You guys, my heart is so full right now. I've received the loveliest reviews and messages on the last chapter. This fandom is the absolute best. So, to thank you for putting a huge smile on my face and brightening my days, here is the next chapter.

Hailey

"Hailey, you with me?"

Dr. Charles is talking, and I can hear him just fine, but my chest feels tight and seized-up, to the point of not being able to talk or exhale. After what happened last week, I finally decided it was time to come to grips with my past. But now that I'm here, I'm regretting the decision. The trauma I experienced is unprocessed, undigested, and simply too raw.

"Hailey…?"

"Yeah, uh, you were telling me how our bodies can self-heal. Bones grow back together; bruises fade..."

He makes a wordless murmur of assent, though he looks skeptical. "So, what happens if you peel off the scab before the cut underneath is healed? Or if you use a broken leg too soon?"

I figure these are rhetorical questions; obviously, you risk reinjuring it, which is what he tells me, prompting him to also add, "Then the healing will take even longer."

I nod, pretty certain of where he is going with this analogy. "Healing trauma is similar," I cut to the point.

"Yes," he nods and offers me a kind smile, though he is probably frustrated with me, and I can't blame him. "Hailey, I'm not here to poke at your wounds. I'm here to hopefully help you heal from them."

I sigh. "I know, It's just..."

"Hard," he finishes my sentence. There's a short pause and then he says, "Back to my initial question, what brings you here today?"

Such a harmless and innocent enough opening line, but once again, I can't seem to answer, the words are stuck in my throat. He must already think I'm a candidate for a straitjacket.

"I, uh, I…I haven't dealt with some stuff…" I manage to finally choke out.

"Hmm, okay. Recent events or…?"

"It happened five years ago," I answer. "I, uh, I had a miscarriage."

"I'm so sorry you went through that. I can't imagine how difficult that must've been," he says, and I'm grateful he eases over the moment. If he'd offered too much pity, I think I'd have lost it.

I feel frustrated tears sting my eyes. "Every time I talk about it I turn into a human fire hydrant."

"Hailey, you've been mistaking feeling less for feeling better. You haven't given yourself enough time to process your grief, so the feelings are still present." Dr. Charles looks at me and shrugs, a barely perceptible lift of one shoulder. "And we respond to grief in many ways. So, you have to realize that—"

"Is this the part where you tell me the miscarriage wasn't my fault? Because—" My voice trails off and I swallow back a lump in my throat. "—the guilt that I feel is real." I take a deep breath. "I was under a lot of stress; I probably wasn't drinking enough water; I went jogging—"

"— you lifted something heavy, you had a drink, took a hot bath… Hailey, that's not why you lost the baby."

"You don't know that."

"The majority of miscarriages, especially in the second trimester are caused by genetic issues."

"Yeah, I get that, but—"

"Hailey, you're a detective. It's in your nature to want to find the perpetrator and solve the case, but you can't use that same logic here. There are no perpetrators here. This is a case that can't be solved. You have to learn to accept it and let it go." He pauses, probably hoping I'm internalizing everything he is saying, but I'm not so sure that I am.

"Your miscarriage wasn't because of something you did or didn't do. It was something that happened to you."

I blink rapidly, but tears stream down my cheeks. I wrap my arms tightly around myself and just let them flow.

"I was so excited to meet her," I choke out.

"I wish there was a shortcut, but you have to allow yourself to go through the grieving process – no matter how much time it takes, because when you don't—"

"Yeah, I know," I say, sort of begrudgingly. "It will be like peeling a scab before the wound has time to heal."

Dr. Charles smiles. "Exactly."

Slowly, Dr. Charles gets me talking. It is draining, and at the end of our session, I'm mentally exhausted and completely wrung out. This worries me because this is just the first session. I walk out of there slightly dazed, somewhat still lost in the torment of my thoughts.

