That memory had teeth, and it sank into me the moment Amber told me she was pregnant. Didn’t matter how healthy she looked or how many times the scans came back perfect—the fear never left. I’d watch her breathe at night,counting the rise and fall of her chest like it was the only thing keeping her here. I didn’t tell her that sometimes I’d slip out of bed, sit in the kitchen with my head in my hands, trying to wrestle the panic down before it woke her.
And then the day came. The air in that room felt too thin, like it couldn’t hold both my fear and her pain. Hours dragged, every minute marked by her sharp breaths and the sound of my own heart hammering in my ears. She gripped my hand so hard my knuckles cracked, and still I told her she was doing great, even though my voice shook. Her face was damp, her hair stuck to her temples, and every time she closed her eyes, I panicked that she wouldn’t open them again. The room was too bright, too loud, the smells too sharp. Every sound she made, every drop of sweat on her skin, felt like a countdown to losing her.
And then—silence. A beat where the world stopped. My lungs burned because I realised I’d been holding my breath.
Grace’s cry split the air—loud, fierce,alive—and I swear my knees almost gave out. And Amber…God, Amber was there.Breathing. Looking at me with tired, teary eyes and that smile that’s always been my undoing. In that moment, the weight I’d carried for years just… broke. My body shook with the release of it. I’d made it through. We’d made it through. And for the first time since Abel was born, I let myself believe I could keep the people I love.
Watching Abel with Amber has been its own kind of healing. At first, he hung back—quiet, polite, keeping that little wall between them the way he does with everyone. But she never pushed, never demanded more than he was ready to give. She just… showed up, day after day. Somewhere along the way, he started saving his best jokes for her, slipping his hand into hers without thinking, looking for her in the crowd before he looked for me. Seeing them together, it’s like watching two pieces of my life click into place. She’s not just someone I love—she’s someone Abel trusts. And that meanseverything.
I think back to those dark days—running, hiding, the constant weight of the threat lurking just out of sight. The cabin inNorway, the freezing air outside, her fingers gripping mine under the blanket while pretending not to be afraid. The way she’d lean into me when she thought I wasn’t looking, stealing warmth like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to take it.
Back then, I was afraid I’d break under the pressure, terrified I’d lose Amber, or even myself. I remember one night, on the barge, when she stood barefoot in the galley, hair tangled from sleep and handed me a mug of coffee she’d made on the tiny stove. It was nothing, and it was everything—her way of saying she was in this with me. I think that was the moment I knew I’d never be the same without her.
And now, here we are. The threats are gone. The shadows have thinned. And the woman who once held my hand in the dark is standing in the light, cradling our daughter.
Here, in this moment, I realise how much we’ve grown. How love, in its purest form, can rebuild even the mostshattered hearts. My beautiful Amber—strong, brave, the woman who made me believe in forever—is standing right beside me.
I pull her close again, feeling her warmth against me, remembering the way I once shielded her from a world that wanted to take her away. Now, I hold her because I can—because she’s mine, and I’m hers.
I’ll choose her every day. Because hope doesn’t just feel good—it feels necessary. It’s what makes life worth living.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m exactly where I want to be.
Together.
THE END
