Sam had never loved his crazy family more. Sure, he was exhausted and still felt like he'd just woken up from a terrible nightmare without the possibility to break free from its clutches, but things could've been a lot worse.

As it was, life went on and Sammy was growing into a healthy, happy, incredibly pampered baby. Even now, as he was grading papers for college on the coffee table, Tom was playing airplane with her and her adorable laughter filled the living room and kitchen.

"Be careful with her," Sarah said, reaching out her arms to take her from Tom.

He ignored her and had the baby do some aerial acrobatics to avoid Sarah's hands, sound effects included. Sammy only laughed louder.

"Tom, you're going to make her barf!"

"You're just jealous because you want to hold her. And she will not barf. She hasn't eaten yet."

"Formula is ready," Jerry announced, coming towards them with a ready bottle. Like clockwork.

"Oh, Sam, can I feed her?" Sarah asked, as if afraid Tom would also claim feeding privileges.

"Sure," he answered. "I have a few more papers to get through anyway."

"Or do you want to do it?" Sarah asked, turning to Tom.

"Nope." Tom handed her the baby who was still giggling. "I'm cool bath-time, airplane pilot uncle. You can be the feeding aunt."

Sarah blushed, but Jerry only smiled, which in itself was fairly weird. Under normal circumstances, Jerry would be the one stammering that it was too soon and nothing was certain. His brother had however given that argument up a long time ago.

Sam shook his head and returned to his papers. Jerry had changed so much over the year he had been dating Sarah. Sure, he was still overbearing, obsessed with order and basically an army on his own when it came to organizing stuff, but he was also a lot less anxious about human interaction and looked truly happy. Like he deserved to be. But two out of five seemed like a poor score.

"Anyone promising?" Tom asked, nodding towards the pile of graded papers.

"A few." Sam wrote down a red 79/100 on the current assignment and added it to the pile on his left. "Most just think this is an easy credit class. But a couple of them really seem interested in the common roots of civilizations."

Tom huffed as if to convey how absurd it was for people to believe anything Sam oversaw would be easy. "I don't know how you handle it," he mumbled. "Your own classes, teaching, Sammy... When do you breathe?"

"Right now." Sam nodded towards Sarah who sat on a kitchen chair, feeding the baby, and Jerry who was reorganizing the content of his fridge. " You guys help a lot."

"I've label all your food for the week," Jerry announced, as if to prove Sam's point. "If you want anything else, let me know."

"You're already doing enough."

Jerry squinted at him, but even if it was meant to be playfully reproachful, Sam could see the sadness behind it. His brother didn't think he was doing enough. Because he knew that nothing could replace Skye being alive, caring for her own family. If tragedy hadn't decided to follow him like a vengeful cloud, Sam could've had a normal family, not rely on his extended one to make things bearable for him. 

Gotta take what I have and roll with it.

There's no guarantee for the future, it could be wonderful.

This is just another lesson for me to learn.

I will live this life for the both of us.

He'd memorized Skye's letter to the very last period and comma. And it helped him every time he thought about it. It still felt like she was talking to him directly, holding him up, helping him move on. He'd just never thought he'd have to move on from her.

Shaking his head, he focused on the final two papers which were abysmal, but he gave them a narrow pass anyway. History was not something a lot of people truly understood.

"She ate the entire bottle!" Sarah said, thrilled.

"Thanks, Sarah." Sam stood, picked up his daughter, put her against his shoulder and started patting her back. "It's late. You guys can go. I'll put her to sleep."

"Are you sure you don't need any more help?" Jerry asked. "Maybe dessert?"

God, he loved them so much. "No, I'm fine. She'll go down and wake up at three for her next meal. I'll even get to watch a movie."

"You should sleep," Jerry said, his tone reproachful.

He should, but he sort of wanted to live as well, so he shrugged. Jerry opened his mouth again, but Sarah took his hand and squeezed, so he instantly gave up.

"Okay, then," Tom said, stretching. "We'll talk later. You can always call if anything."

