She cuts herself off.
I frown, pulling back just enough to look at her. “For what?”
“For never giving up on me.”
“Don't.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “You don't have to thank me. You're family. That's what we do.”
“There’s, uh, something else I need to tell you,” she says quietly.
Her hand slides down, hesitating for a second before resting lightly against her stomach. My eyes follow the movement.
“Tiff...?”
She lets out a shaky breath, her smile small and uncertain. “I was going to wait to tell you after today, but I think you’ll figure it out at the ceremony.”
“Wait for what?”
Her eyes meet mine, and another tear falls down her cheek.
“I’m pregnant.”
It takes me a second to register what she’s saying.
“You’re—” I blink, then huff out a breath that turns into a laugh before I can stop it. “You’re serious?”
She nods, a small laugh slipping out.
“Yeah. Took two tests just to be sure.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it, my hand dragging over my face. “Jesus, Tiff.” I shake my head, grinning now. “That’s... that’s huge. Does Jamie know?”
She nods, her smile softening. “He knows. We found out together.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Of course you did. I’m so happy for you, Tiff.”
“Thanks, Z.”
“I’m going to have another niece or nephew already.” I pull her into me again, tighter this time. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
She laughs quietly against my chest. “Apparently not.”
I lean back, looking at her, and the nervousness hidden under all the excitement for today.
“Are you okay?” She nods even though I can tell she’s holding back. “It’s all just a little daunting, but maybe that’s the pregnancy hormones.”
I bend down so we’re eye-to-eye and I make sure she’s really hearing me. “You’ve got this. You always do.”
“Thank you.” She wipes her eyes carefully, so she doesn't smudge her mascara. “I love you, Zach.”
“Love you too, Tiff.”
There's a soft knock on the door, and the wedding coordinator pokes her head in. “We’re ready.”
Tiff takes a steady breath and smooths down her dress one last time. I offer her my arm, and she slips her hand through it, her grip tighter than it needs to be.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.”
