My Girl

by Beaglicious

She'd wanted to go to Tampa, and like a fool I'd let her. No spoilers. SC.

My Girl

Summary: She'd wanted to go to Tampa, and like a fool I'd let her. SC. No spoilers.

A/N: For the MiamiFicTalk prompt challenge, prompt #019 – Home.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them.

Prologue

It was a sunny afternoon in May, and Calleigh was pushing our four-year-old daughter Heidi on the swing set in our backyard. Heidi's little feet were bare and muddy, a result of "helping" Calleigh water her vegetable garden. She was laughing, begging her mother, my beloved wife, to push her higher. Calleigh, looking resplendent in tattered denim cutoffs and a faded red tank top (her own feet as bare and muddy as Heidi's) was laughing as well. I watched them from the porch, smiling to see my two favorite girls enjoying themselves and each other. Heidi caught my eyes and waved, and I waved back. Calleigh looked over and winked at me before refocusing her attention on Heidi.

My eyes strayed to Calleigh's waist, as they so often did in those days, noting that even though Calleigh was nearly twelve weeks into her second pregnancy, her abdomen was still flat. It would be a while yet before she started to show, and a while further before our closest friends dared to ask. Even Heidi was unaware that come Thanksgiving, she was going to be a big sister. Our secret was still ours to keep for the time being.

The moment was a page ripped from a storybook, and if I'd know what was to come later that evening, I would have found a way to suspend time indefinitely, to keep our happy little family frozen in that perfect moment of happiness forever. Because later that night, Calleigh lost the baby, and we all fell into an abyss of darkness from which we have yet to recover.

Present: Two Months Later

I was in my bed, more asleep than awake, thrashing restlessly, my uneasy mind reliving that last day when happiness still seemed attainable. It had been the last time I had heard Calleigh laugh, the last time I had been secure in believing that our love could weather any storm. It had been the last time for a lot of things, but it had been only the beginning of the darkness.

Down the hall, the hinges on Heidi's door squeaked, and I was instantly awake, knowing exactly where the sound had come from and yet, still disoriented and feeling lost. I reflexively reached across the bed, seeking out Calleigh, only to find her side of the bed empty and cold. Reality crashed down around me then, more effective than a pail full of cold water. Calleigh was gone, and it was her absence that had our daughter up and roaming the halls in the middle of the night. I rubbed at my eyes and switched on the bedside table lamp beside me. Its light was weak, barely making it to the other side of the room, but it would suffice. I didn't want to see Calleigh's empty side of the bed in the full light anyhow. The light, though pitifully diluted, still managed to bounce off two small shiny objects on the dresser, and I shut my eyes and sighed. They were just one more thing I couldn't bear to see.

The realization that Calleigh is gone is always followed by the memory of her leaving, a memory that is still too sharp to poke at, even after a month's time.

One Month Earlier

It was early one Sunday afternoon, and after spending a lazy morning in bed, the three of us curled up together with Heidi watching cartoons while Calleigh and I read, Calleigh made us waffles. I remember the waffles especially, because Calleigh added blueberries, knowing my fondness for them and hoping that somehow this would make up for the fact that she was leaving us.

Tampa, four hours to the north and nestled in a bay along Florida's Gulf Coast, was finally getting its own fully functional crime lab. Long viewed as a sleepy tourist town, Tampa had been passing along its evidence to either our lab or the one in Orlando. Over time, the volume from Tampa had increased, straining our already bustling lab. Finally, the city leaders had decided to make good on their promises and had allocated the money for a lab. CSIs from all over the state had been called upon to help set up the lab and train the new technicians and CSIs. It had come as no surprise when they sought out Calleigh for ballistics. She was undeniably the best.

The waffles came and went, our demeanors less merry than usual, because we all knew what was coming next. Heidi grew tired and irritable as the time for her afternoon nap came and went. I thought that she should be awake when Calleigh left, and although Calleigh disagreed with me, she was too busy to put her down, choosing instead to ignore both my sulking and Heidi's whining. I'd already been given a three page long list of what needed to be done while Calleigh was gone, as well as her contact information, but I was ignoring it, sitting on the couch and staring off into space. Heidi was on the floor at my feet coloring, or at least pretending to. I'd heard more than one crayon pop in half from her frustration and fatigue, and she'd begun to toss them aside, the distance she threw the crayon increasing each time. It was hard to tell who was acting more petulant, me or Heidi, but either way our combined efforts were failing to keep Calleigh from leaving. She was going to Tampa.

