"Not at first," she said, remembering how things had been in the end. How Eduardo's father had told her she had one of the finest minds he'd ever encountered. That she could achieve great things if she kept going. "But in the end ... well, before I left you and made him hate me again ... he treated me better than almost anyone else in my life. I'll always be grateful to him for his confidence in me."

"You know what you were missing growing up, Hannah, and I truly believe you'll know what needs to be given to your child."

She broke free of him, moving into a standing position.

One thing was certain, she wasn't going to be able to think clearly while he was touching her.

"I hope you're right."

"Every parent starting out is afraid of whether or not they'll be good enough. So I hear."

"What if it affects your work?"

"It won't. I'll make sure that everything is taken care of. If things slip a bit, then they slip."

"But it's not what you want."

"Of course not. It's never been what I wanted. That's why I went to such great lengths to bring you back." A stark reminder that it had been her brains he wanted, not her body. Not that that was a bad thing. Really, it was flattering. Positive even. "I'm completely certain we can put the proper systems in place to ensure that nothing bad happens with the company."

She was glad he was feeling certain about something. She was feeling ... dull. Achy. On edge. Far too close to having her past and future collide. To losing the detachment she'd made with that long-ago self.

"I remember his face," she said, not sure why she'd allowed the words to escape.

"Your child?"

She nodded. "He was a boy. They said that when he was born. And they lifted him up and I thought I could turn away quickly enough. That I wouldn't have to see him. That I could pretend it hadn't been real at all. But it was. He was." She blinked hard, trying to keep from dissolving completely. "I'll never forget his face."

"Perhaps you shouldn't."

She shook her head. "I don't want to anymore. But I did for a long time. I wished I could make it go away. Wished I didn't ... ache for him. Like something was missing from inside of me."

"Is it like that? Still?"

She swallowed. "In some ways. But ... I just ... I have to let him go, don't I? I'm not his mother. Not really. I don't even know what they named him. I never held him or kissed him. I didn't watch him take his first steps. Or see him go to school for the first time. I never put a bandage on his sc.r.a.ped knees or ... or ..." She couldn't breathe. It took her a moment to realize it was because she was sobbing. Great gasps of air that came from deep inside of her and made her feel like she was breaking in two.

She sat down, on her knees in the sand, moisture seeping through the thick denim fabric of her pants. Her throat was burning, raw and painful, like she'd been screaming. But she hadn't been. She'd never allowed herself to let go so much. This was the first time she'd truly cried in years, not just tears, but with every piece of herself. This was the first time she'd cried for her son.

The first time she'd let herself fully realize what she'd lost.

Dimly she was aware of Eduardo hovering near her. He knelt down beside her, not touching her, and she was glad. Because if he did she would melt into him completely.

Finally, the storm pa.s.sed, almost as quickly as it had hit. She shifted so that she was sitting on her backside, knees drawn up to her chest.

"I never told him I loved him," she said.

"He was a baby, Hannah," Eduardo said, his voice rusty.

"I know but ... I don't even think I really let myself feel it." She looked up at him. "I did, though. I do."

"I know," he said.

Eduardo felt like his heart was going to hammer out of his chest. Fear. It was pure fear that had him shaking and on edge. He didn't know what to do with such raw emotion, didn't feel like he had the strength to handle it. What Hannah had been through ... it was beyond him. What she had lost ... it was so much greater than anything he had lost.

And yet, she knew, and he did, too, that she'd had very little choice.

He moved closer to her, unsure if he should touch her, take her in his arms, or not.

"Hannah, look at all you've accomplished in your life. You made the right choice. For both of you. So you could both live better."

"I know," she said, her voice firm. "I do know. But ... just because a choice is right doesn't mean it won't hurt like h.e.l.l."

"No, that is true."

"It hurts so much to love like this," she said softly. "To love a child. You're never the same again."

Another pang of fear hit him hard. "That's okay."

"You really think so?"

"I have to. No matter what, we've made a baby." She winced. "Sorry, cheesy choice of wording perhaps, but no matter what ... there will ... most likely be a baby. And we either face giving him up or keeping him. I think ... I think we should keep him." The idea terrified him in many ways, but not more than feeling the sort of grief that came from Hannah in palpable waves.

Hannah wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold. "I ... I think ..."

"We'll do this, Hannah. Together. I'll be with you."

Her pale blue eyes, looking brighter thanks to the red rims they'd acquired during her crying jag, locked with his. "I trust you."

And he knew that that was probably the deepest compliment he had ever received. From Hannah or anyone.

He tried to block out the weight of it. The responsibility he might not be able to live up to. He winced against the pain in his head.

He would do it. He didn't have a choice.

Eduardo lifted his head from the floor. How was it possible for the medicine cabinet to be so far away? After the beach, his headache had steadily gotten worse until every fragment of light, every sound had become excruciating.

And he'd put off going for his medication. Put off acknowledging it because he didn't want Hannah to know.

His vision blurred and another stab of pain went through his head, through his body. Nausea rolled through him and he laid his head back down against the hard tile. He prayed that somehow the cold would work like an ice pack. That it would provide some relief. Enough that he could stand up and get his pills at least.

A fresh wave of pain hit him and he groaned, curling up, trying to shield himself from further attacks. It was impossible. He knew it, but it didn't stop him from trying.

If he could just stand up.

"Eduardo?"

Hannah's voice cut through the door. Cut through his skull. He wanted to tell her to go away, but just imagining the pain that would cause brought the acidic taste of bile to the back of his throat.

