“Then we’ll do it properly. Have you found out the gender yet?”
“We want it to be a surprise,” Hadley said.
“It’s a boy,” I muttered.
She elbowed me.
“You don’t know that.”
“I feel it. Kicks like a linebacker.”
Mom smiled. “Boy or girl, we’ll be ready. I still have your crib, Cal. Solid oak. I can refinish it.”
Lucinda rolled her eyes dramatically. “She hoards baby furniture like it’s a retirement plan.”
“Grandchildren deserve heirlooms,” Mom replied without missing a beat.
Gina wandered over holding Jenny. “Trust me, sturdy cribs matter. Jensen tried to climb out of his at six months.”
Eli glanced up. “What if the baby has sensory sensitivity? Like me?”
Mom immediately nodded. “Then we plan for that too. Quiet toys. Weighted blankets. You can help choose things.”
He nodded slowly, satisfied with that.
Halfway through the conversation I pulled Hadley onto my lap. My hand rested on her bump automatically, thumb tracing lazy circles.
She leaned back into my chest, completely relaxed
Dad never left the room.
Evening came. Sun low, sky turning pink and gold. Family scattered, kids napping, siblings at the pool bar. Eli was in his room, decompressing with his tablet.
I took Hadley’s hand. Walked her down the private path to the beach.
Waves gentle. Sand warm under our feet.
We found a spot near the water. Sat. She leaned into me. I wrapped my arm around her.
Quiet for a long time.
Then I spoke. Voice low.
“I don’t feel things the way other people do.”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Since I was a teenager. Emotions just… flatline. I say the words. I love you. I care. But inside? Nothing. Empty.”
She stayed still. Listening.
“With the baby…” I swallowed. “Every time it kicks, something happens. Heart warms. Chest gets tight. I feel… giddy. Stupid happy. I love the kid already. More than I’ve loved anything.”
She placed her hand over mine on her stomach.
“I want to get better,” I continued.
“For real. Maybe see a shrink.