Sam knew. They were all at his beck and call, as if he were the baby, not Sammy. But it helped. It made everything a lot easier to bear. It just got harder when he was alone.

So, once the others left, he busied himself with putting Sammy to sleep in her room, grabbed the baby monitor and headed down for dinner and a movie, trying to keep his mind on lesson plans. It only half worked. The dull pain in his chest was starting to pulsate harder with every minute, but he did his best to ignore it. He'd just washed the dishes and was making himself some popcorn when there was a knock on the door.

With a frown, he checked his watch. It was nine p.m. Not very late for normal people, but still. No one ever called at this hour. He dropped the bowl of popcorn and opened the door, thinking any distraction was welcomed.

Shy amber eyes stared at him, the rest of Christine's face blocked by the coat she was holding up. It took Sam a few seconds to snap out of his shock and realize she had his blazer on a hanger.

"Hi," she said. "Is this a bad time?"

"Um, no. I'm just a little... confused." Hell, he hadn't seen Christine since the funeral months ago. He'd even forgotten he'd given her his coat to keep warm. Why was she here? He didn't want the coat back.

"Sorry to barge in like this, but I was in the neighborhood."

He assessed her for a few moments, but there didn't seem to be anything scheming about her. If anything, she looked awkward. A part of him became aware that even she was a welcomed distraction at this point. And, to be fair, he was a little curious. So he pulled out of the doorway to let her in.

"Doing what?"

"One of your neighbors had a special event to get to." She stepped in and craned her neck, taking in his house with obvious curiosity.

Sam raised an eyebrow, trying to fight an amused smile. "Really? And...?"

"Oh, I'm a makeup artist now. And occasionally also do hair, but I'm not very good at that yet. Still practicing."

That made sense, and it was something Christine had always enjoyed doing. "Congratulations," he said, removing the hanger from her hand and putting it in the hallway closet.

"Thanks. You, too. I heard you're a professor now?" She clasped her hands together and continued to take in his place. She wore skinny black jeans and a pink sweater under her winter jacket. Once again, there was only light makeup on her face and her chocolate hair was caught up in a high pony tail. "I'm also sorry it took so long to bring your coat back, but I kept forgetting to take it to the dry cleaners and I also thought you'd need some..."

Space. The word lingered between them. That was oddly sensitive of her. Just like this visit was turning out to be. She wasn't pushing him, wasn't asking things. Finally, her gaze focused on him and she gave him a small smile. It wasn't pitying or predatory. Just... comforting.

"How are you holding out?"

He fought the impulse to ask who she was and how she'd gotten hold of Christine's body, but decided it would be an insult to her growth, so he just shrugged. "Day by day, I guess."

She pursed her lips as if trying to keep in her emotions. "I can only imagine how hard that must be for you."

He just nodded. She looked beyond him, at the paused movie on his TV screen, then at the bowl of popcorn on the island in the kitchen.

"Maybe I should leave you to it, then?"

It was a question and it made him realize two things. The first was that she didn't want to go. The second was that he didn't want her to go either. It felt nice to actually have company and he had to admit he was a little curious about this new creature before him.

"You could stay and watch a movie if you'd like."

She bit her lip and glanced into the floor as if doing some quick thinking. "Sam, I'm not sure I should. And not because of me, but because..." She faltered.

"Look, I'm asking." He didn't want to think about the reasoning behind her words, as obvious as it might be. "I'd just like the company. If you have other things to do, that's okay."

She looked at her watch, then up at him, and he could swear he saw a flicker of pain in her eyes. Then she shrugged, and smiled again, a normal smile, not loaded with anything.

"Okay then, thanks."

"Want something to drink? Wine?"

"Sure." She kicked her boots off and put her jacket in the coat rack before finally stepping into the living room.

Sam busied himself with uncorking a bottle wondering why this didn't feel weird. It must have been his dire need not to be alone, not to have to face his memories and his thoughts, at least for one night. Missing Skye hurt too much.

Or maybe it was Skye's own words.

If Christine comes for you, don't push her away on principle. If she is worthy, let her soothe your soul.