Jay, who'd been in the waiting room, stands when he sees me. His eyes search my face and I'm sure he clocks my puffy, red-rimmed eyes, runny nose, and blotchy skin. When I cry, it's not a pretty sight. I fight the urge to look away.

"Hey." He tilts his head to the side and his eyes crease sympathetically. "How'd it go?"

I take a full lung of air and let it out slowly.

"That bad, huh?" Jay sighs and reaches out a tentative hand but stops just short of touching me. "It's always rough the first few sessions," he adds.

"Yeah?"

He nods. "I'm pretty sure I walked out of my first session halfway through."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Might have used a few choice words to express my disdain, too. Not proud of it, just want you to know that it's not easy. But it does get better. That weight you feel in your gut? It'll get lighter."

"I hope so because if it doesn't, I will be nothing more than a limbic core with a few peripherals walking around."

Jay chuckles softly. "I promise it gets better."

We stand there smiling feebly for what seems like a long time, until Jay tugs my sleeve and says, "C'mon, Voight wants us to do a knock and talk."

"Possible witness?"

"Yeah."

Jay and I are not together, but our talk at the pier was a turning point. What does that mean? I'm not sure exactly. For now, it means we can work together without the elephant glaring in the room. Jay has been giving me space, and I should be contented. I should feel relief that he is giving me time to deal with what happened, but I don't. I should feel glad, but I don't. For some reason, all I feel is emptiness.

x

I continue with therapy week after week and in my case, it doesn't get easier. It gets painfully hard, actually. Some days I feel so drained that all I can do was climb into bed and pass out. Grieving is exhausting. I'm tired of crying, longing, feeling alone, feeling guilty, being angry. I'm tired of hurting and of missing my old self. I'm tired of asking why only to be left in the dark without resolution (the detective in me is still persistent in finding answers).

I'm tired of relieving the past.

I'm tired of being tired.

But as Jay promised, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel –and it is not a freight train coming at me. For instance, I can finally talk about our daughter. I no longer feel a tightness in my chest or a lump in my throat whenever the subject is brought up. I can even look back fondly at the memories I have of her moving around and nudging me under my ribs.

I remember I lived on autopilot for the entirety of the first trimester, eating for the baby's sake and doing very little else. I only wished to breathe, eat, and sleep without the raw pain that dogged me whenever I thought of Jay slipping away from us. But time marched on whether I chose to acknowledge it or not. My stomach got more rounded and I began to feel little flutters. The first time Jay felt her move was pure magic. Hope had ballooned inside of me that day because I was certain he was coming back to me – to us.

"Jay—come, quick!" I called out and heard him stumbling my way. "Jay!"

"What is it? Are you alright?" Jay entered the bedroom, looking more than a little disheveled and the smell of alcohol lingered about him. But I was thankful he was there.

"Come feel!" I motioned for him to come closer. "The baby is kicking."

"Really?" His eyes beamed as if he were suddenly wide-awake and not hungover from the night before.

"Here," I said, holding my hand out for his. He knelt beside the bed and I took his hesitant palm, guiding it over my small bump, and pressing it where I had just felt a little kick. We waited in anticipation, his eyes going from my stomach to my face, locking eyes for several long moments. Then I bit off a gasp as I felt a twinge again.

"There. Did you feel it?"

"Is that, did the—" Jay stumbled. He was speechless, and it made me laugh.

"I think the baby wants to say hello," I said.

The look of wonder in Jay's eyes nearly did me in. "Hailey…" he said, his voice quiet. "There's really a baby in there."

"Yeah," I said breathlessly. To his credit, I hadn't believed it either.

Then he leaned forward and looked at me almost asking for permission, and when I nodded, he placed his head right over the same spot. "I can't wait to meet you," he said, his soft tone filled my heart, and I wondered if I could love this man more.

"We are halfway there," I told him, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Already?"

I nodded. "Yeah, the baby will be here before you—Oh! Did you feel that?"

Jay looked up awed. "I felt it, right here," he said, and I caught a note of sadness in his voice. "I really want to be a good dad," he whispered, as if to himself.

