which, in itself, was normal and expected. Within the nine month timeframe she'd been given and most child-bearing, expectant mothers would expect to go into labor.
The only problem was that it had happened during the one time she'd decided to escape her house and accept the invitation of her friends, and against all planning, her water had broken in Chan's kitchen rather than her own.
"Hey, Lia, what's taking so… long…" Jisung's eyes widened and froze on the spot below her, "Oh, crap."
Something akin to panic rippled through the house immediately.
“Um… UM…!”
“What’s going– oh–!”
“That’s labor isn’t it? Holy– we need to move right? Right now? What do we–?”
But it didn’t affect Lia.
She had to deal with worse surprises, unexpected and far more painful in the past six months.
She stood up the best she could and took unhurried steps to fetch her things.
"I'm going to need a ride," she said, quietly and calmly "And I'm going to need to stop by my house for my hospital bag."
Chan drove her and Yeji fetched her bag. They were near hysteric for her, but Lia took deep breaths, and kept a quiet heart.
Like she had ever since she'd been in a house too big for just her.
"Deep breaths, keep breathing," Chan would repeat, over and over, if only just for himself.
"You're doing great, you're just fine," Yeji held her hand in the backseat as the car sped down the highway.
Lia breathed. She decided she was fine because she needed to be .
When they practically dragged her through the hospital doors and she signed herself in, Chan and Yeji both hesitated at her bedside.
"Do you want us… here…?"
Lia gathered enough strength to smile at them, "No, don't waste your time."
Chan frowned, "It wouldn't be a waste–"
They couldn't stay. The nurses wouldn't let them, not unless Lia explicitly told them they could.
"Come visit tomorrow morning," she grimaced as a heavy contraction wracked through her, "If I'm not done by then, I might need your help, hm?"
They were easily convinced.
After all, this wasn't just any pregnant woman about to birth her first child– this was Lia. Who'd survived being thrown out by her family for being too stubborn and proven them wrong by finishing her education. Who'd financed herself through college and into her postdoctoral. Who'd defended thesis, proof, and research before a boardroom of old, grey cynics.
Who'd been left by her husband in the middle of her pregnancy, expected to carry-on all by herself.
"Get ready to push," the nurse held her hand and brushed her sweaty hair back from her forehead, and Lia refused to think of her coward of a husband as she labored closer to the moment she would meet her daughter.
" Push , push now!"
She threw back the thoughts of how they'd imagined this day back when the first ultrasound showed the little bean they created, and how he'd kissed her senseless and promised her– promised them the world.
Lia screamed. In pain, in agony, at the man who wasn't there to wipe her tears, or hold her hand, or remind her to breathe.
"Deep breath, deep breath, and… push! "
She screamed and she cried, thinking instead of her little girl, who she would love with her whole heart, and who'd love her back because all they would have was each other.
Lia thought about the moment her little girl would be laid on her chest, the moment love would seem real and whole again, and she labored with all her might .
And when she finished, her heart was left empty.
~
“Room 115, right?”
“Mhm,” Yeji barely glanced up from her phone, flowers and gift-bag cradled in one arm, the other looped around Chan’s arm to be dragged wherever he went.
The messages of what she should and shouldn’t say streamed in through the groupchat, alongside plans the friend group quickly made to support Lia over the next couple of weeks. Chaeryeong and Ryujin already prepping meals to stock Lia’s house while the Changbin and Felix fought over mowing her lawn and cleaning around the house.
Things that should have been decided earlier. Things they could have talked with her about. Things she should have been able to ask them.
Things that had stood in suspension the moment Lia woke up in an empty bed and they were all too shocked to speak.
“Yeji.”
They stopped at a door and Yeji tucked her phone away, excitement bubbling into composure, till she felt how still Chan had gotten next to her.
“What? What is it?”
He frowned, and then pointed to a symbol on the door.
A purple butterfly, right above the door number.
Yeji quickly glanced down the hall, not seeing anything similar by the neighboring rooms. Something about it made her worried, and as a nurse passed by, Chan reached out and–
“Excuse me? What is this?”
Lia sat quietly in bed. She was exhausted– without the complications that made her pass out every so often and the nurses coming to prod her every now and again. She wanted to think she was too tired for emotions, but really, she was too scared to start feeling them.
If she started crying, there was no one to help her stop.
Hand over the little body resting on her chest, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.
