God, that one's terrible.
They're all terrible.
Every few minutes, my hand drifts to my stomach.
Still flat. Still unchanged.
But harboring a secret that's going to change everything.
I wonder what RJ will say.
I wonder if he'll be happy, scared, or overwhelmed.
Probably all three—that seems to be my emotional state at the moment.
I wonder if he's thought about kids before—if he's imagined a future with a family, or if his life as a soldier has made that seem impossible.
I think about his childhood, the bits and pieces he's shared.
His mother leaving when he was three.
Growing up with just his da, being raised to be useful, to be a weapon.
No siblings, no extended family, no warmth.
He's never had what I had.
He's never known what it feels like to be surrounded by people who love you unconditionally.
Maybe I can give him that.
Maybe we can give each other that.
I wonder if I'm ready to be a mother.
The thought terrifies me.
I'm twenty-six years old, still building my career, still figuring out who I am and what I want.
I dropped out of med school because I needed my life to be my own.
A baby wasn't part of the plan.
But then again, neither was falling in love with my Irish bodyguard in the middle of a crisis.
Life has a way of laughing at your plans.
I think about my own mother—Fern, with her steady hands and her fierce love, the way she's held this family together through decades of danger and uncertainty.
She made it look easy, but I know it wasn't.
I know there were nights she didn't sleep, days she cried when she thought no one was watching.
Could I be that strong?
Could I raise a child in this world, with its violence and its secrets?
I don't know, but I know I want to try.