"You will be," I assured him. "You're here, right? That's all this baby will need. One day at a time, right?"

"Right."

We sat there in silence for a while. It was like as soon as he felt the baby moving all his troubles went out the window, his face turned so peaceful in a matter of seconds.

"I love you, you know that?" Jay said, looking up at me. "More than anything."

"I love you, too, Jay."

I laid down on the bed and he moved my shirt up and kissed my stomach. He made circles all around my belly, with kisses starting from the outside until the last one reached my belly button. He moved my shirt up more so that my bra was showing, and he kissed the bare skin of my chest. I leaned up and took his shirt off. He kissed my neck, my chin, and finally my lips.

We made love like it was the last time.

And it was.

Maybe the reason I feel this emptiness is because my love for Jay hasn't changed. He was my first love, the only guy to redefined those three little words for me. He was everything to me – decent, loving, strong – and being with him made me feel at least a byproduct of all those things. His patience and warmth helped me overcome some really difficult traumas from my childhood, which I must admit appeared to be insurmountable at the time.

But is love enough this time around?

x

I feel good today; dare I say happy? I don't know why, particularly. Maybe therapy is finally working or perhaps it's because I'm partnered with Kim today. Jay and Adam are doing an undercover buy and Kim and I are in the surveillance van. It's not that I don't like being with Jay, perhaps the opposite is true. I guess it just feels nice to not have that constant pull I feel when Jay's around.

We've been mostly quiet, focused, but I can tell Kim has something on her mind.

"Out with it," I say.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Kim, I can hear you thinking."

Kim smiles, looking like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Been trying to find the right way to ask you how everything is going without seeming nosy."

I chuckle. "Things are going okay. Started seeing Dr. Charles."

"That's great, Hailey." She nods, somehow containing her excitement, but she's smiling really big. I appreciate her trying to not make this a huge deal. "I'm glad to hear it," she adds her tone even.

"Yeah, it's been good, but it's exhausting. There's a lot to unpack. I'm sure some people think I should have moved on by now, but—"

"Not Jay, though?" Kim frowns.

"No, not Jay," I say. "I've realized my anger at him and at everyone was just misplaced grief masquerading as anger. I can handle feeling angry. What I can't handle is feeling the profound gut-wrenching, inescapable grief. And that's what therapy is doing: making me process all of the grief."

"If it's any consolation, my sister felt the same way about therapy," she says and the frown on my brow has her explaining, "She was drugged and raped," she says matter-of-factly, though I can sense the suppressed anger simmering just below the surface.

"I-I'm sorry," I tell her. "That's truly awful, Kim."

"Yeah. It was a long, complicated process, but she's doing really good now."

I smile. "That's good to hear."

Kim nods and takes a lungful of hair. "Have you and Jay talked?"

"Yeah, we talked some."

"Do you think there's still something there between you two?"

I shrug. "I still love him, and I know that doesn't make any sense, but…" I exhale. "I'm just not sure that's enough."

"You're allowed to love him. You will always be sort of tethered to him by what you two went through together." She smiles kindly and adds, "I will always love Adam if that's any consolation to you."

"It's making me crazy," I confess. "It's a constant battle inside my head. I know I shouldn't jump into a relationship with him, but I almost can't help it."

"You're working through it," she says casually. "Maybe in time, you'll work it all out."

I let my head fall on my hands. "I just don't know if we can make it work without hurting each other again."

"You are different people now. That should count for something, right? Look, I know there's all this history, but take a step back. Do as you would with any other guy. Go out for drinks, talk, get to know each other again. Because then if it doesn't work, you gave it a try and you'll never wonder what if."

"Date Jay?"

"Yeah, why not? When was the last time you went on a real date?"

The last time was years ago. He was a financial consultant, who found the prospect of dating a detective a little too intimidating for his liking.

"I date," I counter.

Kim's brow lifts.

"I do," I insist. "But what's a real date anyways?"

