Chapter 25%
I never imagined peace could feel like this. We spent our honeymoon wrapped in oceans and laughter, not obligations. Roscoe surprised me with a private island off the coast of Greece–one with turquoise waters, quiet coves, and a villa perched high above the sea, surrounded by jasmine and fig trees.
No guards. No past. Just us.
I woke each morning tangled in white linen, the sun warming my cheeks before his lips did. We swam at dawn, dined under the stars, and danced barefoot in the sand with no music but the tide. He held me like he’d never let go, whispered stories against my skin, and made love to me like he was memorizing my soul.”
“You’re glowing,” he’d say, fingers brushing my collarbone, trailing down my spine.”
And I was.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t surviving.”
I was living!
It was a month after we returned that I noticed the shift.}
At first, it was subtle–tiredness, a new softness in my belly, the way certain smells made me nauseous. Roscoe joked I was just adjusting to life without island breezes, but when I nearly cried over burnt toast one morning, I knew.
I bought the test alone. I sat in the guest bathroom, barefoot in my robe, staring at the blinking digital screen while my heart knocked in my chest.
Pregnant.
A single word. My breath caught. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. A thousand thoughts raced through me–fear, disbelief, awe.
And joy.
By the time Roscoe came home, I had rehearsed how I’d tell him a dozen different ways. But I didn’t use any of them.
He walked through the door, kissed my temple, and I simply whispered, “We’re not alone anymore.“>
He froze. Pulled back. His eyes searched mine.
Then widened.}
“Are you…?“”
I nodded, tears already spilling.
And then he laughed. That soft, stunned laugh he only ever made when he was completely undone. He dropped to his knees and pressed his lips to my belly. “Hello, little one,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much you’re already loved.“?
Pregnancy was both gentle and brutal.>
The morning sickness clung for weeks, and Roscoe became a self–declared chef of bland foods–toast, crackers, rice. He kept ginger candies in every drawer, carried a fan in his briefcase for my hot flashes, and built a custom rocker for our future nursery.
He’d talk to my bump every night, even before there was one. Stories, secrets, little promises. I would lie there listening, one hand on my belly, the other in his.
Six months in, I started to swell. My ankles disappeared. My moods were unpredictable, But Roscoe never flinched–not when I sobbed over an ad for diapers, not when I accidentally threw a spoon at him for saying I looked “round.“}
You are radiant,” he insisted, catching the spoon with a grin. “Even when you’re aiming projectiles.”
At seven months, we hosted a quiet baby shower–only family, only love. My parents wept when they felt the baby kick. Jackson and Jared sent a note through my father–no return address, only a short message: May your child grow up with the love we never knew how to give you.%
I didn’t cry when I read it. But I did press it between the pages of the baby’s memory book.
The night I went into labor, I thought it was indigestion.
Roscoe was brushing his teeth when I doubled over with a groan. “I think the risotto’s fighting back,” I managed.
Then the second wave hit.”
And we both knew.
“Breathe,” he said, grabbing the go–bag. “We’re going to meet our baby.“@
The hours blurred. Pain, pressure, panic–but never alone.!
Roscoe never let go of my hand. I screamed. I cried. I begged for it to be over $
And then, suddenly, it was $
A cry filled the room My cry Theirs. Ours E
They placed our daughter on my chest, red faced and squirming &
And i broket
Tears poured from my eyes as I touched her tiny fingers, her dark curls already damp with birth #
“She’s here,” I whispered. “She’s really here.“%
Roscoe kissed my forehead, his voice raw “You’re incredible She’s perfect. You both are “i
We named her Eliana, and it was a beginning of forever I never thought possible after every
TA
