And Dakota was here, falling apart in a bathroom, mourning a daughter who'd never taken a breath and wondering why she couldn't just let go of the grief that defined her.
Three years. Her baby would have been three years old.
Would have been wild and perfect and alive.
Would have been everything Takoda was, and everything Dakota had lost.
The tears came silently, streaming down her face as she gripped the sink and tried to remember how to breathe through the crushing weight of it all.
When Kade returned with soft clothes, he found her like that, crying soundlessly, her whole body shaking with suppressed sobs.
He didn't ask questions. Just dressed her with the same gentle care he'd shown while bathing her, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
"Sleep," he said quietly, tucking her under the covers. "Everything else can wait."
Dakota closed her eyes, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
