"Holy shit." His eyes go wide, all traces of sleep vanishing. "Was that?—?"
"The baby." Tears are streaming down my face now, and I don't even try to stop them. "That was the baby. That was our baby moving."
Another flutter. Stronger this time.
A real kick, definite and unmistakable, pressing against his palm like a tiny fist saying hello.
"That's our kid." Garrett's voice cracks, and when I look at him, there are tears in his eyes too.
This man who never cries.
This man who's survived fires and funerals and years of watching me destroy myself.
He's crying because our baby kicked. "Van, that's our kid moving around in there. That's a real person. Inside you."
"I know." I laugh through my tears. "I know, I can feel it."
He shifts down the bed, pressing his face against my stomach, both hands cradling the small swell like it's the most precious thing in the world. Because it is.
"Hey, little one," he murmurs against my skin, his voice soft and wondering. "I felt that. I felt you." He kisses my belly, soft and reverent, right where the kick was. "Keep doing that, okay? Keep letting us know you're in there. Keep reminding us what we're fighting for."
I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him close.
The baby kicks again—maybe responding to his voice, maybe just stretching, testing out this new ability—and Garrett laughs.
A real laugh, full of joy and wonder and disbelief.
The kind of laugh I haven't heard from him in years.
"That's the most amazing thing I've ever felt," he says, looking up at me with wet eyes. "Vanna, that's—I don't even have words. I've seen a lot of things in my life. Good things, bad things. But this—this is something else."
"I know."
"We made that. You and me. That little person in there, kicking and moving around—we made that together."
"We did."
He crawls back up the bed and pulls me into his arms, one hand still resting on my stomach.
We lie there together, waiting for more movement, cataloging each tiny flutter like it's the most important thing in the world.
Because it is.
It's proof.
Proof that something good is growing inside me.
Proof that my body, which I poisoned for so many years, is capable of creating something beautiful.
Proof that all the pain and the struggle and the fear has been worth it.
"I love you," Garrett says against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Both of you. So fucking much it scares me."
"We love you too."
We stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, feeling our baby move between us.
The morning stretches out, golden and quiet, and for a little while, everything is perfect.