Calleigh left just as Heidi's temper tantrum peaked. Ignoring the way Heidi was stomping her little feet, Calleigh knelt down to kiss her good-bye. Heidi yelled, "No!" and took off, her screams and tears echoing through the house. Calleigh bent her head, and for a moment, I thought my stoic wife might actually cry. But then, after a long pause, she stood back up and came to me. "You should have put her down," she said, her tone resigned and not accusing. I shrugged and dropped my head as the guilt soared through me. The hurt in Calleigh's eyes was unmistakable. She'd been so excited about this opportunity, and here we were, her own family, packing on the guilt as best we knew how. Heidi, only four and ignorant of the events of the past month, had a good enough excuse. I had none – and we both knew it.

I walked Calleigh out to her car then, and once I had her buckled in and her suitcases stored in the trunk, I leaned in through the open window to check her gas gauge. "I have plenty of gas, Tim," she snapped. Her face instantly softened. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll call you when I get to Tampa, ok?" She reached out to touch me, looking for reassurance that we were okay, but I pulled away, my pride too strong to accept her apology and my conscience knowing that it was I who should be apologizing.

"Tim," she began, then paused and bit her lip, hesitating. "I'm not doing this because of what happened."

I couldn't meet her eyes then, although I doubt she was seeking mine out either. We hadn't really talked about "what happened." After dealing with the initial fall-out, the grief, the doctor's visits, the tests, the empty reassurance from the doctor that "these things happen all the time," Calleigh had thrown herself whole-heartedly into her work. Her OB had recommended counseling for both of us, but I'd noticed Calleigh's chin jut out defiantly at the doctor's words, and so I said nothing as I took the number from the doctor and stuck it in my wallet, where it remained, untouched. It had been during this blitz of work frenzy that the call from Tampa had come. Calleigh had jumped at the opportunity, and though it killed me inside, I couldn't tell her no. Her body had betrayed her in the cruelest way possible, and I wasn't about to add to that rejection.

"But," she continued. "I think this might be good for us, you know, get us out of this rut, shake things up."

I didn't say anything. Disagreeing with her wouldn't keep her from going, and disagreeing was all that we'd been doing for the past month. We couldn't seem to have a simple conversation without fighting or bickering ever since it had happened. I wasn't as convinced that the two things weren't related, but again, that was a fight we'd already had several times over, without arriving at a mutually agreeable conclusion. Losing the baby and going to Tampa had followed so closely on the heels of one another that it was impossible for me to separate them, to see them as two separate, unrelated events. And I wondered, I still do, if what had happened to us hadn't happened if Calleigh would have even wanted to go to Tampa. I know she hadn't said anything about the baby to Horatio, and in an anxiety-filled moment of desperation, I'd considered – very briefly - telling him myself. But our problem was ours alone, not his, and I would never ever turn on her that way. I felt guilty enough for even entertaining the thought.

But beyond the fighting, beyond the grief, beyond everything else, several questions still remained unanswered. What if she really was going to Tampa because of what happened? If she couldn't rely on me to help her get through this, then what did that say about our marriage? What did that say about me? If my wife was grieving, and she didn't feel like she could come to me, then what kind of husband was I? Unfortunately, I had an idea about what sort of husband I'd been, and it wasn't a good one.

"Calleigh," I started, standing at the entrance to our bedroom and not daring to go one step further, watching helplessly as my wife curled into herself and sobbed. "It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. People have miscarriages every day."

She sobbed louder, and I sighed. I couldn't seem to do or say the right thing, no matter what I tried. The day before had found us in this same position, and I'd said nothing, choosing instead to go to Calleigh and hold her. But she'd cringed at my touch, and I'd pulled back, shocked to feel for the first time ever Calleigh recoil from me.

