Tara sat back in the chair. “When I inherited that cottage, I thought it was just a place to hide. Somewhere to lick my wounds after your father—” She stopped, shook her head. “After everything fell apart.”
“After Dad destroyed everything, you mean.” The words came out harder than Christina intended. “You can say it, Mom. He cheated. He lied. He threw away thirty-three years of marriage for a woman younger than me.”
“Christina...”
“No, I need to say this.” She shifted on the table, her belly making the movement awkward. Violet was pressing against her bladder, as usual, but this conversation had been building for months, and she wasn’t going to let discomfort derail it. “I need to apologize.”
Tara frowned. “For what?”
“For taking his side. For years.” Christina’s voice cracked, and she pressed on before she could lose her nerve. “When you and Dad would fight, I always assumed you were being dramatic. When you said you felt invisible in your own marriage, I thought you were exaggerating. And when he left—” She had to stop, had to breathe through the shame burning in her chest. “When he left, part of me blamed you. For not being enough. For not keeping him happy.”
“Honey—”
“I was wrong.” The words tumbled out now, unstoppable. “I was so wrong, Mom. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it took me so long to see it. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to defend yourself to your own daughter.”
Tara was crying again, but she was also reaching for Christina, pulling her into an awkward hug that was half-hampered by the belly between them. The antiseptic smell faded, replaced by her mother’s familiar perfume—something floral and warm that Christina had known her whole life.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” Tara murmured against her hair. “You were his daughter. Of course, you wanted to believe the best of him.”
“But I should have believed you.”
“You believe me now. That’s what matters.” Tara pulled back, cupping Christina’s face in her hands. “Look at us. Look at where we are. A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined this—sitting in a doctor’s office in North Carolina, waiting to hear my granddaughter’s heartbeat, planning for a future I never expected to have.”
Christina laughed. “A year ago, I was in Miami, working a job I hated, dating guys who didn’t care about anything real. I never imagined I’d be living in the mountains. Never imagined I’d be pregnant. And I definitely never imagined you and I would be...” She gestured between them. “Close again.”
“Aunt Frida’s cottage,” Tara said softly. “That’s where it all started. That one gift, that one act of generosity from a woman who barely knew me—it changed everything.”
“The ripples.” Christina had thought about this often, late at night when Violet was kicking and sleep wouldn’t come. “One cottage, and suddenly you had a new life. And then Ally needed a change and came to help you, and she started her own business. And Ryan found us, and he has a family now. And I—” She touched her belly. “Ryan and I came here for a new beginning, and I found something I didn’t know I was looking for.”
The door opened, and Dr. Agos swept in with her white coat and her tablet and her efficient smile. “Sorry for the wait. Let’s take a look at how baby’s doing, shall we?”
Christina leaned back on the table, lifting her shirt so Dr. Agos could apply the cool gel to her belly. The room filled with the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the Doppler, and then there it was—Violet’s heartbeat, strong and steady and impossibly fast.
“Perfect,” Dr. Agos said, reading the numbers on her tablet. “One hundred forty-two beats per minute. She’s right on track.”
Tara gripped Christina’s hand, and Christina gripped back. All that mattered was that sound, that evidence of life, that tiny heart beating away inside her.
“Violet Frida Singleton,” she said, testing the name aloud while the heartbeat filled the room. “What do you think, Mom? Does the name fit?”
Tara smiled through her tears. “It’s perfect.”
Dr. Agos looked up from her tablet, curious. “Beautiful name. Family name?”
“Frida is after my great-aunt,” Christina said.
The appointment continued—measurements, questions, a reminder about what to watch for as she entered the final weeks. Christina scheduled her next visit with the front desk while Tara used the restroom, and then they walked out into the June sunshine together, blinking against the brightness after the dim clinic interior.
“Lunch?” Tara asked. “I’m craving something from Lettuce Eat. Maybe that chicken salad you like.”
“Only if you let me pay.” Christina dug in her purse for her keys. “You’ve been buying everything lately.”
“I’m your mother. I’m allowed to buy you lunch.”
“You’re also building an inn. Your budget is not infinite.”
Tara laughed, linking her arm through Christina’s as they walked toward the car. “Fine. You can buy this time. But I get to order dessert.”
“Deal.”