“Little one,” she whispered, “Daddy might not be here, but you are so, so loved. Mama has saved all her love for you, all the love in the world that they stole from me, I saved for you, my sweet little girl.”
The little body rose and fell with Lia’s every breath.
“Mama doesn’t have anyone, mama has no one else who’ll steal away her love for you,” her nose brushed over the top of her baby’s head, over the soft little baby hairs, and the softer spots where a baby’s head wouldn’t fuse till later.
She leaned down till her nose brushed the soft skin of her little ear, kissing everything like her lips against her baby would communicate something precious and secret. She was so exhausted, so tired, but there was no time and energy in this little space between them.
“Mama loves you, little one. Forever and always."
The nurse always knocked before she entered, and Lia thought that maybe she had even hesitated, hearing Lia talking to herself.
"Julia? I have two visitors with me, are you alright with them coming and seeing you?"
She hurriedly swiped at her face and hair, checked to make herself somewhat presentable.
"Yes, of course, please," she smiled as the nurse smiled, checking vitals and setting up another infusion of blood while she left a cup of medications on the table, "Could you, um… the baby? Please?"
"Hm? Oh of course!"
As Chan and Yeji shuffled in, they watched the nurse lay the little girl in a bassinet by the bed, swaddled in pink.
Off to the side.
Lia smiled, almost the same as every other time she'd met them.
Yeji was not fooled by it, "How are you feeling?"
She was careful to actually take her time, considering who it was she was speaking to, "...Better. Definitely better."
"Good…" Yeji sat by the bed, bringing the chair closer until she could take Lia's hand.
Lia's cold hand.
Chan spoke softly, "Have you picked a name?"
"Hm? Oh…" Lia laughed weakly to herself, "You'd think… you'd think I would, having all this time, but now–" she stopped herself before she could finish that thought, quickly correcting her thoughts and reflecting them on her face before either could catch on, "Naming was never my strong suit. But I'll think of something."
"I'll have to" went unsaid.
Yeji's finger brushed over Lia's knuckles.
"You know we'll do everything for you," she insisted, "You don't have to do anything alone, you aren't alone, alright?"
"Of course, but I won't need–" Lia stopped herself again, staring at Yeji and blinking rapidly to keep from losing composure.
Each time she spoke brought her closer to that horrible truth she couldn't quite believe enough to say.
She would have to eventually, Lia knew this, but for her own heart–
"I should be able to manage, all things considered," she said, stunted and curt, "But… thank you."
There were several stretches of silence, where no one knew quite what to say, the nurse hovering here and there before she left for her other patients.
They hadn't wished her congratulations yet.
Chan didn't know whether they ought to have, or instead–
"I'm so sorry."
It slipped out in a whisper, before Chan could stop it, and by then–
"Lia. I'm so sorry for your loss."
There it was. Out in the open. Blunt and raw .
It was different than the first time, but still, almost the same. When the news had rippled of him walking out of her life, the apologies had all trickled in, sincerely and gently. Open doors and open-ended words, but Lia had woven in her own guilt into each one.
It was the same now.
Lia's head snapped to the little bundle like it would cough and cry, but her little girl was still. Cold. Lifeless.
Sorry you're alone.
Sorry you tried.
Sorry, you must have messed up beyond repair.
"It must be so hard for you, I–" Yeji started crying first, getting up before she could think twice to wrap her arms around her dear friend, " I'm sorry. "
Lia had gotten used to that phrase. When Yeji had first taken her in when her parents had thrown her out, when she couldn’t make the income match her needs, when her thesis was rejected again, and again, and again–
Yeji's hand slipped into hers, and Lia had put all her effort into keeping a blank face, she couldn't find the energy to turn her face towards them, or do anything but stare blankly at the wall and blink like the scene before her would change.
"You're so strong, Lia."
Yeji's voice was quiet but firm. Lia shook her head, barely perceptible over the shaking that had taken hold.
She could feel Chan's eyes, his bleeding kindness as he spoke.
"Lia, you haven't done anything wrong. You don't deserve this, any of it, I– I'm so sorry–"
He started crying, maybe. The IV pump beeped, the sheets rustled, and Yeji's grip was a lifeline.
They held their breath as Lia brought a hand to her face. It was still, oddly quiet. Chan winced as he heard Lia's breathing stagger as she held back her sobs, clearly trying to hide her distress from them.
She took a deep breath, and lowered her hand enough for them to see her face blank, like she worked every muscle to keep it from betraying anything, before it pulled into a tight expression of gratitude.
