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“Are you telling me…? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Eight weeks. I’ve only known for a few days.”
“Eight weeks. Two months. You’re already two months in?”
The amazement that lingers on Salvatore’s normally composed face as he stares at my stomach is almost enough to make me laugh. It breaks the suspense in the air and warms my heart.
“I’ve been feeling a little off. Some of my pants have been tight. I haven’t been keeping down my breakfast. So I took a test.”
“You’re pregnant,” he says slowly.
I smile. “Yes, Jon. I’m pregnant.”
“Eight weeks.”
“Two months in,” I laugh, repeating him.
What he does next takes me by surprise—he drops down to his knees and wrenches up my summer dress. I squeal at the unexpected rush of air that hits my body as he exposes me from the stomach down, then it dawns on me what he’s doing. He reaches out and holds me by the hips, the amazement still on his face.
“Jon—”
“You’re pregnant, Phi. We’re having a baby.”
He presses his face into my belly for a soft kiss. My heart skips from the sweetness of it. The sheer aura of worship that’s emanating off him as his blue-green eyes look up at me. It’s a feeling he’s given me before—such devotion, such powerful, all-consuming love that it makes me blink back tears.
He rises up with me in his arms and kisses my lips. “It’s finally happening. We’re starting a family.”
I can’t help smiling against his lips. “Yes, Jon… our family at last.”
epilogue - anonymous
six months later…
A few peopleaim curious looks at me as I step off the subway platform. I may not be as well known in Easton, but as the sister city to Northam, most of the citizens are familiar with public officials.
Many in my position would’ve arranged a private driver. They would arrive to such a meeting in a limousine or town car that gleams in the pale autumn sunshine. They’d opt for a flashy entrance to demonstrate how important and well-established they are.
I opt for none of these things.
I’m a man of the people. Despite my privileged background, I always have been, and I always will be.
Besides, it’s crucial they get used to seeing me again. That my presence almost becomes an urban legend, word-of-mouth speculation that spreads through the city. It’ll reach Northam, and the rumors will grow.
I walk among the people.
The nine-to-fivers rushing off to their little cubicles, travel coffee mugs in one hand and their iPhones in the other. The vendors taking up half the sidewalk as they sell fresh flowers or souvenir trinkets or frankfurters with mustard and relish. The mothers hurrying along with their little ones rushing to keep up.
These are the people I have dedicated my career to. Cleaning up the streets for them. Holding accountable the despicable criminal organizations that seek to pollute the city.
It’s a fight I’ve taken on for decades. A fight I’vediedfor.
As I walk the Easton streets, which are almost identical to those in Northam, I’m renewed with vigor. A deep sense of purpose for what I’m doing and how I’ll proceed.
It’s not over. Not by a long shot.
I approach the tall building known as Thomas Technologies and stop at enough of a distance to admire how it truly scrapes the sky—ninety stories high, sleek and modern, with dark-tinted glass for windows.
The security guards posted just beyond the revolving doors nod as I enter. The lobby of Thomas Technologies is a giant circular room bathed in glass and chrome. The woman at the front desk recognizes me on sight and promptly picks up her desk phone.