After that I let her be, figuring that she simply didn't want me around. Instead, I looked for things to do to keep my mind occupied. With Calleigh confined to her bed (I had called her out sick for a week with the "flu"), I picked up the shattered pieces of our life and went on. Someone had to at least go through the motions of living – paying the bills, doing the dishes, ironing the clothes, keeping Heidi out of trouble. I was grieving too, but we couldn't both fall apart at the same time. And certainly it was easier to go through the motions of living, easier to stuff the grief away in a distant piece of my heart, than it was to face it head on.

It wasn't until she left that I realized how isolated she must have felt, how stupid it was for me to leave her. Deceived by her body, seemingly abandoned by her husband, she was all alone, trying to stand strong against a crushing wave of grief, pain and failure. I'd been a fool to leave her alone like that, but when it came to Calleigh, I'd done a lot of foolish things. Whether she wanted me there or not, I should have stayed, should have kept my arms wrapped tight around her, should have given her my shoulder to soak with tears instead of a pillow.

In an eleventh hour act of repentance, I leaned back in the car and brushed a quick kiss across Calleigh's lips. "I love you," I told her and she nodded, but didn't return my sentiments.

"I'll call you when I get there," she repeated. I pulled back then, slapping my hand on the hood of her car in some sort of half-hearted send off gesture. Calleigh put the car in reverse and twisted around in her seat, her eyes focused on the driveway behind her.

I somehow managed to wave goodbye as she backed out of the driveway. My eyes followed her car to the end of the street, and then she turned left and was gone from sight. I kept watching, my eyes trained on the last place I'd seen her car, knowing that in just a few minutes, she'd come back around that corner and tell me that she had changed her mind.

I stood there for nearly ten minutes before Heidi appeared at my side, tugging at the hem of my t-shirt to get my attention.

"Daddy?" she asked. "Is Mommy gone?"

"She is, sweet pea," I told her, bending down to scoop her up when I saw her lower lip start to quiver. Heidi began to cry then, her hot tears soaking through my t-shirt. At least one of my girls could still cry on my shoulder.

Present

I should have begged her to stay, but I didn't. She'd wanted to go to Tampa, and like a fool I'd let her, thinking that maybe she was right, that maybe we did need a change of pace to move past what had happened to us. Knowing what I know now, seeing first hand how much the circumstances surrounding Calleigh's departure have hurt both my girls, I would have done things differently. But I hadn't, and now I was dealing with the fallout.

The door to my room opened and Heidi shuffled in, her raven hair falling in a tangled cascade down her back, her feet barely able to keep from tripping over the hem of the long nightgown she wore.

"Daddy, can I sleep with you?" Her voice was foggy with sleep, but it was Calleigh's absence that had her up and prowling in the middle of the night. She hadn't slept much better than I had since Calleigh left, and the strain was starting to show on both our faces.

"Sure, sweet pea," I told her, just as I had so many nights before. I placed my hands under her arms and easily pulled her lightweight body into the bed. Heidi immediately snuggled up under the covers and yawned, but her dark brown eyes, so identical to mine, were wide open and alert.

Calleigh has always maintained that Heidi is my child, half-serious when she jokes that she merely acted as a conduit to bring a younger, female version of myself into the world. Her words hold a fair amount of truth. Heidi inherited not only my dark features, but my pensive personality as well. She is a solemn child, not unhappy, but quiet, who spends most days lost in her own complex world of make-believe. Still, Calleigh and I have both learned that this preoccupation does not prevent her from taking in what goes on around her, and more than one conversation that we have held over her daydreaming head has been repeated back to us, or others, in word-for-word clarity.