It was terrifyingly composed. An expression of a doctoral student, defending her thesis.
"I'll be fine."
Yeji leaned close, "But… it's alright if you aren't."
Lia's smile was tight-lipped– like she was trying to hold in something, trying to press her lip down so that it wouldn't betray her.
They glanced over to the baby. She was like a perfect doll, swaddled and still.
"They give me three days," Lia looked past them, blinking rapidly, "To make sure everything is fine. I might need surgery. It'll be fine."
Yeji nodded. She wanted to sit and hear more, listen to every word Lia could manage to tell them.
But Lia didn't speak much. They sat in the silence of it all for a whole hour, before Chan could see Lia's exhaustion bleeding through, her efforts to hide her emotions starting to crack. Her hand coming up more often to shield her face from them.
It wasn't fair to her, that they interloped her little place of mourning, the last few hours to process and say goodbye to her baby stolen by them.
"We'll go," he pulled Yeji up, glad Lia didn't insist they stay, "Do you… have plans? For…" he glanced at the baby.
Lia followed his gaze, and couldn't manage to answer him. She only shrugged. Her infusion pump beeped as the blood bag finished.
"You should. We'll all be there. For you, for the baby," he gave her a meaningful look, "Think about it."
Lia was still staring blankly, numbly, as they left.
Yeji burst into tears as soon as they stepped out of the room. Chan had to hold her up as they left, and only lasted till he’d dropped her off before collapsing on top of his steering wheel.
"Did you see?"
"See what?"
"She was still wearing her wedding ring...."
Life was hard now. They weren’t kids in college who could pledge to be in each other’s corners and show up to save the day at a bar fight. The fights were little crystal tears that hurt more than they could bear, tearing away invisibly at places they didn’t know were broken.
As though one of the most pure couples in their friend-group breaking wasn’t hard enough…
Word rippled through. Everyone held their breath again, visited quietly, stumbled over their words. Everyone felt sorry, everyone tried to leave when they felt her resolve crack. Pretend they didn’t see her cry, because the Lia they knew would never cry in front of them, would never admit a weakness cutting as deep as it did.
"Poor thing," Hyunjin clicked his tongue as he held the painting he made for her– chrysanthemums for the baby's birth month, "She just can't catch a break."
Ryujin nodded, handing Jisung the flowers to hold as she tried to pick away all the dead leaves and petals from the bouquet, "She's so strong.'
Jisung blinked, "...Probably because she can't catch a break."
"She wouldn't have handled it so well if she weren't though, think about it," Ryujin took the bouquet back once she'd adequately meddled with it, "Only a strong person carries so many burdens, and becomes stronger."
"But no one should handle so much on their own," Hyunjin whispered, shaking his head sadly, "What horrid luck…"
Jisung took a long, deep breath, "You're right they shouldn't… on their own. This whole damn thing is so hard because… she's… oh, what the hell– "
They all froze as they got close to her door, a figure hesitating at the door. A dark leather jacket, hair tousled, an uncharacteristic hesitation stitched between his brows.
Two months ago, Jisung would have socked him in the eye. Ryujin would have grabbed him by the color while Hyunjin railed at the audacity he had to show up– here and now of all times.
But his eye was already colored from a bruise. His lip was cut, and it took him a second too long to even realize they were there.
" Hyung– " Hyunjin breathed, and the man startled, curled in on himself, unsure for a moment.
A moment long enough for Ryujin to remember her anger.
"Lee Minho," she snarled, "You've got a lot of nerve."
Minho opened his mouth, before closing his eyes and bowing his head.
Accepting his fate– unlike the man who'd pursued Lia all through graduate school, undeterred by her determination; unlike the man who stubbornly depended her when her reputation was marred by her past before her friends; unlike the man who bought a little home in a quiet neighborhood and moved everything in with his bare hands before anyone could even ask to help, all to surprise his sweet wife, still giddy with the excitement of her pregnancy.
This Lee Minho wasn't the Lee Minho they knew.
But they had stopped knowing Lee Minho when–
"What are you doing here?" Jisung's voice was low, dangerous.
A shadow flashed over Minho's face, something of pain and tortured emotions, before the mask they'd gotten used to, impassive cold. Uncaring.
The same face that they had all wanted to slap the brief moment he’d dared to tell them he was leaving his pregnant wife, before slipping into his expensive car and disappearing for six months.