As much as he tried not to think about that part of Skye's letter, it was hard not to notice how much she'd anticipated, how much she'd guessed.

Christine had already settled on the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion, and accepted the glass he handed her. 

Sam slumped down next to her, his own glass in hand. A part of him wanted to just glance at her and take in every micro-reaction, but that would probably make it awkward and seem like it was more than it was. This was nothing. Just a movie with someone who would make him feel less lonely. And she didn't disappoint, keeping quiet and focusing on the movie. 

After the first glass of wine, she settled into the couch cushion properly, pulled her feet up and curled them under her. It had her leaning slightly towards him. After the second glass, her gaze became a little blurry and Sam realized that if she was working at that hour, she must've been as exhausted as he was. But still, she smiled and accepted when he offered a third glass.

By the time she'd finished it, her head was lolling slightly, but her eyes were still open, focusing on the TV, throwing random comments about what was going on. He smiled down at her, appreciating the effort on her behalf. Maybe she had really changed and they could try for an honest friendship. Though with the wine buzzing around his own head, he didn't really care.

It just felt comfortable to be with her like that. Comfortable to have her head leaning against his shoulder as she complained about how unrealistic it was for cars to always blow up after crashes.

The credits rolled and Christine jerked into an upright position. "I should be going. I have to be back here in the morning for another appointment and it's already late." Her voice was a little panicky, as if she'd completely lost track of time or realized she'd been leaning against him. "Shit, my car. I can't drive like this."

Sam couldn't drive her either, but her panicky attitude amused him. "Relax, it's not even that late." She should lean back because it was a little cold without her. He cringed at the thought. Yep, time to stop drinking.

"My appointment is at six," she deadpanned.

"Wow, who the hell needs makeup that early?"

"Someone heading out of town for a wedding." She looked from left to right, probably searching for the purse she'd left on the kitchen counter. "Just great. Half an hour to get home and then another hour to get back here in the morning traffic which already loses me so much sleep and I'll have to--"

He bit back a smile. He'd never seen her like that and it was funny as hell. "Look, if you want, you can stay here for the night."

She stopped fidgeting and turned to him, her eyes comically wide. "Here?"

"Yeah, we have a spare room." He frowned at his own use of plural, but decided to just glide over it. "Mind you, it's more of a storage area at this point."

"Um, that's okay. I don't want to impose."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't offer if it wasn't okay." She should know that by now. If Skye had taught him one thing, it was to be unapologetic about who he was. Christine had gotten the full brunt of that before. 

She seemed to realize that because she put on a tired smile. "Alright then. Thank you. I'll be out of your hair before you have the chance to wake up."

He had a baby, so it was impossible, but he let her have that one. And speaking of said baby, it was about time he checked up on her. He was just glad he'd managed to do his random act of kindness for the day.

🏯

Sam had been right. The guest room was more storage space than a place to sleep, but the bed was clean and she had an adjoining bathroom. The rest of the furniture was blocked by cardboard boxes full of stuff that had never been unpacked.

Christine looked around the room, wrapped in a towel, hugging herself. It was so weird to be there, aware that she was in Sam's house. He'd even given her a t-shirt and a pair of shorts to serve as impromptu pajamas. They would fit and the intimacy of that knowledge made everything even more strange.

She hadn't thought about him in months, at least not more than a flitting one filled with bitterness and maybe a little longing. Bitterness not directed at him, but at who she used to be.

But ultimately, she'd made her decisions and life had gone on without him. She'd gotten a proper job, the start of a career, doing something she actually enjoyed. It hadn't been easy to disconnect, no longer dread hearing the news, but she'd done it.

And then, just as she was settling into her new routine, Skye had died. It opened up the gates of the past faster than anything ever could. Christine still felt bad about it. She'd meant it when she'd said she hadn't gone to the funeral for any other reason than to make sure Sam was okay.

But now here she was, in his house. What was she doing there?

It was just a movie. He was being nice. And maybe lonely.

She'd seen the lingering pain in his eyes, in his smile. Unfortunately, she knew him well enough to read every tiny line of his face.

