“Yeah, me,” I said steadily, picking up a tiny blue sock and turning it in my fingers. How could feet be this small? “Woke up to the whole apartment smelling like burnt eggs. Could’ve burned the building down.”
“You’re just making that up to make me feel better.”
“I’m not.” I met her gaze, giving her the serious look she always claimed made me look like I belonged in a courtroom. “Even responsible people screw up.”
She punched me in the arm for insinuating she was irresponsible.
“Yeah, well, responsible people don’t accidentally lock themselves outside at two in the morning wearing only a T-shirt. And they definitely don’t call their husband crying about it like it’s the end of the world.”
“Valentina—”
“I just ...” She exhaled heavily, biting her lip hard enough to make me wince. “What if I ruin him? What if I screw him up? You know my history. I don’t exactly come from stellar choices.”
I shook my head slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, gently running my thumb along her jaw. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“How do you know?” Her voice cracked slightly, quieter now, eyes drifting down to the laundry piled around her. “I feel like I’m just one mistake away from messing it all up. I have zero patience, I’m impulsive, I?—”
“You care,” I interrupted. “Enough to sit here panicking about a candle you left burning three months ago. Enough to freak out about hair dryers and locked doors. You care, Valentina. You love him already. That’s more than anyone ever did for me. And that matters.”
She stared at me silently, biting down on whatever sarcastic remark was forming. I knew she wanted to say something—wanted to deflect—but she didn’t. Instead she leaned into me, burying her face in my shoulder and sighing softly.
“It’s just ... hard,” she whispered, her voice muffled in my shirt. “Knowing someone’s entire life is gonna depend on me getting my shit together. I mean, who put me in charge?”
I smiled faintly, brushing my lips against her temple. “I think that’s biology’s fault.”
She laughed weakly, her breath warm against my chest. “Biology needs better judgment.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I promised, squeezing her hand gently. “Both of us. And when we screw up—which we will—we’ll handle it. He’ll forgive us.”
She sat up slightly, pulling back just enough to look at me with wide, uncertain eyes. “You think so?”
“I know so. He’s yours. He’ll have your stubbornness and my patience. Or vice versa—though God help us if he has your patience.”
She smiled then, genuine, even as she rolled her eyes. “He’s going to be impossible.”
“Absolutely.”
Seven months in, Valentina had officially reached peak demanding. She blamed the baby, of course, the way she blamed everything these days—from her addiction to strawberry ice cream to the new habit of forgetting her keys, her sunglasses, and occasionally, her shoes. But mostly, I was learning her demands tended to be things I secretly wanted to give her anyway.
This time, it was a “babymoon”—a concept she’d somehow discovered on social media.
“I deserve one, Marco,” she announced decisively over breakfast, pointing a fork loaded with pancakes at me. Syrup dripped onto the table, but she didn’t seem to care about the mess. “You havenoidea how exhausting it is growing your child. I think a vacation is the least I can ask for.”
I raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “You want a vacation?”
“A babymoon,” she corrected, eyes narrowing dangerously. “And you promised, if you remember, to take me somewhere.”
I sighed dramatically, leaning back in my chair. “Where exactly am I taking you? Fiji? Bali?”
She tilted her head, eyes bright. “Actually, I was thinking New Orleans.”
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. “New Orleans?”
“Remember? You said you’d show me where you came from.”
I’d made that promise months ago, half-forgotten by now, probably hoping she’d forget it too. Because the truth was, New Orleans wasn’t a vacation for me. It was a scrapbook of places I’d been broken and left behind. A map of foster homes and bad memories. A city that had made me who I was, for better or worse.
But Valentina was looking at me like I’d offered her something precious—something she’d been patiently waiting for. And I knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny her anything.