Since Calleigh left, I have discovered a secret about our daughter, something that will surely delight Calleigh if she ever comes home. Heidi never fails to choose me over her mother, but this recent and complete absence of her mother in her life has brought to light an intense attachment to the fair-headed member of our family that is much stronger than anyone was aware of. Heidi misses her mother desperately, and her longing for her return grows stronger every day. She may act disaffected when her mother phones, but her disinterest is a mere charade. Heidi feels directly responsible for Calleigh's departure, and no amount of reassurance from either her mother or me will dissuade her. Every night when she speaks to Calleigh, she promises never to cry again if Calleigh will just come home. I know that Calleigh is glad that she doesn't have to meet my eyes as Heidi promises this, although the guilt she is feeling over leaving her is more than enough condemnation. On my side, Heidi asks me every morning when I wake her if her mother has returned, and every night before I tuck her into bed, she asks if she will be home when she wakes. My heart breaks every time I have to look into her eyes and give her the only answer I can, "I don't know."

"I miss Mommy," Heidi whimpered.

"Me too, sweet pea," I told her, reaching over to tousle her already disheveled hair.

"Will you read me another story?" she asked, knowing already that I could do nothing other than agree. Calleigh isn't the only one of my girls that I can't tell no.

"Okay," I said, reaching down to grab a book from the top of a stack of children's books that has slowly trickled into my room since Calleigh left. "But you need to try and get some sleep," I reminded her. She nodded seriously, and curled up next to me.

Before I could start, the sound of a forlorn mew raised both our heads. Standing just inside the door and looking even more put out than usual was Bug, the elderly and perpetually cranky cat that proceeded both my and Heidi's presence in Calleigh's life, a fact that he never lets either of us forget. If Heidi is my child, then Bug is all Calleigh's. He tolerates me, but gives me a wide berth, and more or less ignores Heidi. He'd been impossible to deal with before Calleigh left, but now, alone and without the possibility of rescue by his blonde angel, Bug is slowly warming to us both, willing to call a temporary truce to our long-standing feud for Calleigh's affections. I have no doubt that when and if Calleigh returns, this temporary peace will be broken, and Bug will like as not place the blame for her absence solely at my feet. Calleigh always laughs when I claim that the cat is plotting against me, but I know better – and so does he.

Bug eyed me warily before mewing again, and Heidi began to laugh. She patted her lap and called to Bug, who wasted no time in jumping up onto the bed and settling into her lap before looking up at me through slit yellow eyes and silently proclaiming victory.

I ignored Bug, realizing that Calleigh's absence has left a hole in all of our lives that none of us are capable of filling. Calleigh had taken the light from us when she'd left, but her own world had gone dark long before then. Not only that, but I had known that she was hurting, and I had failed to save her, so much so that she had had to leave me to heal. It was killing me, and yet, four weeks later, Calleigh still wasn't ready to talk about it.

"I'm getting better every day, Tim," she told me one night over the phone. "I didn't come to Tampa to heal, but now that I'm here, I finally feel like I'm starting to move in the right direction. I'm going to be okay, Tim. We're going to be okay."

And then she had changed the subject.

Sighing heavily, I opened the book and began to read, doing my best to effect a cheery tone for each of the colorfully illustrated characters within the pages, but my words fell flat. I didn't expect Heidi to fall back asleep so quickly, but she did, and I carefully tucked her under the covers on Calleigh's side of the bed, intending to take her back to her bed in a few minutes, before flicking off the lamp and returning to staring into the darkness that surrounded me.

I hadn't planned on falling asleep, but I must have dozed off at some point because some time later I found myself awakened by a bright flash of light through the room. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, confused again. The light had been bright, as bright as headlights from a car, but I certainly wasn't expecting anyone at this hour.

Quietly, I slid out of bed, not wanting to wake Heidi or Bug, who were curled into a symbiotic cocoon of child and cat at the other side of the bed, wild unruly tufts of hair sprouting in every direction. I pushed aside the thin curtains that separated the bedroom from the street beyond, and stared into the darkness, cupping my hands to the glass to block the glare. Sitting in the driveway, its lights now dark, was a car, one that hadn't been there earlier that evening. It had been the headlights of this car turning into the driveway that had awakened me. The car was parked in the shadows, but even so, it looked familiar. It looked like Calleigh's.

I pulled away from the window, my heart pumping furiously in the suddenly tight space of my chest, and padded softly down the hallway, arriving at the back door just as the locks were turning. I pulled the door open and stared, not believing the sight before me.

