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A faint smile touches her mouth as she lowers herself onto the cushions, though it disappears when I take the place beside her. She folds one leg beneath herself and wraps both hands around the nearest mug without lifting it, using the ceramic to occupy fingers that can’t seem to remain still.

I turn toward her and rest my arm across the back of the couch, giving her space without allowing her to retreat behind it. “Start with what happened after they took you from the gala.”

She traces her thumb along the rim of the mug, buying herself another moment to gather her thoughts.

“They checked my blood pressure, ran bloodwork, and asked enough questions to make me reconsider every decision I’ve made since breakfast. The doctor thought exhaustion might explain why I fainted, but she wanted to rule out anything more serious before she discharged me.”

I keep my attention on her face as she talks, watching the way she avoids my eyes whenever she reaches the part that brought me here.

“Did they rule it out?”

“They ruled out what they were worried about.” Her grip tightens around the mug before she sets it down, apparently deciding she can’t trust herself to hold it. “Then one of the tests showed them why I’ve been tired and sick for the past few weeks.”

The queasiness, the sensitivity to smells, and the exhaustion she kept blaming on work arrange themselves into a possibility I don’t let myself name.

Hope would be dangerous when she still looks this frightened, so I reach for her hand and draw it away from the sleeve she has begun twisting between her fingers.

“What did the test show?”

Emma studies our joined hands, her thumb moving across my knuckles, and the silence stretches because she’s trying to choose words that will change both our lives as soon as she says them.

When she finally looks at me, fear and hope share the same expression.

“I’m pregnant.”

I stare at her, the words settling somewhere beyond my reach, close enough to understand but too enormous to absorb all at once.

Pregnant. Emma is pregnant.

Our baby.

My grip tightens around her hand before I realize I’ve done it, and when I lift my eyes to hers, fear has replaced the hope she carried into the room.

“Bane?” she asks, her fingers curling around mine. “Please say something.”

I try, but the words refuse to come.

A hospital room crashes into my thoughts without warning. Celeste lies exhausted against white sheets while two newborn cries fill the room, and I remember holding Babs and Biddy for the first time, convinced the four of us had years ahead of us.

Then I’m back in Emma’s apartment, staring at the woman I love as tears gather in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice catching. “I know this is a lot.”

I slide my hand to her cheek before she can bury herself beneath another apology. “Don’t.”

She leans into my palm, but her eyes never leave mine. “You’ve been looking at me like I just handed you the worst news of your life.”

My chest tightens. “You didn’t.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking I turned your whole world upside down.”

A breath escapes me with a faint shake of my head. “Emma, my world’s been upside down since the day you walked into my office.”

She searches my face, still trying to decide whether she believes me.

“We weren’t planning this,” she says, twisting her fingers together until I catch her hands again.

“No, we weren’t.”