"That's when two people agree to spend time together, both hoping to establish a lasting relationship…or score some mediocre sex."

I choke out a laugh.

"I know this is none of my business, but we've been in this van way too long and I feel like I've earned the right to can ask this…How long has it been since you've had sex? No—" she shakes her head. "Forget that. How long has it been since you even kissed a guy?"

Sex is, admittedly, a distant and foggy memory. But every detail of the kiss Jay and I shared at the pier is still seared into my brain despite all my efforts to forget about it, tempting me with the unspoken promise of so much more.

"Oh. My. God."

I blink. "What?"

"You and Jay kissed."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mentioned the word kiss and your eyes got this totally dreamy look and your cheeks are actually flushed."

My cheeks burn hotter. "It really wasn't that big a deal."

"I'll be the judge of that," Kim decides. "When? Where?"

Because I know Kim won't be deterred, I answer her question in order. "At the Navy Pier. A couple days after the bar fiasco. It was just a kiss."

"If you're still blushing over a kiss more than a few weeks ago, it wasn't just a kiss."

I let out a groan and bury my face in my hands, defeated.

"Hailey, just go on a date with the guy. A real date."

"I just… Dating Jay seems pointless."

"Hailey, you don't know Jay. You knew him five years ago. You guys need to get to know each other again."

"I guess you probably know him better than I do."

"I wouldn't go that far." She chuckles lightly. "But take my advice. If he asks you to go for a coffee or lunch, take him up on it. Get to know him before you make a decision and –"

We are interrupted by the guys exiting the warehouse. "The exchange was a success. We're in," Ruzek's voice comes over the radio.

"Copy that," Kim says, silently mouthing to me finally. "We'll pack up and meet you back at the district."

As we put the equipment away I keep thinking about what Kim said. Maybe I should get to know this new Jay. Can I fall in love with the same man twice in one lifetime? Maybe we can have a new love and perhaps, it will be enough.

x

After an exhausting evening session with Dr. Charles, I decide to call Jay over for dinner. We've kept our distance outside of work, but the doctor has encouraged me to open up a little more to Jay. I walk out of Med and fish for my phone. It rings twice before he answers.

"Hey."

"Hey, it's me," I say.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, all good." I hesitate. "I've been doing some thinking. And…" I have to rip the Band-Aid. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?"

"Sure, want me to grab food on the way?"

"No, I will pick something up. I'm on my way home anyway."

There is a pause before I hear his voice again, "How did it go tonight?"

"Better," I tell him honestly.

"Good," he says. "I'm just going to grab a quick shower and will head over."

"Sounds good. Pizza okay?"

"Yes."

"Alright. See you soon."

"See ya, Hailey."

I stop by Bartoli's and grab us a large pizza pie. Jay arrives a few minutes after me and the scent of him disperses everywhere, heady, intoxicating. Somewhere between the scent of home and comfort. It is the only way I can describe it. We sit around my kitchen island, eating and sipping beers. We talk about nothing consequential, intentionally keeping the conversation light and meaningless so that we can stay in this neutral bubble for as long as we can.

When we finish our last bite, I get up and take the plates over to the sink. Jay follows and we stand shoulder to shoulder. I wash. He dries. It is so easy to fall back into old ways with him. It's like my whole body is magnet – always pulling toward him.

Summoning up the courage to follow Dr. Charles's orders, I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and turn to him. "So, I had an ulterior motive when I asked you to dinner tonight, but I'm sure you knew that."

Jay nods his head, and an easy smile parts his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes. "I figured as much."

"I want to show you something."

Jay rubs his jaw, and his eyebrows knit together. "Oh, I love a show-and-tell."

I give him a small smile, thinking he might change his mind about that in the next few minutes.

"C'mon," I say and motion for him to follow me to my room. I go into my closet and pull a plain white box that I've tucked away from view. I walk back to the room and Jay stands there; a questioning frown still etched on his brow with a little eagerness, too.