"Tim!" Calleigh exclaimed, clearly surprised to find me standing there. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"I saw lights," I told her stepping back to allow her to step into the house. I was too shocked to say more, so instead I shut the door behind her and threw the locks.

As quiet as I'd been, I'd still managed to awaken Bug, who trotted into the room then, mewing loudly when he saw Calleigh. Without waiting for an invitation, he leapt into her arms, purring loudly and butting his head against her. Calleigh focused her attention on him for the moment, attempting to ignore the obvious tension that her unexpected return had brought.

"What are you doing here?" I finally managed to ask, as the higher functioning parts of my brain stirred to life.

"This is still my home, isn't it?" Calleigh asked, her voice light and teasing but her eyes tense and wary.

I gawked at her, not understanding her question. "What about Tampa?" I asked. She hadn't known how long she would be gone – at least a month, possibly two. There had been days when I wasn't sure if she was coming home at all.

"We finished," Calleigh said simply. "I know, I know, I shouldn't have driven home in the middle of the night, but I just couldn't go one more day without seeing you guys. I've missed you all so much."

With those words, I remembered that the last conversation I had had with Calleigh nearly two days previous had ended poorly. As usual, I'd managed to stick my foot in my mouth, accusing her of behavior and intentions I knew not to be true, but no longer able to keep from voicing them. Calleigh forgives me more readily than I deserve, but she's not above letting me stew in my own guilt and anguish for a few days until I come to my senses. And I'd certainly been doing just that these last few days.

Calleigh had just finished speaking with Heidi and was back on the line with me when she told me to hang on and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. After a few moments of muffled speech and what I could have sworn was a laugh, Calleigh came back on the line, apologizing. "I have to go, Tim," she said, sounding sufficiently apologetic, but excited too. "Michael needs my help."

"I bet he does," I grumbled, tired of hearing about this Michael character and how much Calleigh enjoyed working with him. I'd formed a picture of him in my head as a tall, attractive man with rippling biceps and a flirtatious smile that brought out the dimples in his tanned cheeks, who leaned in too close to Calleigh whenever she asked for his help and had instantly taken Calleigh's warm nature as a sign that she was interested in him.

The line was silent for several moments. This wasn't the first fight we'd had about Michael. Finally, Calleigh sighed. "I have to go Tim," she said again. "I'll talk to you in a few days." She paused. "I do miss you, Tim, you and Heidi both."

I felt her dismissal as a heavy weight in my heart, knowing that it would be Calleigh who would be the first to pick up the phone again, but me who would apologize. Already I was willing to, but the line was dead. When it began to beep angrily, I replaced the phone in its cradle.

And yet, despite how this last conversation between us had gone, despite all that had gone on between us, she was still here, standing in front of me and saying unequivocally that this was her home, that she was still my number one girl. I pulled her to me, hugging her tightly. Bug squealed and jumped from Calleigh's arms, resigned to winding about her ankles.

"It'll always be your home," I told her.

Against my chest, Calleigh mumbled, "You're not going to say anything about the fact that I drove home alone in the middle of the night? Don't you want to know if I had enough gas, if I checked the tire pressure before I left?" I routinely pester Calleigh about the state of her car, even though I know that she takes well enough care of it without my meddling. I can't help it. That car carries precious cargo, and it's my job to make sure it stays safe.

"No," I said resolutely, the gruffness of my tone belying my true emotion. "All I want to know is if you're going to have to go back."

"No," Calleigh answered. "The lab there is all set up and ready to go."

She pulled away from me then, just far back enough that she could look me in the eyes. She cupped my face with one hand and smiled softly at me. "Tim, I know you didn't want me to go, but this new lab is going to give our own lab some real relief. They're equipped to do everything we can do now, which means we won't be taking any more of their workflow." She paused. "Which means I won't have to spend as much time in the lab."

I bit back my question about if that was what she really wanted, less time at the lab and more time at home. It was a pointless question, designed to hurt, and I was ready for us to move beyond that. And the selfish part of me didn't care. I wanted her with me all the time, and if I'd had to give her up for a month to get that, then so be it. Still, it was a good thing that the lab was finished. I'd be damned if I'd let her get in that car and drive back to Tampa.

