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He’s going to be my husband.
“So far, so good,” he says, turning the pages. “Am I looking for anything in particular?”
“Oh, I don’t know. There might be something on the last page.”
He flicks dutifully to the end. We both stare down at the words. There shouldn’t be any aspect of shock for me since I’m the one who wrote them, but that doesn’t stop the starlight from expanding inside of me—the joy for the future bubbling into the present.
Over and over, I’ve written,I’m pregnant. It covers the entire page.
Bryson stands, turning to me, broadly grinning as he pulls me into his arms, our naked bodies pressing together, no clothes to stop the heat and the love from burning between us.
“Our first child,” he whispers, guiding his lips to mine.
I lean back, studying the glistening of his eyes, the tears almost falling.
“Our first,” I say, a sob making the word tremble, the pure happiness of it difficult to handle. “The beginning…”
“I love you so much.”
He kisses me, and life keeps on being perfect.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
NINE MONTHS LATER
Bryson
I was proud of my woman when she worked diligently on the podcast throughout her pregnancy. I was proud of her when she and Tiffany put in long stints at their new office downtown, pre-recording episodes, so she’d have time to be with the baby for maternity leave.
Proud when she spent countless hours completing her marketing course, learning the best way to promote her business when she implemented the techniques, and they started to work.
And, of course, I was proud when she bravely stood in court, four months pregnant, and gave testimony against the creeps who tried to do the unspeakable to her… creeps who, since this wasn’t their first offense, are going to spend a long time in prison.
But nothing compares to this.
Sitting next to my woman as her chest rises and falls, her hair plastered with sweat to her head, her cheeks bright red, with a sleepy smile on her face as she slumps back on the birthing bed. Her smile widens as our daughter cries from across the room, the doctor checking on her.
Both of us are crying. There have been plenty of times I’ve nearly cried these past nine months. The wedding, small moments of blistering closeness, but there’s nonearlyabout this.
Happy tears slide down my cheeks, and I lean over, pressing my lips against Harper’s forehead. “You did great.”
“I want to hold her.”
Soon, our daughter is in her mother’s arms. My chest cracks right down the middle, as if my heart is breaking… then becoming whole again, like it opened to make room for this new life.
Our daughter, whom I love so much already. She’s an extension of her mother, of our love, and a testament to the life we fought for.
Cradling her to my chest, I rock her gently, staring into her precious face.
I turn to Adam, who has been allowed to enter now that the birth is over. His eyes are glistening, too.
“Meet your niece,” I tell him, smiling at my old friend.
“Tell him her name,” my wife says in her sleepy voice. “Her perfect, beautiful name.”
Adam rocks her softly, then looks up at me, a question in his tear-filled eyes.
“Eva,” I say. “Her name is Eva.”
