Fated by Moon and Sea

Chapter Four: Legacy of Love

Isaiah's POV:

The ride home from the hospital is eerily quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic breathing of the twins strapped in their car seats. It should be a moment of joy—bringing our newborns home for the first time and settling into our new life as parents. Instead, it feels like we're driving through a fog of grief so thick it's choking us.

Josiah is behind the wheel, his grip tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. Neither of us has spoken much since we left. What the f**k is there to say? We should be driving home with Alicia in the back seat, cooing over our babies, exhausted but happy. Not like this. Not with this gaping f*****g hole in our lives.

I glance back at them—Alexander, fast asleep, his little fists curled tight, looking like he's ready to throw punches in his dreams. Elara, the quieter of the two, is wide awake, her dark eyes staring at me like she already knows too much. Too much pain. Too much loss. My heart clenches.

The second we pull into the driveway, the weight of everything slams into me once again. This is the house Alicia and I dreamed of raising our kids in, the nursery we spent months putting together. Now, she'll never see them in it, tuck them in, sing to them, or see their first steps.

Josiah kills the engine, but neither of us moves right away. We just sit there, both of us staring straight ahead. We won't have to face what's waiting inside if we don't move. But the kids don't give a s**t about grief. They're here, they're ours, and they need us.

With a deep breath, I push open my door. "Let's get them inside."

Josiah nods, but he looks just as wrecked as I feel.

We each take one. I unbuckle Elara and lift her carefully, cradling her against my chest. Josiah does the same with Alexander. The moment we step inside, the silence of the house feels suffocating. It's like Alicia's absence is screaming at us from every corner.

"Welcome home, little ones," I murmur, even though my voice feels hollow.

The nursery is just how we left it—soft pastels, warm lighting, everything carefully picked out by Alicia. There's a rocking chair in the corner, the one she swore would be her favourite spot. Now, she'll never sit in it. My throat tightens as I lower Elara into her crib, brushing a hand over her tiny forehead.

"She would have loved this," Josiah says quietly, standing beside Alexander's crib. His voice is rough, strained.

"Yeah," I whisper, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "She would have."

For a long moment, we just stand there, staring at them, listening to their soft breaths, their tiny sounds. This should be a moment of celebration. Instead, it feels like we're barely holding on.

Josiah's POV:

Later that night, I find myself in the office, drowning in paperwork. Funeral arrangements. Legal bullshit. Things Alicia should have been here to help with. I don't know how the f**k I'm supposed to do this without her.

Alexander is in the cradle next to me, fast asleep. I don't know why I brought him here, but leaving him alone in the nursery felt wrong. Maybe I needed to keep him close, or maybe I just needed some part of Alicia near me.

A knock on the door, then Isaiah walks in, carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. His face is the same as mine—exhausted, broken, but forcing himself to function.

"Thought we could use a drink," he mutters, setting the glasses down.

I don't argue. He pours, and we clink them together in silence.

"To Alicia."

"To Alicia."

The whiskey burns, but it doesn't do s**t to dull the ache in my chest.

Isaiah stares at the glass for a moment before setting it down, rubbing a hand over his face. "Tomorrow's gonna be brutal."

I nod. "Yeah."

We don't need to say more. Tomorrow, we say goodbye to the love of our lives. We bury her. Return her to the goddess that brutally snatched away the love of my life from me.

Isaiah leans back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I keep thinking about what she'd say if she were here."

A dry, bitter chuckle escapes me. "She'd tell us to stop being dramatic and 'get our s**t together.'"

Isaiah snorts. "Yeah, she would."

The silence that follows is a little less heavy, a little more like her.

"She'd want us to be strong for the twins," I say after a while. "To make sure they know how f*****g incredible she was."

Isaiah nods, his jaw tightening. "We will. They'll never forget her."

Another vow. Another promise.

We sat there for a long time, and neither was ready to move. Eventually, Isaiah stands and claps a hand on my shoulder. "We should try to get some sleep."

I nod, but I don't move right away. Instead, I pick up Alexander, holding him close as I make my way back to the nursery. His tiny body is warm against my chest, his little breaths steady and soft.

He stirs when I lay him down in his crib, letting out a small whimper before settling. I stand there, gripping the crib's edge and staring down at him. I should be happy. I should be over the f*****g moon that my son is here, safe, alive. But all I feel is this gnawing ache, this suffocating grief that refuses to let go.

Alicia should be here.

She should be standing next to me, reaching into the crib to stroke his cheek, whispering about how beautiful he is. She should be exhausted but glowing, watching over them like she's waited her whole damn life for this moment.

Instead, it's just me. Just us.

And she's f*****g gone.

My throat tightens as I lean down, kissing Alexander's forehead. My voice is barely a whisper when I speak.

"Goodnight, buddy. Your mom would have loved you so much."

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before stepping back, forcing myself to move. Tomorrow is going to be the hardest day of our lives. But we'll get through it. For Alicia. For the twins. For the family, she left behind.

As I close the nursery door behind me, its weight all crashes down, knocking the air from my lungs.

Fuck.

Goodnight, Alicia.

I don't know how the hell we're supposed to do this without you.