That anger still burned, perhaps more so given the little shrouded figure that haunted them all now.
Minho didn’t even have the bravery to say anything. He only bowed again and walked away. Hair falling over his eyes.
They watched him walk away and didn’t say anything, didn’t even move until he slipped out of sight.
Lia was sleeping when they entered– eyes screwed shut. Ryujin bit her lip as she thought of her doing this while her ex-husband waited in the chair Jisung now sat in, willing for him to go away.
She brushed her hair away from her eyes, but didn’t ask her to open her eyes. They stayed, if only to keep Minho away should he return.
He didn’t.
They left two hours later, Lia still asleep.
Five minutes after they left, Lia’s breath came out in a deep sigh as she allowed herself to truly give into sleep.
And Lee Minho held his breath as he gently settled in the seat across from her.
Because despite popular opinion, Lee Minho was not a heartless bastard.
He had loved fully, deeply, and with such immensity, it hurt when he started to hate his marriage. Lia was a woman among women. She was brilliant and beautiful. They’d been the intellectuals arguing after philosophy in the hallways together, till the day Minho realized he didn’t want to win an argument against her. They'd been late-night study sessions that turned into long road tripping-dates. They'd been a summer romance that never ended. She was wise, the sort of wise you couldn’t manufacture. She was gentle, gentle where it mattered with her students and her friends and the hearts she knew were delicate in her hands.
And she was strong.
Minho’s hand hovered gently over her face, where a stray strand of hair asked to be moved.
Perhaps that was where Minho’s selfishness truly lied. He knew she was strong without him. He knew she would carry-on just fine by herself. That they were a strong bridge in their friend-group, woven strands of trust and intellect, but she was deep and wide and capable just on her own.
They would all care for her just fine.
But seeing her now…
Minho gave in– he brushed the hair aside, catching the unshed tears on her lashes.
They should have known... no.
Minho should have known.
“ Choi Jisu ,” he whispered, “I didn’t deserve all the good things you gave me.”
She was strong-willed, she was stubborn, she was all sorts of intolerable, but Minho had fallen in love with all of it. Even as he had tried to throw it in her face– her skewed priorities because of the worth her family has placed on her the moment they’d thrown her out; her harsh defensive words when she felt mildly threatened; her terrible, horrible, and outright cruel nature when she held grudges– he’d screamed them at her with his whole chest, thrown it in her face till she was choking on her angry tears and practically throwing him out of their home.
His finger rested against her cheek.
“Lia-ya, I didn’t mean a word,” his voice cracked, unable to rise higher than a breath, “You know I didn’t.”
She’d hesitated, pulled back with every push. Searched his eyes so desperately, practically begging for a reason for his cruel games. Her cheeks were as red and blotched as then, when she’d locked him out of their bedroom, and then from their home, and then blocked his number–
“I couldn’t take you with me, I tried but– ” Minho bit his lip to keep from crying too harshly as the nurse came in to hang a bag of saline.
The nurse looked down sympathetically, “The poor thing…”
Everyone pitied Lia. Everyone loved her. Everyone felt sorry for her.
Minho waited till the nurse slipped out before he let the tears overflow, holding back staggering breaths as he looked down on the woman who’d vowed, with her whole heart, with all her mind and soul–
I do.
In sickness in health, for better or worse.
I do, I do, I do.
He found himself leaned over, lips on her hairline, swallowing back his sobs so he wouldn’t disturb her.
“I’m sorry,” his grief twisted at all the things he made her bear on her own, all the pain he forced her under, his own damn pride that caused her suffering, “Lia, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so sorry… ”
Minho didn’t know time in that hospital room, leaned forehead to forehead, silently crying and trying to beg for forgiveness at the altar of pain.
Not that he could ever be forgiven.
Minho didn’t expect forgiveness.
He didn’t deserve it.
“Mm… Minho…”
He didn’t realize he’d woken her till she turned her head towards him, barely able to lift his head– he didn’t want to look her in the eye, he couldn’t, it would damn him to the deepest depths of hell.
“I’m sorry for waking you. Sleep,” he whispered, lulling her like how he used to when he’d come from work and she’d be on the couch.
Minho had carried her to bed then. He’d laid her in bed and convinced her to sleep, because he would join her soon. It wasn’t the same promise now, now it was the promise to leave her alone, to be gone from her nightmares. He slowly leaned away, preparing to creep away.
