“I think we spoke about some of these.” She rubs her mouth. “On this list, Rhys is number two, between Dylan and Morgan.” She smiles at me. “Maybe a sign? It fits, the way your life is wrapped around him.”
“Rhys? Hang on.” I take the phone back and type on the screen. “I want to know what it means.”
“And?”
“Ardour.”
“I like that.” She strokes our son’s forehead. “Something your dad is always full of and I imagine you’ll be the same.”
The pair look at each other, Sky’s face soft with the love that I know she feels. She kisses his forehead. “What do you think? Do you like Rhys?” she asks him.
“I do.” I’m unable to say more, to explain how this moment means more to me than the day I first held him.
“And when you say the name, I hear your Welsh accent.” Sky touches my face. “I think it’s perfect.”
“And I want this to be perfect,” I say. “I’ll do anything I can to make that happen.”
She places her lips on Rhys’s head again, then inhales shakily. “I’m going to make up for the last few weeks.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders holding them both close. “You have the rest of his life to love him.”
“I’m scared. Scared I won’t be enough. That I can’t do this.”
“You’re not alone, Sky. You’ll never be alone. I told you that so long ago. We’ll fight this together and win. We always fight, and we always win.”