Page 171 of What Comes Around

“All this time,” he said quietly, “I thought I failed.”

I reached for his hand. “You did not fail me. You protected me.”

After Noah was born, we moved into a larger house because Knox insisted on it, saying he wanted space for the kids to run and space for us to breathe, along with more privacy and security.

Maria moved in with us. She had been taking care of Knox’s penthouse before, keeping everything in order, but now she became part of our daily life. She cooked, helped around the house, made sure everything ran smoothly. We also had a cleaning service come in regularly.

Knox never wanted me to stress about maintaining a large house.

When the kids were very young, I stayed home for three years. It felt right at the time. They needed me, and I wanted to be there for every moment. But eventually, I missed it. Being around adults. Using my mind for something other than schedules and routines.

So I went back part-time.

My desk was still in Knox’s office. The same sofa was there too, the one he had brought in during my first pregnancy so I could rest when I needed to. It stayed.

We used it for more than just rest. Those moments, just the two of us, felt like stolen time.

The penthouse was still there too. Empty most of the time, cleaned once a week, untouched otherwise.

When the kids got older, Maria would stay with them overnight once a month, and Knox and I would go there after a date night. It became our place. Somewhere separate from everything else.

At home, we had to be careful. Quiet. Controlled. There were little feet down the hall, doors that weren’t always fully closed, ears that heard more than they should.

At the penthouse, none of that existed.

There, I could run. I could let him catch me. I could let him pin me down and take whatever he wanted. I could be as loud as I wanted, and he didn’t have to hold back the way he did at home.

Those nights when we let our particular interests out were always special. We made sure we had time like that. At least once a week, we carved something out just for us. Sometimes it was a full night out. Sometimes it was as simple as a movie in the home theater after the kids were asleep.

Those moments mattered.

It was after one of those nights that I found out I was pregnant again. When I saw the test, I just stared at it. Shock didn’t even begin to cover it.

Years earlier, Knox had gotten a vasectomy because I’d been certain I didn’t want any more children.

I didn’t tell him right away. I had no idea how he would react, and even thinking the words made my stomach twist. Instead, I booked an appointment at a clinic that offered an early NIPP test and a sperm analysis for Knox.

Then I dragged him there without warning.

The doctor explained everything before Knox had much time to react. He told us vasectomies were more than ninety nine percent effective. During the procedure the tubes that carry sperm are cut and sealed. It was supposed to stop the sperm from mixing with the semen, but sometimes the body healed in unexpected ways. In rare cases, the tubes could reconnect or form tiny new channels through scar tissue. Most of the time, if it happened, it happened early. Years later was far less common. Something like one in two thousand.

Rare, but not impossible.

Knox had gone quiet beside me while the doctor talked. His shoulders were stiff, his expression closed off in that way he had when he was trying to process too many thoughts at once. But he didn’t argue when the doctor suggested testing. He just nodded and gave the sample.

The three days we waited were some of the longest of my life. Knox never once accused me or hinted at doubt, but I still needed him to be absolutely certain. The situation was so rare, so unbelievable, that even I would have questioned it if our roles were reversed.

When the results finally came, I felt like I could breathe again for the first time since that positive test.

Not that it could have been anyone else. I had only ever been with Knox. Still, some irrational part of my pregnancy brain kept imagining bizarre science documentary scenarios. Like one of us secretly being a chimera and not knowing it. You know, those cases where someone absorbs their twin in the womb and ends up carrying two different DNA sets.

I really watched too many documentaries.

When the doctor finished explaining the results, Knox just stared at the paper. The baby was his. His test had also shown live, healthy sperm, which confirmed exactly what the doctor had warned us about. Somewhere along the line, his vasectomy had quietly reversed itself just enough for a few determined swimmers to make it through.

Knox finally exhaled, pulled me into his side, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Sorry,” he muttered, half joking, half sounding a little too proud. “Apparently my sperm is just… ridiculously powerful.”