Michelle came down the hall toward Steve's room, pushing a cart to haul away the flowers that had arrived over the course of the six days he'd been in the hospital. He was coming home today but it was by no means a day of joy or celebration. That became apparent as she entered the room, seeing him sitting in a wheelchair waiting to be escorted out.

His back was to her as he sat close to the window but wasn't looking out at the view. He turned his head just slightly, seeing that it was his wife.

She let the door close on its own as she went to him, knowing what he was feeling because she was feeling it too. She stood behind him and bent over, putting her arms around him, sensing the tears that had become accustom to the both of them over the past six days.

He reached up with his left hand and put it over top of hers that rested on his chest. He felt her tears drip off her chin and land on his shoulder.

"One day at a time," she whispered to him.

He nodded, not able to reply with words, feeling his throat close up.

She felt his shoulders begin to tremble, knowing he was fighting it. "I love you," she said to him, wanting him to know that it was ok to cry, today, tomorrow, ten years from now: there was no time limit for shedding tears for his daughter.

He bent his head, feeling comforted by her, always aware that he needed her, but over the past week she had been like a lifeboat keeping him afloat through this terrible storm that was blowing through their lives. The only thing he felt relieved over was that he could grieve and always knew there would be love there to help him through it, knowing it was the same for her.

"I love you, too," he sniffed, "We'll be ok."

She kissed his wet cheek, "Always."

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The three of them sat at the kitchen table together eating silently. It was their first night back in the old house and Michelle had tried to make it as normal as possible for Ellen by making her favorite dinner from one of the many dishes that were stuffed in the freezer and refrigerator. She was sure she wouldn't have to cook, or grocery shop for at least a month. She didn't even know whom the dishes belonged to so she could return them; they were just left there filled with food and love from their friends.

Ellen moved the macaroni and cheese around on her plate with her fork, staring at it but only taking small bites at a time every so often.

Steve sat across from her doing the very same thing but his attention was focused on her. His mind was consumed over trying to find something to say to her, something that would remove the miserably sad expression on her face.

"Maybe next week we could go kayaking," he said to her out of the blue.

Michelle looked over at him oddly, knowing there was no way he could go kayaking next week in his condition.

Ellen looked up at him as tears filled her eyes, thinking of her sister and how afraid she used to be of the water, but bravely did it anyway. Her face contorted recalling the last time they had gone together. "I called Elie a baby because she was afraid of the water," she confessed. "That wasn't very nice."

Michelle reached over taking her little hand. "Don't cry honey," she said while her own emotions got the better of her over the turmoil of what her daughter was going through. "You didn't say it to be mean." She glanced over at Steve for help, but he pushed back from the table and got up, walking away.

Ellen watched him go in the garage and close the door behind him. She looked back over at her mother as fresh tears filled her eyes. "Is Daddy mad at me?"

She squeezed her hand, "No, honey. Of course not." She pushed her plate away from her. "I'm not very hungry for mac and cheese." She smiled at Ellen. "I did see some mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer though. Do you want some of that for dinner instead?"

Ellen wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, surprised over the unexpected treat. "Ok."

"Ok," Michelle smiled enthusiastically, "lets have ice cream."

"Daddy too?" Ellen asked, pushing her own plate away.

"Daddy too." She stood up, "Why don't you get the ice cream out and I'll go get him."

"Ok." She ran over to the refrigerator as Michelle went to the garage.

He heard the door open and cringed, knowing what he did was wrong, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He braced his hands on the workbench, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face off.

Michelle stood behind him, "She thinks you're mad at her. You can't just walk out like that."

"I know, it won't happen again."

"You can't just walk out when things get rough and leave me there alone. It's hard for me too!"

"I know!" he yelled and then recanted, replying more calmly, "I know. I'm sorry." He turned around seeing the frustration and weariness all over her. He wasn't helping. He just added number sixty-one on his list of guilt's and faults, reaching out with his hand and touching her face. "I'm sorry."

She nodded but backed away from it, only allowing him a brief encounter, "Come inside, we're having ice cream."

He followed behind her, knowing he'd made a grave error. He needed to be more aware that it wasn't just him feeling the loss; they were all hurting. He was sure Michelle wanted to run out of the room too, but she didn't. She stayed and faced it. He'd never do that again.

They came back in the kitchen as Ellen set another half gallon of ice cream on the counter next to the other three.

"Look at all this ice cream!" she said.

