The quiet days had turned into quiet weeks.
The snow no longer fell; it simply stayed, a thick white roof over the world. The radio had gone silent days ago (batteries dead, no one left to broadcast anyway). It didn't matter. They had everything they needed in one room: fire, food, blankets, and each other.
But some nights the weight of what they had done (what they still did, every day, every night) pressed down on Caleb like an invisible hand.
He woke long after midnight, heart racing, the echo of a dream he couldn't quite remember clinging to him. Elena was asleep on her side, one arm tucked under her breast, the other resting over the faint new roundness of her belly. Moonlight through the frosted window painted silver across her skin and the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
Caleb slipped from the mattress as quietly as he could. He padded barefoot to the darkened hallway, then to his old bedroom (empty now, cold, the bed perfectly made since the day they dragged his mattress to the living room). He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, and let the tears come.
They were not loud. Just silent, helpless rivers down his cheeks while he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.
I'm in love with my own mother.
I put a baby in her.
I never want to leave this house.
What kind of person does that make me?
Minutes or hours later (he couldn't tell), he felt her before he heard her. Bare feet on the cold wood, the soft rustle of the quilt she had wrapped around her shoulders. Elena knelt in front of him, cupped his wet face in warm hands, and tilted it up to the moonlight.
"My sweet boy," she whispered, voice thick with sleep and heartache. "Why are you hiding from Mommy?"
The childhood name broke him completely. A raw sob tore out of his chest. He folded forward, forehead against her bare knees, arms wrapping around her hips.
"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so sorry, I love you so much it hurts and I'm scared—"
"Shh." She sank down into his lap, quilt and all, cradling his head to her breast the way she had the very first night. "Nothing to be sorry for. Never with me."
He clung harder, face buried between her breasts, breathing her in like air after drowning. Milk had already begun to bead at both nipples; the front of her nightgown was damp. She pulled it off without ceremony and guided his mouth to her.
"Drink, baby," she murmured. "Let Mommy make it better."
Caleb latched on with a broken sound, nursing hard, desperately, hips jerking against her thigh without permission. Elena rocked him, one hand stroking his hair, the other sliding down to free him from his sleep pants. He was aching, leaking, but she didn't rush. She simply held him to her breast and stroked him in long, soothing pulls until the tears slowed.
When he was calm enough to breathe again, she shifted, lifted the quilt, and guided him inside her in one slow, practiced motion. The relief was so sharp he cried out against her skin.
"There we go," she soothed, settling fully onto him, taking every inch. "Back where you belong. My perfect boy."
She didn't ride him hard. She barely moved at all (just tiny circles, gentle squeezes, keeping him deep while he nursed and trembled and let the guilt pour out with the last of his tears).
"I was so afraid you'd wake up one day and hate me," he whispered against her wet nipple. "Or hate yourself."
Elena pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. Moonlight caught the tears on her own cheeks.
"Listen to me, Caleb," she said fiercely, softly. "You are the best thing I ever made. This love (what we have right now, right here) is the purest thing I've ever felt. I don't regret a single second. I never will."
She kissed him then (slow, open-mouthed, tasting milk and salt and forgiveness).
"I'm keeping you," she whispered against his lips. "I'm keeping this baby. I'm keeping every morning you wake up inside me. Forever. Do you hear me?"
He nodded, unable to speak.
"Say it back," she breathed, hips rolling just enough to make him shudder.
"I'm yours," he managed. "Forever, Mommy. Only yours."
The words unraveled the last knot inside him. He came with a low, reverent cry, pulsing deep, arms crushing her close while she held him through every wave, kissing his temple, his eyelids, his tears.
When it passed, she wrapped the quilt around them both, still joined, and carried him (somehow, with strength that came only from love) back to their mattress by the fire.
They curled together under every blanket they owned, Caleb's cheek on her breast, her fingers stroking his hair.
"Sleep, my darling," she whispered. "Mommy's got you. The world can stay lost. We found everything we need right here."
Outside, the moon slowly set behind mountains of snow.
Inside, mother and son slept tangled and connected, the faint swell of their future resting safely between them, and not a single shadow left to chase them.
Morning came in pale, watery light.
The fire had burned low again, but their bodies made their own heat. Caleb woke first this time, still spooned behind his mother, still inside her (soft now, but home). He lay listening to her slow breathing and felt the tiny, instinctive flutter deep in her womb (so new, so fragile, yet already answering him).
He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades and whispered, "Mommy."
Elena stirred, smiled without opening her eyes, and pushed back against him in sleepy welcome.
"Morning, my sweet boy," she murmured, voice husky. "Did you sleep?"
"Like I was wrapped in you," he said, and felt her inner walls flutter around him in answer.
She rolled slowly until they faced each other, legs tangled, bellies pressed close. Caleb stayed inside her the whole time (neither of them willing to lose even an inch of connection anymore). When they were nose to nose, she cupped his cheek and studied him with soft, serious eyes.
"Tell me again," she said quietly.
He knew exactly what she meant.
Caleb took a shaky breath, looked straight into the blue eyes that had watched him take his first steps, say his first word, cry his first heartbreak, and now held him while he loved her in ways no one else would ever understand.
"I love you," he said, clear and steady. "Not just as my mom. I'm in love with you, Elena. I want to be your man for the rest of my life. I want to wake up every single day inside you. I want to raise our babies right here, in this bed, in your arms. I'm never leaving. Never."
A tear slipped down her cheek, but her smile was radiant.
"There's my brave boy," she whispered. "Say it once more, so I can keep it in my heart forever."
"I love you," he repeated, voice cracking with the size of it. "I'm in love with my own mother, and I've never been happier or more sure of anything."
Elena pulled him into a slow, deep kiss (no hurry, no shame, only gratitude). When they parted, she guided his mouth to her breast. Milk flowed the instant his lips closed around her nipple, thicker now, richer, meant for him and for the life they had made.
While he drank, she began to move (small, gentle rocks that stirred him to hardness without ever separating them). Caleb's hands found her hips, helping, following, learning the rhythm that belonged only to them.
They made love face-to-face, eyes locked, foreheads touching, breathing the same air.
Every time he slid home she whispered, "That's it, baby… come home."
Every time she took him to the hilt he answered, "I'm home, Mommy. I'm home."
There was no rush, no peak they chased (only the long, rolling pleasure of being joined completely). When the climax finally came, it came together (quiet, shattering, perfect). Caleb spilled inside her with her name on his lips; Elena held him through it, kissing his tears, milking every pulse with soft squeezes until he was empty and full at the same time.
Afterward they stayed nose to nose, still connected, her fingers tracing his cheekbones like she was memorizing him all over again.
"You just made me the happiest woman in the world," she said, voice trembling with joy.
"You've always been my whole world," he answered.
She laughed through happy tears and kissed him again.
"Then let's never leave it," she said. "Just us. Just this bed. Just our family growing right here between us."
Caleb rested his palm over the faint swell of her belly and felt another tiny flutter (like their baby was already agreeing).
"Deal," he whispered.
Outside, the snow sparkled under a weak February sun, untouched for miles in every direction.
Inside, mother and son curled tighter beneath the quilts, hearts beating in perfect unison, and began another slow, sunlit loving that measured time only in whispers of "I love you" and the soft, endless slide of home.