"Where's Heidi?" Calleigh asked, standing on tiptoe to peer over my shoulder.

"She's in our bed," I answered, dropping my voice back to a whisper. "And hopefully she's still asleep." I leaned forward to place a tender but insistent kiss on Calleigh's lips, and Calleigh responded eagerly, her body melting against mine.

I was ready to scoop her up and deposit her on the couch and make love to her right then and there. A month without Calleigh would have been bad enough, but the fallout from her miscarriage had trickled over into our marital bed long before she'd left for Tampa.

I was just about to make this suggestion to her when a high-pitched shriek of "Momma!" echoed behind me, and I sighed, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "Or not," I said, giving Calleigh a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll finish this later," I promised her, my voice a low whisper in her ear, and Calleigh swatted at me as she bent down to catch Heidi's body as it propelled into her.

Heidi wrapped her hands in Calleigh's hair and buried her face against Calleigh's neck. "Hey, baby," Calleigh said, squeezing Heidi tight against her as she stood up. Heidi wrapped her tiny legs around Calleigh's waist and clung to her desperately.

"She's really missed you," I said, watching the emotions play across Calleigh's face. "We both have. We've been a wreck without you."

Calleigh surveyed the disheveled living room and smirked at me. "I can tell," she teased.

"I was going to clean it up tomorrow," I offered weakly. "I wasn't expecting you home tonight."

"Uh-huh," Calleigh mumbled. She focused her attention on Heidi, who still had her face burrowed into her shoulder. "Were you and Daddy going to pick up tomorrow or is he telling a tale?"

"A tale," Heidi mumbled, ratting me out without a moment's thought. "Daddy said we could have a bachelor's pad while you were away," she added. I cringed. I hadn't explained to Heidi exactly what a bachelor's pad was, but she'd gotten the drift quick enough.

"I see," Calleigh said, unable to hide her smile. She looked around the room once more and shrugged. "It's not as bad as I was expecting," she remarked. "Honestly though, I don't care what state it is in. I'm just so happy to be home with you two."

The tiny knot of tension that had been building between my shoulders dissolved. I'm no slob, but I've certainly never lived up to Calleigh's standards of cleanliness. So what if the mail sits in a pile on the kitchen counter overnight? But I've learned to be neater (or at least to hide my messes better), and ever since having Heidi, Calleigh has relaxed her standards, as Heidi seems to have also inherited my disinterest in cleaning.

Calleigh ran her hand down Heidi's hair, trying to smooth out its unruly curls. "It looks like you guys didn't do such a great job brushing your hair, kiddo," she said, picking out some of the larger knots.

"Daddy let me do it myself," Heidi asserted, finally raising her head, and all I could do was shrug sheepishly when Calleigh looked to me for confirmation.

"You always do her hair," I countered, deciding to omit for the moment that two days after Calleigh's departure, I'd given up, and told Heidi to have at it. I spoke with her pre-school teacher that same day, who took pity on me and agreed to brush Heidi's hair each morning. As it was now late Sunday night (early Monday morning, to be exact), the last decent brushing Heidi's hair had received had been Friday morning, and it showed.

"At least I know you've been eating okay," Calleigh said, and I nodded to let her know this was true. I may not be much of a housekeeper or a hair stylist, but I can cook, and I worry more about what Heidi eats than Calleigh does.

"We didn't have any waffles while you were gone," Heidi complained, pouting as if I'd forced her to eat brussell sprouts every day, while conveniently forgetting that we'd made banana splits just two days previous.

I shifted my weight across my feet nervously. How was I supposed to explain this one? Waffles were a Sunday morning staple in our house, and our first family tradition. Heidi had reluctantly bought the argument that the waffle iron was broken, although the only thing broken was my heart. Calleigh had made waffles the morning she'd left, and when I'd kissed her goodbye I could still taste the maple syrup on her lips. I wasn't sure that I could even look at the waffle maker without losing it. I'd missed Calleigh with every fiber of my being, and there was no place in our house that I could look without being reminded of her. Even my dreams were haunted by visions of her. The last thing I needed was to focus my attention on the one thing that would, without fail, re-open the wound made by Calleigh's leaving.