Lia reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
Her voice was unusually level. But still as terrifying. Tempered in anger, balanced in grief.
Minho was as paralyzed as he’d always been, each and every time.
She opened her eyes and he stared down.
“How dare you show up here.”
“I know.”
Her eyes burned, she lifted her hand against him, “You shouldn’t have come. You’re better off to me dead.”
“I know, I know.”
“I hate you,” her hand pounded against his chest weakly, “I hate you, I hate you–”
The last word was stuttered, like it lost strength halfway through. Minho caught her hand as it slipped to the bed. Her fingers were cold. She was always cold.
“ I know, ” he whispered as he brought her hands up to his lips, “I’m… I’m sorry.”
She laughed bitterly, streams of tears running down her cheeks, “Yeah? You’re sorry? For what, Lee Minho?” her fingers curled angrily around his hand, to hold him captive to her anger, “For giving me a child? For leaving me when I was most vulnerable? For leaving me to pick up the scraps without a word, without a reassurance, without anything? Or,” her seethed, pulling him down till he couldn’t escape her eyes, “For leaving me to labor on my own? Making me deliver our– my dead little girl, and hold her, and grieve, all on my own, Lee Minho, I did it all on my own, you useless– you worthless– you– you– ”
Lia finally broke.
Minho knew she didn’t dare do it when their friends came to hold her, bless their souls. She would never dare to let herself be vulnerable before them.
She couldn’t even be vulnerable for herself.
Minho remembered when she sat numbly in the lecture hall, the morning after she had spent her first night in the streets because her parents had thrown her out. She’d spoken so blankly, so numbly, devoid of any thought or emotion, till he held her in an empty room and held all her burdens for her, and she could collapse and trust that she’d be held.
There was no trust between them here, but Minho knew the sheer exhaustion when he’d walked in, known the craving for comfort. And he was going to hell already, he didn’t mind adding the greedy need to be the one she collapsed for onto his list of sins.
Arms around her form, craving the hands curled into his shirt, the shirt still grimey and sweaty and gross from the life he left her for, he pressed his lips to her forehead, and carried the impossible weight he’d placed on her. Just for this moment.
He wasn’t sure if that made it worse, for when she’d throw him out and she’d have to carry it on her own again.
Lee Minho was a selfish man, his tears in her hair with the thought, her tears against his cheek. He was a selfish, selfish man–
“I’m sorry she’s gone,” he croaked, swallowing to try and clear his voice, “I’m sorry I… I’m sorry that I…”
He wasn’t where to start apologizing. He wasn’t sure where to stop.
She took a deep breath, “N-not… it’s not… n-not your fault–”
“Don’t give me that, don’t give me anything,” he scolded, still unable to pull from their ribbing, the need to chide, even when she deserved some kindness, “If I’d been here, you wouldn’t have been under such undue stress, I– I read the report, it didn’t need to happen this way, I– I–”
“Reading nurses notes, Lee Minho? How dare you,” she clicked her tongue and pulled away, “You’re wrong anyway, it was the placenta, we couldn’t have– nothing could have been done.”
“Lia…”
“Don’t talk. It took me two days to come to peace with it, I won’t let you ruin it for me,” she met his eyes with such spite, Minho felt something curl away inside him, knowing he wasn’t cruel enough to undo healing, no matter how selfish he was.
“Alright…” he said quietly, “ That wasn’t my fault. I can just… I’ll just…”
Minho wasn’t grieving. He wasn’t allowed that luxury, he wasn’t allowed to crave the tears for something he forfeited.
Even if his every intention had been to come back and claim his happiness again.
No, he was waiting for her to get angrier, to be properly punished, slapped across the face, or shaken by the collar. Every injury paled in justice to what he was owed at this bedside.
Lia pushed him back, so she could look at him properly, and despite all the months of preparing for this moment, Minho had a hard time meeting her gaze.
“Minho. Did you think I didn’t know?”
Head tipped forward, he hesitantly looked up. He wasn’t going to offer any explanation, “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, I just– I needed to–"
It somehow felt worse to say he needed closure. If he admitted it, it stole from the healing Lia had built, the closure she deserved that he dared to steal even an iota from.
" Minho. "
His face was in the sheets, knees on the cold hospital tile.
"I knew, you and your stupid government job," Lia laughed wetly, "You thought I didn't? I knew before I signed the wedding certificate, before I said yes to your proposal, did you think I didn't?"
