And after waiting my whole life to feel safe, to feel loved, to feel like I had a place in the world, I’m finally ready.
“I want a baby,” I whisper.
For a moment, he goes completely still.
Then something breaks open in his expression, something raw and bright and so tender it steals my breath. He cups my face in both hands.
“Liza,” he says, voice rough. “Are you sure?”
I nod. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. “I never wanted kids before. Not because I didn’t like them, but because I didn’t want to treat them the way my father treated me. I didn’t want to repeat that cycle.”
Danyl’s thumbs brush my cheeks, slow and reverent.
“You never could,” he says. “You love too fiercely.”
“It’s because of you,” I whisper. “Because now I know what it feels like to be safe. To be loved without conditions. And I want to give that to someone else. I want our child to grow up knowing they’re wanted every minute of every day. I want a family with you.”
He pulls me into him so hard my breath whooshes out, but I cling right back. He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth, like he can’t decide where to start.
“You’ll be an incredible mother,” he murmurs against my skin. “The best.”
“And you’ll be the gentlest, scariest father in history,” I tease.
He huffs a laugh. “Blyat. No one will even look at our child unless I allow it.”
I laugh, but emotion catches in my throat.
Because this, this warmth, this teasing, this life, it’s everything I dreamed of as a kid. Everything I thought I’d never have.
His hand strokes down my spine.
“When?” he asks. “When you want to start trying?”
My smile grows. “Now.”
His answering groan vibrates through my whole body.
But he reins himself in, kissing my forehead once more before stepping back.
“Eat first,” he says, voice low and thick. “You need strength.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
He’s not wrong. I do.
He plates the food, and we eat at the kitchen island, like we always do. This is where we laugh. Where we talk. Where we exist as just ourselves, away from the outside world.
At one point he says, “Rik wants us over for dinner tomorrow. Perla bought an outfit she wants you to try.”
I smile. “I love Perla.”
“She loves you more.” His tone grows softer. “You know she says you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I blush and hide it behind my coffee cup.
But then I look into his face, and I ask the question that’s lived quietly in the back of my mind for the past year. “Do you know anything about my dad?”
