"Emma," I say quietly. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I've been thinking about the future. About what we're building. And I know we've only been together for four months, and maybe this is too soon, but—"
"Donovan." She pulls back, looking up at me with those hazel-green eyes. "Whatever you're about to say, just say it."
I reach into my pocket, pulling out thevelvet box.
Emma's eyes widen. "Is that—"
"Emma Nicole Sinclair." I open the box, revealing the ring I spent three weeks choosing. A simple solitaire diamond on a platinum band. Classic. Elegant. Her. "I love you. I've loved you since Miami, and I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. You make me want to be better. To be present. To be the father our daughter deserves and the partner you need." I take a breath. "Will you marry me?"
She's crying now, full tears streaming down her face.
"Yes," she says. "Yes, you unexpected, wonderful man. Yes."
I slide the ring onto her finger with shaking hands, and then I'm kissing her, and she's kissing me back, and everything else falls away.
Just us. Our daughter. Our future.
"I love you," she whispers against my lips. "I love you so much."
"I love you too."
We stand there for a long moment, holding each other, and I feel something shift.
Not fear. Not anxiety. Not the weight of all the ways I could fail.
Just peace. And certainty. And the bone-deep knowledge that this—Emma, Marie, the life we're building—is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
"We should probably get back to the party," Emma says eventually. "Before someone comes looking for us."
"Probably." But I don't move, voice lowering. "Or we could stay here a few more minutes."
"Donovan, we're not having sex in the nursery during my baby shower—"
"I wasn't suggesting sex." I lie. "I was suggesting we take a moment to appreciate this. Us. The nursery we built together."
"That's surprisingly romantic."
"I havemy moments."
She laughs, and the sound fills the room, fills my chest, fills every empty space I've been carrying my whole life.
"Okay," she says. "A few more minutes. But then we really do need to go back. Your daughter is making me need to pee constantly and I'm pretty sure Lily has more games planned."
"Our daughter."
"Our daughter." She kisses me again. "Who's going to have the most overprotective father in the history of overprotective fathers."
"Damn right she is."
We stand there by the window, Emma in my arms, our daughter between us, and I think about how far we've come.
From a one-night stand in Miami to this. To family. To forever.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