Steve reached under her arms, "Jump," he said, needing her assistance, not able to lift her as easily with his wounds healing and broken hand. She did as he asked and he lifted her up and set her on the counter, giving her a kiss as he reached over her head for bowls. "I'm filling my bowl up to the rim," he said.

Ellen smiled brightly at him, pleased that he really wasn't mad at her. "What kind are you going to have, Daddy?"

"All of them," he replied, setting down three bowls and opening the drawer, and then another looking for the ice cream scoop in the foreign kitchen, not remembering where it used to be kept. He looked over as Michelle handed it out to him with forgiveness in her eyes. He took it from her, purposely touching the tips of her fingers, conveying to her again that he was sorry. "What kind of ice cream do you think the baby would like, Ellen?"

In all the chaos over the past few days she had forgotten that Michelle was pregnant. She looked at her stomach thinking out loud just as a four year old would. "Maybe Elie will be born from your tummy again, just like when me and her were born. Do you think that might happen?" she asked her mother.

Michelle understood his reasoning now for wanting to run out of the room, because that's exactly what she wanted to do. That question hurt beyond words as she recalled giving birth to the two of them. Elie had come out first. She would always be her first born.

Steve put his hand under Ellen's chin after seeing his wife's expression turn grim. He lifted her little face up so he could see her, and she could see him. "That won't happen, Ellen. You are only born once."

She looked at him quizzically, "And you only die once," she stated in that childlike voice.

He felt the air leave his body over such a profound statement coming from his four year old. She didn't deserve this, he thought sadly. "Yes," he replied to her, feeling that wave of grief begin to overtake him again. He took the top off the ice cream and fought back, needing to divert her from this subject, more so for his own sake. "Do you want four scoops or five," he asked in the most upbeat tone he could as his voice shuttered ever so slightly.

Michelle heard it though, taking the top off another one, working through this painful moment with him. "I think we should have one of each and then if we want more. Another scoop of each."

Ellen smiled happily, not realizing even for a brief moment the sullen mood both her parents were in.

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Michelle arranged the bed the same as the nurses had in the hospital. She went back downstairs, passing by Ellen's room and glancing inside as she slept soundly, pleased over that. Her mother would be coming in the morning to help out. Clair had insisted that she stay at a nearby hotel rather than at the house, letting them have their privacy as a family; in the end Michelle didn't fight her, it was the right decision.

She shook out two pills from Steve's prescription bottle and filled a glass of water, taking them back up to him. On her way back up the stairs she stopped mid step, feeling for the first time the flutter in her stomach that was actually a small kick. She smiled and waited to see if it would happen again, but nothing. Her joy over the moment was quickly diminished as her reflexive smile faded, thinking of Elie and what Ellen had said earlier. It broke her heart that this pregnancy would be filled with so much sorrow instead of the blessing it should be. She began to climb up the rest of the stairs again, just wanting to go to bed and sleep. It's where she found the only peace in her life at the moment.

Steve came out of the bathroom shirtless and without the bandage on his back, instructed by the doctors to let it breathe, so to say, overnight.

Michelle set down the water and pills on his side of the bed. "How did you get your bandage off?"

He shrugged, sitting down on the side of the mattress. "I just peeled it off. It's fine."

"Steve," she scolded him, "you shouldn't do that." She moved behind him, seeing the remains of skin and blood in the partially opened wounds. "Damn it," she said scolded him again. "It's not fine. Let me do it next time."

He rolled his eyes, not wanting help with it. He didn't want her to see it. It was just a constant reminder of what they were going through and more so why they were going through it.

She came out of the bathroom with a damp towel. "Do you hear me?" she continued on. "Don't try that again."

"All right," he snapped. "Jesus, Michelle, I was just trying to save you from doing it. Do you really want to look at that shit?!"

She crawled up on the bed, kneeling down behind him, cringing as she really looked at the wounds that were healing but would never really go away.

"I'm sorry," she said passively, but half of that apology was because she felt sorry for him. Those scars would be a constant reminder to him of that night, knowing of his guilt over it. She needed to be more aware of that she told herself. She gently put the towel on a spot that showed blood, wishing she could make it all disappear.

He closed his eyes, knowing what she was looking at. He hated it. Her eyes on him burned worse than the actual wounds themselves. He felt a hand on his shoulder as she steadied him, continuing the cleansing. "That's good," he said, moving forward away from her and then stood up.

"There's still some blood."

"If you're worried about the sheets I'll put a towel down."

"I'm worried about you and them getting infected."

