By the time she parked in the underground garage, the phrase had stopped echoing in her mind. What remained was a strange numbness—something quieter than panic, heavier thanshock. Not even waking up married had felt like this. Maybe it was denial. Maybe survival instinct. Whatever it was, it kept her moving.
Beth stepped off the elevator, kicked off her shoes, and dropped her keys. Her purse landed somewhere near the couch. In the kitchen, she pulled milk from the fridge, took a long swig straight from the carton, and left it on the counter. She peeled off her scrub top and tucked it where the milk had been.
Up the stairs, she shed the rest of her clothes—pants, bra, socks—discarding them along the way like emotional armor. By the time she reached the bathroom, she was bare-skinned and raw-nerved.
The icy spray from the shower hit her like a slap.
She didn’t flinch.
She just stood there, letting it bite her skin until it was too much to bear. Then, slowly, she tapped the temperature panel, warming the water until the steam softened the air and the heat soaked into her muscles.
Her mind caught up in fragments.
“I am pregnant,” she said aloud, both hands cradling her flat stomach.
“I am pregnant with Dr. Bryce Jensen’s baby.”
The words dropped like stones into the silence, each one echoing back with too much weight. Her mind spun to the morning she woke up married, to the loop of chaos and tenderness they’d been stuck in ever since.
She reached for the shampoo and squeezed too hard,
popping the lid clean off.
“I know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him,” she whispered. “Romans 8:28.”
Her voice trembled, but the prayer steadied her. Gave her something solid to hold.
She leaned her forehead against the cool tile. “I wish I could see what ‘good’ looks like right now. But You didn’t ask me to see—You asked me to trust. ‘For we live by faith, not by sight.’” Her voice cracked. “Oh, Father… fill me with faith. Please. This feels too big. Too much.”
A long, shaky breath slipped from her lungs. “Get it together, Elizabeth Jean Stoner. You’ve known this was a possibility since Vegas. Now it’s real. You’re going to be a mom.”
Her fingers pressed again to her stomach.
“Lord, I know I’m spiraling. Help me. Help me remember—I’m not having a baby with a stranger. I’ve spent the last month getting to know Bryce. Seeing how he loves me. How he loves You…”
Her eyes flew open as she gasped.
“Oh no. Bryce!”
She rinsed quickly, turned off the water, and rushed into the closet, reaching for the first thing she saw.
It happened to be a small stack of Bryce’s folded laundry waiting to be put away. Without thinking, she grabbed a pair of his sweats and a hoodie, tugging them on over damp skin as she yanked her wet hair into a ponytail.
Her feet barely touched the ground as she jogged toward the stairs—until she hit the fifth step and came to a dead stop.
A vase of flowers sat on the kitchen island.
Daisies.
But it wasn’t the flowers that made her freeze—it was the men standing behind them.
Men. Plural.
Bryce… and someone else.
The stranger beside her husband was taller, broader. His features were striking, his nose clearly broken at least once, giving him a rugged edge—though softened by the warmth in his kind, brown eyes.
“Bryce!” Beth’s voice pitched higher than she intended. Her gaze darted to the stairs, where her clothes lay like a breadcrumb trail from the elevator to the bedroom door. Her stomach flipped. “When did you get home?”
