the sitter | lewandowski

thirty two

32; the morning
a/n: this chapter is more of a resolution chapter, so nothing really happens—just in case you expected something grandiose. Also I know I said it chapters ago but this time I mean it, the book is ending soon ;(

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"Who else is going to put up with me this way? I need you, I breathe you; I'd never leave you."

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Saoirse claimed it was a miracle, but Robert knew much better. Somewhere in between her desire to be the mother she always longed to have and her desire to grasp onto the relationship she held with Robert, she'd survived; almost just like that.

Of course, upon arriving back home, Saoirse had to take everything slow. If her blood sugar rose even the slightest bit at any time within a week after returning, then Robert was instructed to return Saoirse to the hospital immediately—she was still vulnerable.

What had to have astonished Robert the most, however, was the way Saoirse behaved. The moment she returned home, it was like she'd never left—she scolded her Polish boyfriend for having allowed the house to get so untidy, and then went to unpack her things and return them to their bedroom.

Sometimes, on mornings in which the baby had prevented her from getting any real sleep, she woke up before Robert's alarm. It was still very early, and finally, Stella was asleep—everything was quiet and the light was very dim, and Robert was still enjoying his last precious moments of sleep.

Saoirse rose up on her elbow. She watched him breathe, watched his eyelids flutter as he dreamt, and found herself unable to resist pressing little kisses to his shoulder and his cheek and his arm, tracing the length of his spine with her fingertips.

When Robert woke up and found Saoirse already awake, he gave her a sleepy smile and pulled her close, whispering. "You make it harder for me to get out of bed," He mumbled.

Saoirse smiled. Normally, she would just giggle and push on his shoulder and tell him to stop being so lousy, but this morning was different as she walked her fingers carefully down his sculpted stomach, tracing the line that lead into his low slung boxers. "I can make it a little harder for you, if that's what you want."

Robert smirked. "Yeah?"

Saoirse shook her head. "No. I don't want to hear you complaining about how you were late for a million meetings when you get back home today."

"I don't wanna go," Robert whined, his voice muffled and petulant like a kid's. Behind the childishness, though, was a genuine resistance, a part of him that didn't want to leave the house, the room, and the bed with Saoirse in order to go back to being the Robert Lewandowski that he had to force himself to be at the office.

Some mornings it was hard for him to put on the mask and face the whole, terrifying world with it, and Saoirse's heart ached for him. She always wished that she could shield him from everything, but sometimes all she could try to do was be there for him, a calm and stable presence in his life—another reason as to why she'd fought so perilously for her own.

Saoirse ran her fingers through his sleep flattened hair, massaged his scalp lightly, and gave him a soft kiss to the temple. Relaxed, Robert's fingers searched for hers. He squeezed them when he found them, then brought them to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

"I love you." His words are spoken right against her skin and breathed right onto her hand where he rubbed his thumb over the finger that, had she been older, may be adorned with a ring, and Saoirse's mouth stretched into a fond smile.