He looked up at her from the floor. Now the pity was in her eyes, and Minho felt shameful under her eyes.
"The gun by our bed, your computer under lock and key, the jobs you could never explain... did you take me for a fool, Lee Minho?"
He should have known.
He'd married her because she was brilliant, after all.
"Government job, huh," Lia shook her head, "I don't know what I thought when I married a sp– you. You. Maybe I thought you'd know I knew–"
"--I wondered. Always wondered," he looked up at her meekly, "Part of me hoped you didn't. It was easier…"
"Easier to give me a reason to hate you? To take the target from my back when you needed to run at a moment's notice. Tch, you're cruel, Lee Minho," her eyes were cloudy again, "Those were decisions for us to make. Us. Together. "
"You couldn't have… not with the baby."
"You still could've asked."
"The accountability–"
"My burden to bear. Minho," she looked down at him sadly, "Why won't you let me chose the burdens within my power to bear?"
His hand wandered up, rested gently on her abdomen, above the thin hospital gown, before his eyes bore sadly and honestly into hers.
Because you'd bear it. He wanted to say– You'd bear it better than anyone, and bear it all without a word for help, his eyes blurred, And I'd let you. And watch you collapse under the weight of it. And be able to do nothing.
But he didn't say that. Lia's hand met his on her abdomen, and she leaned back, eyes closed, something heavy on her chest.
Minho rubbed a thumb across her knuckles, the ring he'd given her with his vows still on her finger, "What hurts? Tell me, please."
Her other hand wandered to her chest. It rested gently for a second, before squeezing into a fist over her heart, face twisted in such sadness and pain that broke into quivering sobs.
Minho climbed into the bed, held her as much as he could, leaned her against his chest and rocked her gently.
It was quiet and still.
"Your face?"
"Don't ask."
"The other guy?"
"I can't tell you, love," he closed his eyes as her fingers traced ever bruise.
"...I'll imagine he looks worse then. Of course he does, he tried to swing at Lee Minho, my Lee Minho."
Everything unspoken was said in tears and kisses. Between strong arms that carried the world between them.
Minho left every time someone came to visit-- they were the last of his concerns, he would beg their forgiveness later-- until it came time for discharge, and Lia's hands shook from the emptiness of leaving, more baren than when she'd come.
He pressed a plush lamb he'd searched and bought to her chest, with chrysanthemums sewed onto its back, around a purple butterfly that carried a soul she'd barely begun to meet. Lia clutched it like it would carry her with strong wings high above her pain.
They planned the funeral together-- a small event, with Hyunjin's painting displayed above the casket beside the ultrasound picture and the one image of the baby swaddled and sweet-faced between Lia's arms-- and they trusted that everyone who showed up would understand. That everything that needed to be said would be, and that they would trust Lia in her strength and Minho in his weaknesses, and take the apologies and be generous in their kindness, and that it would be a slowly built but stronger bridge over waters they'd never understand.
But till then Lia held that little plush lamb to her chest, and let herself grieve. Eyes closed, heart heavy, burdens laid down to stop fighting upstream.
"You didn't even get to hold her," she said bitterly as he drove her home.
He let out a deep, heavy breath.
"You didn't even name her," he glanced over, "You should."
"Is Chrysanthemum too heavy for her to carry?"
"...Yes."
"You name her then," Lia dismissively waved at him, "I don't care."
They hadn't explained it to their friends. Somehow, they didn't feel the need to– both accepted the anger, the skepticism, and kept what they had between them as all they needed to be sure of.
"...Shiloh."
Lia scrunched her face, "What?"
"Or Olivia." Minho whispered, "Like… an olive branch."
"Oh."
"Just a thought. Or we could name her after your mother."
Making a face that supposed she disliked the idea even more, Lia settled back in the car seat, plush lamb settled above her heart.
"No… I like Olivia. It feels… almost normal."
"Olivia…"
Peace was a light and easy thing, that undid knots and tempered pain.
Lia closed her eyes as the sun set and painted everything golden, "...Don't go home yet?"
"For how long?"
"Like we're dating and you have to distract me," her voice cracked, exhaustion along every sharp edge.
Minho pulled her sun-shield down, and then took one of her hands, rested in her lap, clutching it like they were walking down the aisle.
Like the future was limitless and bright.
Like they actually believed that. Like it was something they could believe.
And he kept driving till they were lost in the evening glow.