"They told me to sleep open air. I don't think they would say that if there was a chance of them getting infected."

Michelle didn't argue with him about it anymore, not wanting to start a fight before they went to sleep, besides she was exhausted. She tossed the towel in a basket by the dresser and lay down in her spot that she occupied for years before they moved to the bigger house. "Take your pills." She said to him as he went to carefully lie down next to her.

"I don't want them."

She sat up on her elbow, "I swear to god," she growled, "are you just trying to pick a fight with me tonight?"

"No, I just don't want to take them. What difference does it make?"

"Because I know you're in pain."

"So are you," he replied truthfully.

She huffed and rolled over with her back to him. "That's a fabulous comeback. I wish I could take two pills that would knock me out from my pain, but instead I'll just lay here and stress about everything that's going on and add you to the list, because you feel to guilty to take your pain medication. Fine. I give up." She reached out to her nightstand and turned the lamp off, leaving them in the dark.

He wasn't taking them because he felt guilty; unlike her he didn't want to sleep. The last couple of nights he'd had terrible nightmares about the fire, waking up in a cold sweat after hearing Elie's voice in his dream.

But he took the pills anyway and drank the water, lying down next to her. He'd risk another nightmare if it would give her even the slightest bit of peace.

He reached his hand out and slid his fingers down her back and over the silky material of the mid-length nightgown he'd never seen before. They all had clothes that had either been bought or donated to them; some of them with the tags still on them. He had yet to think about all the personal and material things they had lost in the fire, at the moment everything was just trivial compared to the ultimate loss they were experiencing. He moved his hand back up to her shoulders and slid it down once again, hoping she found it relaxing.

Michelle heard him take the pills and knew her husband well enough to know that his touch was a kind gesture because she told him she was stressed. He was trying to calm her. She decided to give him one in return.

"I felt the baby kick for the first time a little while ago," she whispered to him.

"You did," he asked enthusiastically, "when?"

She rolled over on her back. "When I was coming up the stairs."

His hand instantly moved to her lower belly. "Show me where?"

She took ahold of it with both hands and moved it over the spot. "Right around here."

He held steady in that spot, looking at her profile in the faint light coming from the French doors. She looked beautiful he thought, but when she was pregnant she always looked radiant. "I think it's sleeping," he whispered.

She rubbed her hands over top of his, moving it over to a new spot. "Can you feel the bump yet?"

"A little," he said, "pretty soon you won't be able to see your feet."

She glanced over at him, "Will you still love me when I get all fat and wobbly?" she teased.

"Nope, I'll be out looking for a replacement by then," he teased her back.

She brought his hand up to her mouth and bit it just hard enough to make him yelp and chuckle.

He heard her laugh as well, which gave him a wonderful calming inside. He wished he could curl up closer to her, not fearing that dreaded sleep anymore. He closed his eyes, moving his hand back to her stomach and resting it there.

"I don't mind doing your bandages," she said to him. "I don't think it looks as bad as you say."

He opened his eyes back up, looking at her as she turned her head, facing him. "And there is no one on this earth that could ever replace you, Michelle. I'll always love you, no matter what."

It was the first time since the ordeal that they actually thought about something else, no tears were shed, no sadness existed in these few minutes of bliss as they fed off of each other's love, masking the grief…even if it was short lived.

They both lay sleeping after dosing off at the same time. Michelle woke up first, hearing the cries.

"Elie!" she gasped, sitting up in bed.

"Michelle," Steve whispered, fearing she was having a nightmare, when he too heard Ellen crying. He sat up but she was already off the bed and running around it to the door.

She switched the light on in Ellen's room, seeing her curled up on her side, sobbing.

Michelle bent over and scooped her up as the child sat up with her, crawling up on her lap, continuing the hysterical crying.

"It's ok, honey, Mommy's here. It's ok," Michelle consoled.

Steve stood at the door watching the display, cringing over the sound of her tears, it sounded so much like Elie's crying from his dreams. He came inside and sat down on the other side of the bed, putting his hand on her back as she held tightly around her mother's neck. He looked at Michelle's troubled expression, not knowing what to do to ease their discomforts. "Ellen," he said, "its ok sweetie."

She turned around to her father with tears pouring down her face. "You were so mad," Ellen professed. "You were yelling at Elie and me and then she ran away into the water until she was over her head." She faced her mother again, gripping her around the neck. "She never came out of the water."

Steve let his hand fall off her onto the bed, shocked over what she had just said to him.

