Page 164 of Angel

My morning sickness was finally fading, and my pregnancy bump was becoming more noticeable.

Angel drove me to the clinic for my seventeen-week ultrasound.

The technician slid the gel over my skin, pointing to the monitor.

‘Your baby is active and moving well. The limb coordination from week sixteen helped them become pretty mobile. They’re flexing their joints, bouncing, flipping, and turning, testing out their gymnastic abilities.’

Elated at the clean bill of health, we drove home and celebrated with a stir-fry, mocktails, and a movie.

As the days passed, I dealt with an itchy, stretching belly and more pounds on the scale.

I also began to feel tiny flutters from inside.

One night, Angel walked into my bedroom to drop off a glass of water.

A kick, followed by a slower poke, hit me from the inside.

‘Angel, come here,’ I whispered, reaching out. ‘Quick. Put your hand right here.’

He kicked off his shoes and slid into the bed behind me, wrapping his massive frame around my back.

He cradled my bump with his palm.

We lay in the quiet room, staring at my tummy as the tiny movements rippled against his fingers.

‘Woah, mama, I felt that.’

‘Those first exciting kicks are called the quickening,’ I murmured.

He stroked my belly, waiting in silence to feel the next one.

More rippling had Angel, taking in breaths of wonder until baby hushed.

We too quietened, remaining entwined as the rhythm of Angel’s steady breathing lulled me to sleep.

We woke up the next morning, tangled in the sheets.

Angel woke me when he shifted, propping himself on an elbow to gaze down at me.

My eyes fluttered open to his handsome face, and I jolted.

‘We fell asleep, hey?’ he rasped, his voice thick with sleepy grit.

We locked eyes for a long time, the air charged with electricity.

When he leaned in to kiss me, my panic flared.

I pulled my face away, burying it in his chest.

I caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it.

My heart wasn’t ready yet for all that Angel was offering.

His commitment and care were incredible, but a stubborn part of me remained reticent, unsure whether to open the final door.

Angel was riding the farm’s John Deere mower, neatening the back lawn.

I was using a wooden rake to pile dead leaves in the backyard.