“How do you feel about it?” he asks carefully. “Really?”
It’s such a Dex question—putting my feelings first, giving me space to be honest even if it’s not what he wants to hear. It’s one of the thousand small ways he’s different from my ex-husband, one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place.
“Terrified,” I admit. “I’m thirty-four. The kids are finally at ages where they’re independent. I just got my career back on track, we just bought this house, we just figured out how to be a family...”
“But?”
“But also... excited? Which surprises me.” I shift on the bed, turning to face him fully. “When I was pregnant with Tyson and Blythe, Evan made me feel like my body was inconvenient. Like pregnancy was something happening to him, not me. Every symptom was either exaggerated for attention or not worth his concern.”
Dex’s jaw tightens the way it always does when Evan comes up in conversation, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“This time would be different,” I continue, working through my thoughts out loud. “This time I have a partner who actually wants to be here. Who won’t complain about midnight cravings or make me feel guilty for needing rest.”
“You know I’d take care of you,” he says softly. “Both of you. However you need.”
“I do know that. And I think... I think I want this.” The words surprise me with their certainty. “I want to experience pregnancy the way it’s supposed to be. With someone who’s excited about it instead of resentful. I want to see you as a dad from the very beginning.”
“You already see me as a dad,” he points out. “Tyson and Blythe?—”
“Are my kids who love you and who you love back. But this...” I take his hand, place it on my stomach where nothing is visible yet but everything has already changed. “This would be ours. From the very beginning. A person who’s part you, part me.”
The smile that breaks across his face is like sunrise—gradual, then brilliant. “I’ve been trying not to get excited,” he admits. “In case you weren’t ready. In case this felt like too much after everything you’ve been through.”
“It does feel like too much,” I say honestly. “But also like exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “I love you. So much. And I’m going to love this baby so much.”
“Even though it’s going to completely upend our lives? Even though we’ll be back to sleepless nights and diaper bags and all the chaos of newborn life?”
“Especially because of that.” His hand spreads wider on my stomach, protective already. “I get to do this with you. I get to be there for every appointment, every milestone, every three AM feeding. I get to watch you grow our baby and then bring them into the world.”
The tears come then, sudden and overwhelming. Relief and joy and terror all mixed together in a cocktail of hormones and life-changing realization.
“How do we tell the kids?” I ask through the tears.
“Carefully,” he says, wiping my cheeks with his thumbs. “Maybe after we’ve seen a doctor, confirmed everything’s okay. Given ourselves time to get used to the idea.”
“Blythe’s going to lose her mind with excitement. She’s been begging for a baby brother or sister since she was five.”
“Tyson will be more cautious,” Dex predicts. “He’ll want to know about logistics. How this changes his routine, his space, his relationship with us.”
“Think he’ll be okay with it?”
“I think he’ll be exactly what this baby needs—a protective big brother who takes his responsibilities seriously.” Dex’s smile turns soft. “Just like he was with Blythe when she was little.”
I lean into him, letting myself imagine it. A baby in this house, in our life. Tyson teaching hockey basics to a toddler in the backyard. Blythe directing elaborate theatrical productions starring her younger sibling. Dex carrying a tiny person around the house, narrating hockey games during feeding time.
“We’ll need to convert your office into a nursery,” I realize suddenly. “And figure out childcare for when I’m working. And get a bigger car. And?—”
“Hey.” Dex captures my hands, stopping my spiral into logistics. “One thing at a time. We’ve got months to figure all that out.”
“Months,” I repeat, the timeline still surreal. “By next fall, we’ll have three kids.”
“Three kids,” he echoes, wonder in his voice. “Our family’s getting bigger.”
Our family. Not my kids that he loves, not his life that we’ve complicated, but ours. Together. The word settles around us like a promise.
“I hope this baby has your eyes,” I tell him. “And your patience. And maybe my voice, but definitely not Blythe’s volume.”
