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I move back, then look down at my stomach, where his hand rests. His fingers splay across the thin fabric of my shirt.
“I thought, when the test was negative, that I’d imagined it. I figured my body had tricked me because I’d been so sure and wanted it so badly. But it was real. She was real. She was here the whole time.”
“She?” Marco’s tone is wondering, almost reverent. “You think it’s a girl?”
My laugh comes out surprisingly bright. “I don’t know. I’ve just been calling her ‘she’ in my head ever since I found out. Sometimes, you just sense these things.”
He presses his lips to my stomach in a gesture that cracks my heart open.
When he looks up, awe’s etched in his features. “I’m going to be a father. A good one. The father I never had. I’ll give her every chance I never had, every joy I never thought I deserved. She will know she’s loved every single day.”
“Every single day,” I echo before kissing him. He smiles against my mouth.
Then he tugs me close and slowly undresses me. Leisurely lovemaking follows. Marco touches me like I’m precious, his hands tracing the still-flat expanse of my belly, the dip of my waist, and the scars I’ve collected in this life I never expected to live. His fingers find each one, map them, and kiss them as if he can undo every wound with his attention.
“I was so scared.” His lips trail down my throat, my collarbone, and the space between my breasts. “When I saw you on that table, I thought I was too late.”
I drag his head up to meet his eyes. “You weren’t. You always come for me. Every time I’ve needed you, and every time I’ve called, you’ve answered.”
He kisses me in a deep, searching way, and I open for him, letting him fill the spaces I’ve been keeping empty since I was old enough to know that love meant loss and that the people you trusted would always find a way to leave.
He steps back just enough for me to see his face. His gaze is raw and open like it was that night in the clinic when he told me about his father, about Bruno, and about the boy who spent his whole life trying to be worthy of love.
“Our child will never know what I went through. Never.”
My hand finds his and holds on tightly.
“After my father died, I spent days trying not to cry. I wanted to be strong enough and brave enough for someone to find worthy. When Bruno came along, he made me believe I could become a champion. Then he ruined me. I’m never going to let our child feel that kind of confusion or desperation.”
His voice breaks apart in his throat. “Thank you for giving me a chance to reinvent myself. Before you, I didn’t think I could have anything good, and now I believe I can be a husband and a father. I believe I can be more.”
“You always were.” I guide him into a soft but deep kiss. “You’re mine. Ours.”
He groans against my mouth, and then he’s inside me. I gasp, the world narrowing to the feel of him, to the way he says my name like a prayer he’s been waiting his whole life to speak.
After, he rolls onto his back, drawing me with him until I’m draped across his chest, but I shift lower, resting my ear against his stomach as he presses his palm against mine.
The house is still. Outside the window, the wind holds its breath, and I realize that for the first time in months, I’m not bracing for the next disaster.
“Let’s talk about that honeymoon.” His voice is sleep-thick. “I think we should go somewhere warm. To the coast, maybe. I want to watch you grow round with our child without having to worry about anyone trying to kill us.”
I laugh at his gentle honesty. “That’s…specific.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he admits while kissing my hair, “ever since you told me about the baby. I’m letting myself picture the life we’re going to create and the future we’re going to have.”
The future.
The two words create a picture of our building, finally finished. I can imagine my clinic in soft blues and whites, with smiling patients walking in and out. His gym would be just above that, and knowing Marco, I can picture a mix of gray, black, and red colors. I can also envision teens running around in the ring as he barks orders. The real prize, though, will sit above all that.
A home for us, with a place for the baby. We’ll paint our nursery a soft yellow and the rest of the house a mix of chocolate brown and caramel. We’ll shape this life together, from scratch.
I curl closer to him and feel his heartbeat under my ear. “I want all of it.”
He squeezes me tighter, and I fall asleep tucked around him, his hand on my belly and his breath warm against my hair. The future stretches out before us, a hopeful horizon illuminated by our shared dreams.
When I jolt awake during the night, the compound is dark and silent, but Marco’s watching over me, his face soft in the dim light.
“Go back to sleep.” His hand finds mine under the blanket.