"Eduardo?" She was closer now, her voice sharper.

He growled against the floor, planting his hand in front of him, trying to push himself up. He was rewarded with another knife through his skull, so strong it put black spots in his vision.

"Go away, Hannah," he said. A rough sound escaped his lips as another shot of pain cracked through him. It hit him like a wall, the force of it enough to black out his sight entirely. He couldn't see anything. Couldn't move. Couldn't have found his way to the medicine cabinet now even if standing were a possibility.

"Are you okay? You're scaring me."

He pressed his forehead back down on the tile. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the agony he was about to put himself in. But she couldn't see him. Not like this. On the floor, immobilized, sweating, shaking. Blind.

No. She couldn't see this.

"Go away, Hannah!" he roared, the shock of his own voice lancing him with intense physical torment that started at his head and worked through the rest of him. His face, his cheeks, were wet. From sweat or from unforgivable weakness, he didn't know.

"Eduardo, I am about to open the door. Sorry, but I am. You're freaking me out now."

She pushed the door open and he stretched his hand out, trying to stop it, but he was too weak to lift his arm. He was too weak in every way.

"Oh ... are you ... are you okay?" Hannah was down beside him, her voice too close, her hand on his face.

He shook his head, trying to find it in him to speak again. She was here. And he needed his pills. "Medicine cabinet," he said.

He heard her stand, the noises she made while rummaging through the medicine cabinet drumming in his head. He heard the water running and Hannah was kneeling beside him again.

Hannah looked down at Eduardo, panic racing through her. He'd mentioned migraines and she hoped that was all this was. Though ... there was nothing minor about it, even if the symptoms weren't fatal.

She shifted so that she was sitting on her bottom behind Eduardo's head. Then she gripped him beneath his arms and tugged him up so that his head was resting on her thigh. His face was damp, with sweat and tears and her heart burned for him. His eyes were unfocused, open and staring.

She hated that she was seeing it. Not for her, but for him. Because she knew that this was flaying his pride, killing a part of him that was so essential to him.

She picked up the cup of water she'd set on the floor and tried to angle his head. She opened her hand and he opened his mouth as she put the pills on his tongue. She put the water gla.s.s to his lips and tilted it slowly. He swallowed the pills and his eyes fluttered closed, his head falling back to her lap.

She set the gla.s.s down and leaned back against the tub, her hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her hands. Every so often his muscles would tense, his face contorting, and her heart would burn.

The tile started to feel really hard, and the tub wasn't any better against her back, but she kept sitting there. Kept holding him.

There was nothing, not a sore b.u.t.t or aching back, that was going to move her. Because Eduardo was hers. She tightened her hold on him and took a sharp, halting breath. She didn't know what that meant, she only knew that he was. That of all the people in the world, he was the only person who seemed to understand her. The only person who seemed to want to try.

Eduardo mattered. Her heart started beating faster as the realization worked its way through her. He mattered more than work. More than her personal success or her image. He mattered.

The beautiful, broken man in her arms was worth caring about. And she could. She did. No, he wasn't slick, urbane Eduardo from five years ago, but she didn't need him to be. That man hadn't called to her. That man hadn't reached her heart.

She moved her hand to his forehead and smoothed the lines there, trying to rub out his concerns. Trying to ease his pain.

Her heart tightened.

Maybe she could do it. Maybe they could do it.

One thing she knew for certain, as she sat there with her body aching, Eduardo in her arms, was that some people were worth caring for, worth working for. Eduardo was worth it. Their baby was worth it.

A sharp sense of longing, of tenderness, hit in her in the chest. She closed her eyes, letting a tear fall down her cheek. She lowered her head and rested her forehead on his.

She didn't know anything about marriage. Or about children. Or being a mother. But he made her want to try.

"Hannah?" When Eduardo woke up, it was dark. At least he hoped it was dark. His vision had gone before during migraines, but it never lasted long. He hoped it never did.

The fact that Hannah had seen him at his weakest ... it galled him. And yet, he had needed her. That didn't make it feel any better.

"I'm right here," she said. She sounded tired, like she'd been sleeping.

It took him a moment to realize that he was in bed, and that she was sitting a few feet away.

"How did you manage to get me into bed?"

"Ah, gee, Eduardo, I've gotten you into bed a couple of times. I can't say it was all that hard."

"Hannah," he said, moving into a sitting position, every muscle in his body screaming at him, "I'm serious." His eyes started to adjust to the dim room, and he could see her, in his chair, her legs tucked up under her.

"Truthfully? You walked with me ... you were just really out of it. And anyway, it's not that far."

"I don't want you to have to deal with things like this ... ?."

"How often does this happen?" she asked.

"Migraines? Once every week or so. Migraines like that? It's been months since I've had to deal with anything on that level. They've gotten further apart but ..."

"All this stress."

He shook his head. "Not necessarily."

"I've been thinking."

"You never stop thinking, querida."

"Granted. But I've been thinking specifically about our baby. And about our future."

He swallowed. "What about it?"

"We're already married."

"A fact we're both well aware of as it caused you grief a few weeks ago."

She nodded curtly. "Yes, but now I'm thinking it's advantageous."

"How do you mean?"

"We're having a baby."

"So many things manage to slip my mind, Hannah, and yet that one has not."

She laughed, a small, nervous sound. He wasn't used to Hannah sounding nervous. "I know ... I-Do you want to talk later? I mean ... that was a bad ... It was bad. If you don't feel up to talking, I understand."