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Within minutes, her breathing evens out.

I lie awake a little longer, holding the woman I love while my daughter sleeps safely down the hall and our unborn child rests beneath my hand.

For the first time in years, the future doesn’t terrify me. It feels like hope.

11

MAGGIE

Four days pass. Four days of early mornings, overflowing food bowls, endless paperwork, and dogs that need walking no matter what the world decides to throw at us. Life, as it turns out, doesn't pause just because you're pregnant.

By ten o’clock, Second Chance Savannah already looks like a tornado touched down inside it. Three puppies yip from the intake room, two volunteers argue over laundry detergent in the supply closet, and Mr. Whiskers, our senior orange tabby with exactly three teeth and the personality of an angry old man, has escaped his kennel for the third time this week.

I crouch near the cat room doorway, one hand braced on my knee while I coax him out from beneath a shelving unit.

“Come on now,” I tell him in my best soothing voice. “You know good and well this little game ain't cute anymore.”

Mr. Whiskers glares at me with all the righteous fury an eleven-pound cat can possess.

Behind me, Jules laughs. “I swear that cat has your attitude.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Excuse you.”

“He does.” Jules points an accusatory finger at the cat. “Stubborn, judgmental, and deeply offended by authority.”

“I’m not judgmental,” I insist.

“You judged my shoes before eight o'clock this morning.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Because those shoes are a crime against humanity.”

Jules gasps and presses a hand to his chest. “See? Judgmental.”

Mr. Whiskers finally stalks from beneath the shelf with the dignity of a king returning to his throne. I scoop him into my arms before he can change his mind.

“There we go.” I scratch beneath his chin. “You sure do keep me humble, don't you, sugar?”

The old cat purrs against my chest.

Jules watches us fondly from the doorway, clipboard tucked beneath one arm. His dark hair sits in artfully messy waves that look magazine-ready, even though we've both been working since dawn.

“I've said it before and I'll say it again,” he announces. “If reincarnation exists, I want to come back as one of your animals.”

“You'd make a terrible rescue dog.”

“Rude.”

I push to my feet and grin. “You require entirely too much attention.”

“True,” he says without shame.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I tuck Mr. Whiskers more securely against my side and pull it free.

Alexei: Did the ginger tea help?

A smile sneaks across my face. I shake my head.

Me: It helped. You're all entirely too invested in my digestive system.