Stop thinking about him. You'll just sleep and get going in the morning.

But the room fascinated her, as did the idea of actually being there. One of Sam's shirts was on the back of a chair, fresh and clean. She'd always enjoyed the material of shirts a lot more than the simple cotton of t-shirts. It was too tempting to put it on instead of the t-shirt he'd offered. She'd then just take it and clean it before sending it back.

It was maybe the wine or the nostalgia, but she didn't see any harm in it. Not like Sam would walk in on her. He'd probably gone to bed and she'd let him rest. Accept this moment of weakness and move on.

Abandoning the towel in favor of his shirt, she continued to look around the room. She should really go to bed, but not taking this chance to analyze things discarded from his life seemed like such a waste.

Something glinted in the corner of her eye as she walked around the room. Sitting on top of a pile of unpacked clothes and books in a cardboard box was a framed photograph.

Christine's breath caught in her throat. Like in a dream, she approached it and picked it up. It was of her and Sam. She remembered it. This very frame had been proudly displayed in their living room for all to see how happy they were. And she remembered being happy that day. She remembered being happy most days with Sam, even if she'd never truly appreciated it.

It was the one thing she regretted most. Being so entitled that she never got to appreciate what she had until she'd lost it in the most dramatic fashion possible. Thinking about Harry still had her teeth gritting involuntarily, and not just because he'd been a part of the problem, albeit a small one, but because she actually owed him an apology as well.

She had been unable to pick up the phone and call him, afraid he'd want to see her again. Maybe she needed more time. Just like she apparently needed more time to come to terms with the fact that she and Sam were done. There was no going back.

Why is this photo still here, then? Why does Sam even have it?

Christine shook her head, trying to drive away the questions that seemed to be coming from her teenage self. And yet, what did it mean? Was this a sign? Was he trying to tell her something? He knew what was in his own house, in this room he'd offered her. What if he was giving her a hint? 

Her head hurt. Christine groaned and sunk her face in her hands. It was too hard to think. She was tired and a little tipsy and she should just go to sleep even if it meant missing out on potentially patching things up between them. There was no patching up.

Or she could go and figure it out. Ask him directly if there was anything but kindness behind his offer. And maybe take advantage of the fact that she was only wearing his shirt to check if he still wanted her.

Yes, knowing that sounded like a good idea. She'd never liked being unsure. And such an easy way to test it. So she took the photo, hugged it to her chest, and sneaked out of the spare bedroom.

Her bare feet made no sound on the carpeted hallway as she made her way towards Sam's bedroom. She knew where it was; not like the house was that big. And she could already hear his voice.

Who was he talking to? The baby? Maybe on the phone?

She halted when she realized Sam was not in his room, but across the hall, in the nursery. Careful not to make a sound, she wrapped her fingers around the jamb and peaked inside the room.

The walls were painted a shade of warm orange, which looked incredibly soothing in the light coming from the night lamp. The white wood crib was placed in the center of the room together with a changing table and a rocking chair. The walls were covered in dressers and shelves filled with toys. There was a stool next to the crib, holding nothing but a framed picture of Skye.

Sam was on his knees, one hand between the bars of the crib, caressing the fat arm of the baby, his head leaning on his shoulder. Christine couldn't help but stare. She was tiny, her skin smooth and rosy, her nose small and her lips plump, wearing a red onesie.

The sight of Sam's daughter was so shocking, it took her a moment to focus on what he was saying.

"Grading is really difficult. It's not mathematical, like I thought," he mumbled. "I'd have to fail everyone then. You actually have to grade effort. But I'm sure you know all about that." He huffed. "Anyway, today was a good day. Tom, Jerry and Sarah came over to help with Sammy. Oh, if only you could see her! She's so sociable and such a happy baby."

Christine took a step back, tears filling her eyes. Sam wasn't looking at the baby, but at Skye's picture, his eyes misty. It was his dead wife he was talking to.

"I mean sure, you can see it, I guess, but I wish I could see the happiness on your face. See you." He paused for a few heartbreaking seconds. "I love you more than you could possibly imagine. I miss you so, so much."

