And the room erupts.
Happy shrieks.
Crying.
My mother stands up and immediately starts moving chairs around like the seating chart needs to reflect this news.
Molly’s dad hugs Bradley so hard he nearly knocks him over.
Aunt Lydia begins planning a baby shower out loud.
Dahlia lets out a breath like she’s been underwater for ten minutes.
I look at her. She looks at me.
And for the first time all night, everything settles.
Because family chaos I can handle.
Pregnancy reveals I can handle.
This?
This is easy compared to what came out of my mouth before I even thought about it:
“You’ve got me,” I’d told her last night.
Now I feel the truth of that sitting heavy and sure in my chest.
She touches my arm lightly. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For not letting them steamroll me.”
“They didn’t steamroll you,” I say. “They steamrolled both of us.”
Her lips curve. “Still. You stood up for me.”
“Of course I did.”
The noise around us swells. People hugging. People celebrating. People arguing about baby names even though Molly hasn’t sat down again yet.
For once, nobody’s looking at us.
Dahlia leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. “We should talk later.”
My heartbeat kicks up. “Later.”
She nods and slips away to hug Molly.
I watch her go, every part of me braced around the simple truth I haven’t said out loud yet.
Whatever comes next — chaos, misunderstanding, family interrogations — I want it with her.
SEVEN
DAHLIA
The second Molly’s announcement stops the avalanche of questions and squeals and overly enthusiastic hugs, I slip outside for air.
The cabin door clicks shut behind me, muffling the noise. Snow crunches softly under my boots. The storm passed, leaving everything bright and quiet and reflecting the glow of the porch lights.
