Divorcing my dead sister’s husband のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 51 - チャプター 60

"Maya, stop trying to eat the sand," I said, gently pulling her hand away from her mouth for the third time in five minutes."She's like a little vacuum cleaner," Thomas laughed, settling down next to me on the beach blanket. "Everything goes straight into her mouth.""Including sand, seaweed, and this shell." I rescued a small conch shell from her grasp just as it was heading for her lips."At least she's not crying anymore," Sam said, jogging back from the water's edge with his bucket full of shells. "Remember when we first got here and she screamed for like ten minutes?""She'd never seen the ocean before," Thomas said. "Can you imagine? All that noise and movement and salt smell. It must have been overwhelming."Maya, now eleven months old and crawling everywhere, seemed to have adjusted to beach life just fine. She was currently attempting to grab a seagull that was pecking at sandwich crumbs a few feet away."No, baby," I said, scooting over to redirect her attention. "That bird

"Maya Reid?" The nurse called from the doorway, smiling at Maya, who was charming everyone in the waiting room by clapping and babbling at the fish tank."That's us," I said, gathering Maya's diaper bag and the folder of questions I'd prepared. Thomas had insisted I limit myself to one page, but somehow it had grown to three.Dr. Eve James's office was different from what I'd expected. Instead of sterile medical equipment everywhere, it looked like a playroom with medical degrees on the walls. Maya immediately spotted a basket of toys and started reaching for them."She can play with those," Dr. James said, settling behind her desk. "I find it's easier to talk when little hands are busy.""Thank you for seeing us so quickly," Thomas said."Of course. I've reviewed Maya's test results and her medical history. I must say, for a fifteen-month-old with CF, she looks remarkably healthy.""She does?""Absolutely. Her weight is perfect, her lung sounds are clear, and from what I can see, she

"Did you see that?" I whispered to Thomas, not wanting to break the spell.Maya was standing in the middle of the living room, swaying slightly but upright, her chubby hands reaching toward the coffee table. She'd been cruising along furniture for weeks, but this was different. This was standing on its own."Maya, come to Dada," Thomas said softly, kneeling with his arms outstretched about three feet away.She looked at him, then at me, then back at him. Her face scrunched up in concentration."You can do it, baby girl," I said.One wobbly step. Then another. Then she was falling forward into Thomas's arms, squealing with delight."She did it!" Sam shouted from the kitchen. "Maya walked!""Barely," Thomas said, but he was grinning as he scooped her up. "But yes, she walked.""Walk!" Maya said clearly. "Walk, walk, walk!""That's right, you walked," I said, my voice catching. "You're such a big girl."It was one of those perfect moments that made me forget about everything else. Maya

"We need to talk," Thomas said, walking into the kitchen with his phone in his hand and a strange expression on his face.I looked up from where I was helping Maya with her morning enzymes. "About what?""We won.""Won what?""The Morrison Agency Award for Creative Excellence."I stared at him. "We what?""We won. They called an hour ago.""That's not possible. We only submitted our portfolio because Janet insisted.""Our work on the Henderson campaign caught their attention. And the community outreach project for the children's hospital.""Those were last-minute projects.""Those were good projects."Maya looked back and forth between us. "Mama? Dada? Happy?""Yes, baby girl," I said, still processing. "We're happy.""Very happy," Thomas added."The ceremony is next Friday night," Thomas continued. "Black tie event at the Grand Hotel downtown.""Next Friday? That's Maya's chest percussion therapy night.""We can do her therapy earlier. Or ask my mom to help.""I don't know if we shou

The letter arrived on a Tuesday. I recognized the return address from the prison immediately, my stomach dropping as I held the envelope. "What is it?" Thomas asked, looking up from his coffee. "Prison mail." "About what?" I tore open the envelope with shaking hands. The letterhead was official, the language formal and cold. "Alex is dead." Thomas set down his coffee cup. "What?" "He died three days ago. Heart attack in his cell." Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway, still in his pajamas. "Who died?" I looked at Thomas, then back at Sam. "Your father." Sam's face went completely blank. "My father?" "Alex. He had a heart attack in prison." "Oh." Sam sat down heavily at the kitchen table. "How do you feel about that?" The question caught me off guard. "I don't know yet. How do you feel?" "I don't know either." Thomas moved to stand behind Sam's chair. "There's no right way to feel about this." "I know I should feel something," Sam said. "But I just feel... empty." "Empt