"Well," Calleigh said, smiling at her. "We'll just have to fix that now, won't we?"

Heidi nodded. "Your waffles are better than Daddy's anyway," she declared, and I had to bite back a smile. I could only hope Calleigh realized what Heidi was doing, because I was certainly on to her antics. If her mother had said that there was an eight hundred pound gorilla in the room (which, figuratively, there was), then Heidi would have agreed with her, so great was her desire to keep Calleigh from leaving again. It would likely be a while before Heidi dared to cross her mother again, which might make for a nice change of pace around the house. My girls are both what I call 'spirited' when I'm feeling generous, and 'willful' when I'm forced to play referee between the two of them.

Calleigh glanced over my head at the clock. It was barely 4:30 am. "All right," she agreed. "It might be a little early for breakfast, but something tells me that you two early birds aren't going back to sleep anyways."

Heidi clapped with delight and wriggled out of her mother's embrace, squirming until Calleigh reluctantly released her, but not before Calleigh extracted a few more kisses. Calleigh smiled at me, and I could tell that Heidi's behavior had been just as transparent to her. I shrugged. "She missed you."

"I missed you guys too," Calleigh said, her voice a little defensive. "It wasn't any easier for me."

"I know it wasn't," I told her, stepping forward to wrap my arms around her waist. "Heidi and I were at home, and we had each other to keep company, not that we were a very pleasant bunch, while you were off someplace else, with only some guy named Michael." I paused, and swallowed my jealousy. The whole argument had been ridiculous, and all I had to show for it was two days without hearing Calleigh's voice. It was past time to apologize. "I'm sorry for what I said the other day about Michael."

Calleigh smiled, as if laughing at a private joke, before wrapping her arms around my neck. "You know," she said, "Michael wanted me to stay over tonight so we could go out for supper. His boyfriend was driving in from Orlando to pick him up, and he really wanted us to meet."

I'd opened my mouth to say that Michael had better be glad that I hadn't driven to Tampa to meet him, when the rest of Calleigh's words hit me.

"Michael has a boyfriend?" I asked incredulously.

Calleigh nodded, biting at her lower lip to hide a grin. "I told you not to worry, Tim."

I frowned. "I wasn't worried," I said belligerently.

"But you were turning green with jealousy," she added, leaning forward to give me a kiss. "I love you, Tim," she whispered. "And I'll always love only you."

"Hold that thought," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the nose. "I'll be right back." I slipped out of her arms and hurried back to our bedroom, plucking the objects that had caused me so much distress earlier off the dresser.

I was back in the den with Calleigh in my arms in no time. "You forgot something when you left," I said, careful to keep any tone of accusation out of my voice.

Calleigh's face fell. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice," she said softly, her eyes dropping to the items in my hand.

"They were lying there right next to the sink, Cal. How could I miss them?"

"It's not what you think," she said quickly. I silenced her explanation with a kiss.

"I know you were in a hurry and forgot them. I'm not mad. And I didn't say anything while you were gone because I didn't want you feeling guilty. But now that you're home, I was thinking that maybe you'd like them back?" I knew Calleigh hadn't meant to leave her wedding bands behind, but it stung just the same. I'd been worried that she wouldn't come back for them – or me.

"I would," she said, holding her left hand out to me. I took her hand in mine, and easily slid on the rings.

Calleigh admired the glittering diamond briefly before focusing back on my face. "Is this why you were so jealous?" she asked me, smiling. "Because you were worried Michael wouldn't know I was taken? Did you really think I could go longer than half a day before I told everyone what a wonderful husband I had, and how much I missed him?"

I started to point out that if I was as wonderful as she claimed, then she wouldn't have had to leave in the first place, because she could get all the love and support she needed here in Miami, but I stopped. I was tired of fighting with her. She had her reasons for going, and maybe I would never understand them or believe that they had nothing to do with the baby. All that mattered now was that she was home. She had come back to me.

Before I could think up an appropriate response she had slipped out of my arms and moved towards the kitchen. She sashayed a few steps, taunting me, before stopping to look back over her shoulder at me. "Are you going to come help, or are you going to stand there and gape all night?"