Michelle reached over and gripped his arm, speaking to Ellen but she was looking at Steve. "It was only a dream."

"No it wasn't," Ellen sobbed. "I could see her. I want her to come home," she cried harder. "I want Elie to come home!" Her voice shook as she looked back over at her father, needing someone to blame for her misfortune and at the moment from her dream, it was him.

Steve cowered as her little eyes narrowed, staring him down angrily. She didn't have to say anything to get her point across, she was madder than hell at him, and he heard her loud and clear. The guilt was pouring over him, drowning him in that horrible feeling of regret and shame, but most of all blame, he felt he was to blame. He hadn't protected his family, even his four-year-old daughter recognized it, and how could he possibly argue with that.

"I'm sorry, Ellen," he said sincerely, looking it even more so, but she just turned her face away, gripping her mother's neck tighter, dismissing him stubbornly and his apology.

"Ellen," Michelle said firmly, seeing the devastating outcome on her husband's face over it.

"It's ok," Steve shook his head at her, telling her to stop. She had a right to be angry and he'd rather it be focused at him than on her, Michelle didn't deserve it and in her delicate state right now, he didn't want her to have to take on anything else. He put his hand back on Ellen, stroking her hair. "It's ok to be mad honey, I understand."

She refused to acknowledge him or the touch, shifting in Michelle's lap and gripping her tighter.

He stood up and left the room feeling his presence there was only making her more hostile. He went down the steps having no idea where he was going, but at the moment he felt so out of place in the house he just wanted out.

Michelle leaned over, laying Ellen down in the bed as she calmed. She used the sheets to wipe her face off. "You aren't really mad at Daddy are you?" she asked her.

"He was yelling at Elie and me and then Elie ran away." Her eyes held the same narrowed, angered expression as before.

"That was just a dream, Ellen. Daddy never yelled at you and Elie, and he didn't make Elie run out into the water. He loves you both so much that he would do anything to protect you."

Her eyes softened over that statement that she knew was true, but just needed to be reminded of it. The anger was replaced by a sadness that engulfed her over the realization once again that her sister was never coming back. "I want Elie to come home," she whimpered, starting to cry again.

Michelle leaned down and hugged her, "So do I Ellen, so do I."

Steve stood down by the water in the backyard, looking out over the vast ocean, wondering what God he'd angered over the course of his life to bring so much destruction to his family over the past year. He'd always relied on his inner strength and faith in a higher power to pull him through the toughest times of his life, but this one was going to be a battle he didn't think he was going to win. He'd lost friends, family and even almost lost his wife, but nothing in the world could have ever prepared him for the loss of a child. It was as if a part of him had been cut open and removed, having no idea how to fill that void that was so big it was altering everything he believed in and had once relied on. He wasn't the same person that ran in that house that night to save Elie. Who the fireman carried out felt like just a shell of that man. He felt numb; wishing again that it was he who had died and not his little girl. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, fearing he might have lost both of them, knowing of Ellen's anger toward him. She was only four but he felt she was the only one that was brave and innocent enough to say what everyone else was thinking.

Michelle came out the back, seeing him standing in the yard. She moved up next to him as he stared straight ahead. She followed his line of sight, knowing no matter what she said to him at that moment, that it wouldn't be enough. She had always admired him for being the kind of father that his children looked up to. In no other way to describe it, he was their hero, from top to bottom. But that was no longer true. It wasn't his fault, but it didn't matter. He had failed. He had failed them all, and what hurt the most in her was that she was beginning to feel that resentment for his failure. Her grief was turning to anger over the loss of her daughter. She'd hunted down the man that started the fire and hurt her baby. She had killed him. She'd done her part. Steve told her not to go in the house that he'd get Elie out and she believed him.

She looked up at him, fighting those horrible thoughts about him, feeling guilty for even letting them enter her mind. They had to stick together she scolded herself, just like they had a few months before when they were again trapped in this house after she'd come back from Jordan. It had almost destroyed them but they'd managed to overcome it, and they'd do it again; they just had to stick together. Besides , she thought sadly, who was she to find fault in him. She hadn't even been there when her baby died. Elie was alone; she'd been all alone.

They stood next to each other but neither said a word, both lost in their own thoughts of what they could have or should have done differently that night. It was an unnatural thing for a parent to grieve for a child, it should never happen to anyone, and both Steve and Michelle were slowly being consumed over the impact of theirs.

He didn't want her there, for the first time in his life since knowing her, he just wanted her to go away and leave him alone.