Christine backtracked and hurried back to her room, her hand over her mouth to make sure no sound came out and tears kept pouring down her cheeks.

She was completely disgusted with herself. Sam was grieving, had a baby, and she'd actually thought about seducing him. What was wrong with her?

She threw the photo in the box of unnecessary crap, shrugged the shirt off and quickly put on the t-shirt and shorts. She'd just go to sleep and then leave both Sam's house and him alone.

But her chest ached. For Sam's pain and for that adorable little girl who would be growing up without a mother. This wasn't fair! Why did Skye have to go? Why couldn't Sam just be happy for once? And why did she wish it were her instead of Skye?

She was such an idiot. She should've never come here.

With a groan, she dropped on the bed. Her head landed on something crinkly. With a frown, she took the envelope from beneath her hair and stared at it. The beautiful cursive spelling her name on the back wasn't Sam's, so her stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots.

This couldn't be happening. But as she pulled the piece of paper out and stared at the bottom, it was confirmed. It was a letter from Skye. It also started with Dear Christine, so it was obviously for her. It was dated a few days before her death. Why? Why had Skye written her a letter on her death bed?

Dear Christine,

If you're reading this, it means you decided to return to Sam's life for some reason or another. A word of warning to the Christine I met that December day in Sam's apartment. He knows I wrote it and has most likely read this, so don't try to make stuff up.

Now, if you're here as the Christine from our wedding, the one showing phenomenal growth, I trust that you have his best interest at heart. If so, you are more than welcomed to stay, as long as he will allow you.

Christine's eyes danced across the page, taking in every word of warning, every request. Skye was aware Sam was young and would move on. She knew that her daughter needed at least a mother figure. But she wanted that person to be a proper example, to love the tiny baby as much as she and Sam did.

I am her mother, and even if someone else will raise her, I don't want her to forget me. That I existed, that she was born out of love and that she meant everything to me. Life will be hard for her, being who she is, and I want her to at least know that there are two women who would do anything for her.

Tears blurred the writing, but Christine pressed on. It made sense. Everything made sense. Skye's desire for her daughter to remember her, for Sam to be buried next to her, for Christine to make Sam happy for the rest of his days, should he let her.

That was the whole point of the letter, actually. If Christine wanted back in his life, she had Skye's blessing. 

After all, he did love you, and I was always aware that a part of him never let you go. 

She didn't believe that. And even if it were true, Sam should have let her go. Just like she had.

Then why are you here? It was scary how much that inner voice sounded like Skye. The thing was, she wasn't sure. And she'd obviously already disappointed Skye with her earlier lousy attempt to figure out if Sam might still want her.

"This is much harder than it should be," she mumbled, placing the letter back in the envelope and putting it on the nightstand next to the bed.

For a few moments, she just gazed at it, feeling a sudden and inexplicable need to stroke it. As if the gesture would somehow bring her closer to a woman she now wished she'd known better.

You can be better. And if you want back in Sam's life, you should be.

Except she wasn't sure she wanted back in. Because Sam now came with a baby on top of all the madness and danger. And yet, just thinking about him sent a pang into her stomach. Did she still love him?

It doesn't matter. Because she was most certainly not going to throw herself at him ever again. That part of her life was over. She'd just sleep and then leave the next morning. And then?

Then she'd just face things as they came.

🏯🏯🏯

I sort of had fun with this because I'm sure a lot of people are going to rage. Now, you probably already guessed that I'm not intimidated. 😅

So, we get a glimpse at Sam's life and how he's handling what happened. You also get to see Jerry and Sarah again. I imagine Jerry would cook for Sam all the time and come and put the food in the freezer. Just seems like a very Jerry-ish thing to do. Tom would also totally be the cool uncle. 

And then Christine shows up. And not only does she show up, but she has a minor slip trying to see if Sam still finds her attractive. Bad Christine! 😁

What do you think of her now? And about Skye's letter?

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and comment if you're enjoying the story. Your support means the world and really helps me with writing motivation.