Later, Calleigh and I headed back to bed, hoping to catch an hour of sleep before officially rising for the day. Heidi was already asleep, the excitement of the night's events having quickly caught up with her. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, her face and hands sticky with syrup, and for once, Calleigh told me to let her be when I went to scoop her up. She covered her with a blanket and kissed her head, before taking my hand and pulling me down the hallway towards our room.

I followed willingly, even though the hallway was pitch black dark. It would be a good half hour before the sun even thought about rising, but I wasn't about to stop long enough to fumble for the light switch. I moved more slowly in our bedroom, knowing that I'd kicked off my boots there the night before, but not sure where they'd landed. A sharp curse from Calleigh as she tripped over one of them reminded me.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"Home sweet home," Calleigh muttered before sliding into bed.

"What is this?" I heard her ask. There was more rustling from her side of the bed, and then the light flipped on. Cal was holding one of Heidi's books, the one I'd read to her the previous evening.

"Let's just put it this way - you're way behind in the bedtime story reading tally," I teased as I scooted over to Calleigh's side of the bed and took the book out of her hand, tossing it on the floor. I then reached over her to turn out the light, and although the room was as dark as it had been earlier that evening, the oppressive feeling from before was gone. No longer would I wake up in an empty bed, forgetting and remembering where Calleigh was, because she had finally come home. No longer would I go to bed alone, tossing and turning and waiting for Calleigh to join me, because she was right by my side.

I wrapped my arms around Calleigh's waist and pulled her to me, needing the physical reassurance that she was there.

"Tim, can we please turn a light on?" Calleigh asked. I shook my head no, even though she couldn't see me.

"Shhh," I said to her. "The sun's going to be coming up soon. We'll miss it if we turn the lights on."

It wasn't the answer she wanted. "Tim, I haven't seen you in over a month, and now you want to lie here in the dark?"

"I saw you every night in my dreams," I told her. "All I had to do was close my eyes and you were there."

There was silence then, and I knew the baby we'd lost was on both our minds.

"Cal?" I asked, hesitantly. "How are you doing with, you know – the miscarriage?"

Calleigh didn't answer right away. Instead she snuggled up closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. "I'm better," she said. "You know, Michael's sister had two miscarriages before she had her first baby."

I interrupted her. "You told Michael?" I asked, my briefly extinguished jealousy flaring up once more.

"He brought it up," she said. "She had just had the baby, and when we were swapping stories about our families he mentioned how excited his whole family was because she'd had such a hard time staying pregnant. It just sort of came out then, Tim. Michael gave me her number and we talked several times. It was weird – I had no idea who this woman was, but she knew exactly what I was going through. And after talking to her, I finally realized that I wasn't getting any better. I don't think I realized how okay I wasn't until I talked to her."

She paused. "And?" I asked.

"And… now I'm working on it. We're working on it. But I'm going to get better, and we're going to be okay. We won't be the same, but we'll be okay. We'll be happy. I love you, Tim, and nothing can ever change that."

And that was it. That was all I needed to hear. Just a few simple words, spoken in truth from the woman I loved, was all it took to make me believe. I didn't have to see her face, didn't need to look into her eyes and discern if she really was telling the truth. I just knew. I had just known all along. The last of the uneasy tension between us was gone.

"Does this mean I can't roll my eyes anymore when you mention Michael?" I joked.

Calleigh laughed softly, squirmed even closer, and kissed me. "What am I going to do with you?"

She wasn't expecting an answer, but I gave her one anyways, rolling over on top of her and pinning her body beneath mine. "You could let me give you a proper homecoming," I told her, still half expecting her to tell me no. The doctor had told us it was best to wait at least three months, preferably six, before trying to get pregnant again, and before she'd left, I'd been worried that Calleigh had taken that to mean that I should keep my hands to myself the entire time.

"By all means," she said, and we both laughed then, before Calleigh reached down and pulled the comforter over the tops of our heads. We fell into darkness just as the first rays of the sun were daring to show their faces, but for me, the moment couldn't have been brighter.

The End