My breath came in short, fast gasps as I pressed my hand desperately to my stomach, seeking a connection. But I felt like I was grasping at air, my fingers searching for any touch, any tie, finding nothing.
"Ella," Sinclair murmured, tightening his hands against my back. "Calm down—the doctors say he's okay, that he's still with us—"
"Still with us?" I growled, my teeth clenched as I tried to manifest that connection, to make it appear despite its stubborn refusal. "How can he still be with us if I can't feel him?"
Sinclair shushed me softly, a gentle sound that, despite my desperation, made me open my eyes and look at him. My fear then overwhelmed my anger and frustration. "Dominic," I asked, my voice trembling, "what does it mean? The doctors say he has a heartbeat, but we can't feel him?"
"I don't know, Ella," he responded, his voice low with worry and despair. "But we're going to figure it out, okay? Together?" He furrowed his brow, worried, and nodded, pleading with me to understand. "Please, just calm down. We'll think it through."
I nodded quickly, forcing my body to relax. Sinclair moved beneath me, folding his legs instead of kneeling, pulling me into his lap and cradling me against his chest. I rested my head against him, taking slow, deep breaths, letting his warm scent ground me.
God, how long had I been gone? I had memories. Memories of being here, of dancing, of being in the clouds and trees...of flickering in and out of this place. Pushing my mind further, I remembered, suddenly, the last place I was: on the steps with Cora, handing her the gift...watching her use it...
I cringed at the memory—the feeling of drowning in my mother's power, of it all draining from me as I handed it to Cora, taking my life with it. I looked up into Dominic's face and found him there, ready, peacefully breathing. Waiting.
"Cora?" I asked quietly.
He nodded, smiling slightly. "She's totally fine. The world is fine. But...don't worry about that now, my darling. Just worry about you."
"And Rafe," I murmured, tucking my head against him and closing my eyes. My attention turned to my little boy, and my heart broke. God, I wanted him so badly—had wanted him for years. And in these past few months of happiness with Sinclair, I'd let myself imagine a beautiful future. I imagined him covered in pasta sauce the first time he tried spaghetti, his first steps, him playing baseball with his friends...
But now...the idea of losing him, of losing that beautiful future—it was unbearable. I physically cringed at the thought, curling further into Sinclair's arms as he tightened his hold, letting me feel the pain but also letting me know he was there to help me bear it.
How horrible, the idea that it could all be a dream...
My eyes snapped open. I sat up straighter in Sinclair's arms.
"What?" he asked, curious, a little frightened.
"A dream," I murmured, my mind racing as I looked around. "We're in a dream."
"Well, yeah," Sinclair said, as if it were obvious. But he didn't get it yet.
"And here," I continued, ignoring his interruption, "we can make anything happen that we want. Yes?" Sinclair studied my face and said nothing, letting me continue. "And you're here," I insisted, growing excited, "because I invited you. Because I wanted you here."
"Yes?" Sinclair confirmed slowly, still not understanding.
"So?" I said, smiling, excited. "What if we invite the baby here too? Make him real so we can hold him, tell him how much we want him? You brought me back—you kissed me—can't we do it with him?" I lost my train of thought slightly, but I didn't care; I was too excited. This was going to work—
I started to push myself from Sinclair's lap, ready to stand, to head into the forest, to find my son, but Sinclair quickly pulled me back.
"Ella," he hesitated, "I don't know if it will work—"
"What?" I asked, spinning to face him and frowning. "Why not?"
He shrugged and blinked. "I've just...I've never heard of it happening before. I'm able to come into your dreams because I'm your mate—I've never heard of a mother sharing her dream with her child, even while pregnant."
I scoffed, rolling my eyes slightly. "Well, just because you haven't heard of it doesn't make it impossible—"
He laughed, and I smiled back. This, I thought, this is what we were fighting for—the bond between us, the push and pull, the fact that we were sitting in a dream, amidst a tragedy, and I was still rolling my eyes at him and making him laugh.
Sinclair nodded, his eyes fixed on mine, and I knew he understood. That this thing between us? It was worth trying anything for, so we could share it with our child.
"All right," he said, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth. "Lead the way, trouble. You're in charge now."
I nodded and pushed myself from his lap to my feet, dusting off my skirts and looking around the forest. He rose beside me, his presence as steady and reassuring in this dream state as in real life. I brushed my hair behind my ear and looked around, wondering where to begin.
"Um," I hesitated, looking up at him. "When I was gone, up in the clouds—what did you do to get me back?"
"I called for you," he replied, smirking. "And, characteristically, you ignored me. Until I hollered at you to come back."
I scrunched my face in distaste. "Well, I'm not going to yell at my child the first time I meet him," I murmured, turning away and scanning the woods. "But the calling...it's not a bad place to start."
Then, feeling a little foolish but believing in it anyway, I raised my hands to my mouth. "Rafe!" I called, my voice echoing louder than I expected. "Rafe, where are you, baby? Mama wants to see you!"
We both waited, holding our breath, but nothing. The forest even grew quiet, as if to help us hear. But still, no sound.
"You try," I murmured, nudging Sinclair. "You're louder than me."
"I'm louder than everyone," he replied, raising his hands to his mouth, and then he, too, shouted into the forest. "Rafe! Come on, son!" I listened to the sound reverberating in the trees and held my breath, hoping so hard...
Still, nothing. "Keep going," I whispered to Sinclair, glancing up at him and closing my eyes. Sinclair complied, calling sweetly to our boy, telling him we were looking for him, that we wanted him, that we couldn't wait to meet him. And as he did, I willed him to be real, I demanded the dream make space for him, I cried out for him with every piece of my heart.
And just when I felt I couldn't bear it anymore, I felt...the tiniest tug.
And a baby's cry sounded out in the forest.