"Try to stop me." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You think I'm letting you out of my sight for a trip to New York? Not a chance."
"Overprotective much?"
"Absolutely. Get used to it."
A knock at the door interrupts us.
Before I can respond, it opens, and my mother appears in the doorway.
"Dalla." Her voice breaks on my name.
"Mom."
She crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a hug so tight it makes my ribs ache.
I don't care.
I cling to her, breathing in her familiar scent, letting myself be a daughter again.
"I was so scared," she whispers. "When your father told me what happened?—"
"I'm okay, Mom. I promise."
She pulls back, her hands framing my face, her eyes scanning every bruise and bandage. "You are not okay. Look at you."
"I'm alive. The doctors checked me out. Everything is—" I hesitate, glancing at RJ.
He gives me a small nod.
Now or never.
"Mom, there's something I need to tell you."
Her brow furrows. "What is it?"
My father appears in the doorway behind her, his expression unreadable.
He looks as exhausted as I feel, but there's something softer in his eyes when he looks at me.
Relief, maybe. Or gratitude.
"What's going on?" he asks.
I take a deep breath. RJ's hand finds mine, anchoring me.
"I'm pregnant."
The silence that follows is deafening.
My mother's mouth opens, closes, opens again.
My father goes completely still, his eyes moving from me to RJ and back again, but he already knew this from the farmhouse earlier.
"Pregnant," my mother repeats. "You're?—"
"About six weeks, according to the ultrasound." I squeeze RJ's hand. "The baby is healthy. The doctor confirmed it today."
Another long silence.
