“Baby,” he breathes into her hair. “You—God, you’re—” He laughs again, tears streaming down his face. “You’re gonna make me a dad.”
Catalina nods, her hands clutching the back of his shirt, both of them shaking, crying, and smiling all at once.
The rest of the table erupts. Maverick yells loudly enough to startle Leo, standing with his hands in the air. “UNCLE OF THE YEAR, BABY!”
Amelia’s crying now, too, clapping her hands together. “Oh my God, Catalina!”
Layla squeals, practically bouncing in her chair, already rushing over to hug Catalina. “You’re gonna be the cutest mom in the world!”
Carter’s still holding her, still in disbelief, tears wet on his cheeks as he presses his forehead to hers.
He whispers something only she can hear; her hand moves up to cup his jaw, and both of them smile through it.
And I can’t look away.
Because in this room, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and love that feels alive in every corner, I’ve never felt more like I’m on the outside looking in.
I want that.
That kind of love. That kind of life. Someone to look at me like I’m the only person in the room. Someone to cry with me over something this beautiful.
But I can’t even imagine it.
Not with this skin. Not with these scars. Not with the face people still flinch at if they catch me from the wrong angle.
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat, eyes fixed on my glass instead of the scene before me.
The sound of Catalina’s laughter echoes through the house, followed by Carter’s low voice, the kind he only uses with her.
Layla’s hugging them both now, her hair catching the light as she smiles.
I tell myself I’m fine. That this is enough, that being here, part of their world, even from the sidelines, is something I should be thankful for.
But deep down, it feels like standing in a room full of light and realizing you’ll always be the shadow.
So I raise my glass, pretend the tears in my eyes are just from the bourbon, and force a smile when Carter looks up, laughing through his own.
“To family,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
Everyone cheers. Everyone smiles. Everyone glows.
And I sit there quietly, holding my glass to my lips—wishing, just once, that I could believe I deserved to be part of it, too.
Hours pass, and the table’s a mess—plates piled on one side, napkins crumpled in wine glasses, crumbs scattered everywhere.
Carter hasn’t stopped looking at her.
He’s sitting close, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders, his other hand absently tracing small circles on her thigh. His eyes are red-rimmed, but there’s a light in them I’ve never seen before; soft and raw all at once.
She’s glowing. He’s undone.
It’s the kind of love that fills a room and makes everyone else disappear.
I sit at the far end of the table, silent. My hand rests on the base of my glass as my index finger slowly drags along the rim.
I can still hear Carter whispering to her—half-laughing, half-choked up.
“Can’t believe it,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna make me a dad, baby.”
