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know you’ve been here, but I’ve missed you. Not just sex. I’ve missed you.”
    “I missed you too.” I kissed Zach hard and felt that familiar, but almost-forgotten wave cresting up in me. “Are you close?” I whispered.
    “You go first. God knows you deserve it. And, I better pull out before I do anyway. Not quite ready for another baby.”
    “No, not at all,” I gasped. Zach cupped my backside and pulled me even closer.
    “Let it go,” he whispered into my hair. “Just let it go.”
    I did and felt the release of months of emotional frustration and exhaustion, even more so than the physical release. Something just broke open inside of me and flooded me with light, erasing my doubt and fears. “I love you,” I breathed and kissed Zach tenderly.
    After that night, whenever Zach worked late he called and then walked in the door when he said he would. We didn’t mention the smelling thing again, though I checked his pockets periodically. Did that make me a bad person? I never really thought he’d have an affair, but a few months later we were watching Henry rock on his knees, squealing in delight, getting ready to crawl, when I asked, “What did you do the night I smelled you?”
    “So, you admit it. You did smell me.”
    “Fine, I admit it. What did you do? I know you weren’t working.”
    Zach leaned in close to me. “Honestly? I went to the marina and walked and walked, then I sat on that same bench that we sat on before Henry was born and thought about our lives being turned upside down or right side up and which one it was.”
    “Well, which was it?”
    “I think,” he paused. “It was right side up. Then I realized that I was pretty damn lucky and I better get home to my wonderful wife. Those first months had to be all about Henry. He needed you more.”
    “You thought that, even though we weren’t having sex? Even though you felt like I was your roommate?”
    “Yeah, I did. You know, when I got home that night I saw the nightgown I bought you tossed on the pillow and your diaphragm on the night table. I couldn’t believe that you were waiting for me and I screwed up. I felt terrible, but I also knew then we would be okay. And, I started planning for that night I took you to the Four Seasons.”
    “That was a good night,” I sighed.
    The sun streamed in the window, skipping off Henry’s hair, turning it copper. Outside, buds were appearing on the bare branches. “Rock-a, rock-a Henry,” I sang as he rocked back and forth on his knees, giggling.
    “How does he have so much energy if he doesn’t sleep at night?” I asked Zach. “I swear he’s nocturnal, just like Hamlet. Maybe our child is part hamster.” The night before, I found Henry sitting up, shaking the bars of his crib at 2:00 a.m. I was too tired to rock him back to sleep, so I carried him to our bed.
    As Henry and I curled together under the blanket, my arms around him, the exhaustion and frustration of being wakened every night hit me and I started to cry. Henry took his pacifier out of his mouth and gave me a kiss, then rested his face against mine for a moment and fell into a soundless sleep. I watched him, his chest rising and falling under his teddy bear print sleeper, his face illuminated by the golden glow of the streetlight outside our window. I breathed in his baby smell, my nose under his chin. The moment was ephemeral. It was gone in the blink of an eye, but my tears had dried.
    “I think you’re right.” I opened the window to let in some fresh air. “We’ll be okay.”

A word about the author...
    An award-winning writer and blogger, Stephanie Kepke writes women’s fiction with romance, humor, and heart. She resides in New York on Long Island with her husband, three sons, and two rescue dogs. You can visit Stephanie’s website at:
    www.stephaniekepke.com

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