I hand him the box. "Here."

He takes it in his hands and gives it a little shake. "What's in it?"

"Open it."

He takes a seat at the edge of my bed and slowly pulls the top off. I can hear the pounding of my heart in my ears, very loud and deep, like a hollow cry from my chest. I haven't opened this box since the day I left the hospital – five years ago.

As he sifts through the contents, the look of confusion melts away from his face, replaced by an expression of melancholy.

"Is this—"

"Yeah." I nod my head. "It's a memory box they gave me at the hospital."

He holds my gaze, hardly blinking, and I see something glaze over him, something warm and soft. He sifts through the box and pulls out a little piece of cloth, running his finger over the soft zig-zag pattern. My breath catches in my chest as the memories flood back.

"She was wrapped in it," I tell him.

"It's so small." His words come out in a soft whisper as if speaking to himself.

"Yeah." I look down at my palm, thinking how she fits in it. "She was only about nine inches long."

He looks back down inside the box and pulls out a hospital bracelet, turning the white plastic band in between his fingers. I can see that the name Halstead has faded, but it's still legible. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

I feel a burning in my eyes, and it takes me a moment to realize that I'm struggling to hold back my own tears. I clear my throat. "When they asked if she had a name, I said no, but that her last name was Halstead. So that's what they wrote," I explain. "It would've gone around her ankle, but she was too small."

Jay looks at the rest of the contents and he lets the tears flow freely now. It hurts, like a knife to my heart to see them. The kind of pain I've been avoiding feeling for years. But she was his too, so he should see all her little things.

"Why'd keep it all?" he asks.

I shrug my shoulders, avoiding answering, but realize immediately that my shrug is a sort of answer and not the right one. So, I take a deep breath and say, "There's a lot I want to forget, but she should not be one of them."

"Yeah."

"There was a purpose for her short life," I say, though I haven't quite figured it yet. I'm not a religious person, but there is something comforting in believing that everything happens for a reason. It's better than believing our lives are just a ridiculous cascade of random events.

"I guess she's the reason I'm still here," Jay says tentatively like he hasn't fully committed to the idea just yet. "The day you told me you were pregnant I was ready to drink myself into a coma." Jay meets my eyes and gives me a shrug and a half-smile. "And whenever a dark thought crossed my mind, the idea of the baby would snap me out of it."

"Losing both of you only fueled the notion that I needed to get my life back on track," he adds. "I thought that if given another chance, I would be someone deserving of your love."

A tear escapes my eyes as my heart softened by the tenderest sorrow. Maybe the purpose of her short existence was to save Jay. I think I can live with that, finally closing the case.

After a few minutes, he reverently places all the contents back inside the box except for the hospital bracelet. "Can I keep this?"

I nod. "Yeah."

Jay walks towards me, and the world comes to a halt when he pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around me. I stiffen at first, but hearing his breath, and feeling the sensation of his pounding heart, is one of the most comforting feelings I had ever known. My body instinctively relaxes into him.

"Thank you for showing the box to me," he whispers into my hair. He pulls back slightly and looks at me with a soft glint in his eyes. "I know that couldn't have been easy."

I give him a shrug. "As you said, she was yours too."

Jay nods and takes a step back as if needing to put some space between us. "To think we would have a four-year-old right now."

"Life would've definitely been different."

We exchange small smiles. When he doesn't say anything else, I try to come up with a new topic. This is hard. Because in the conversation break my brain fixates on the fact that Jay has been so patient through this whole process, and I can't think of anything else. Fortunately, he ends the silence before it gets too awkward.

"I know you're probably tired, so I think I'd better head out and let you rest."

I don't want him to leave, but I can't find the words to ask him to stay. So, I just nod. "Okay."

"Thank you for dinner."

"Yeah," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods and turns on his heels towards the door. But turns back, gives me a final wave goodbye, and carries on.

Thank you for reading. See you all again on Wednesday. Cheers, D.