"For what?"
"For choosing me. For giving me a chance even when I didn't deserve it. For being patient while I figured out how not to be terrified of this."
"You're still terrified."
"Completely. But now I'm terrified with you, which makes it manageable."
She laughs again, and I commit the sound to memory.
Eventually, we make our way back to the party, trying to look casual despite Emma's swollen eyes and the massive ring on her finger.
We don't make it three steps before Lily notices.
"Oh my God!" she shrieks. "Is that what I think it is?"
Everyone turns to look at us.
Emma holds up her hand, showing off the ring, and the room erupts.
Margaret is crying. Lily and Grace are squealing. Carmen is grinning. Logan and Thane are giving me knowing looks that say “Itold you so.”
"You proposed at the baby shower?" Grace asks. "That's so romantic!"
"Or insane," Lily adds. "But definitely romantic."
Emma laughs, pulling me close. "It's perfect. He's perfect."
"I'm really not," I say.
"You are to me."
The party continues with renewed energy, everyone wanting to see the ring, hear the story, toast to our future.
And I stand there with Emma by my side, surrounded by family, and think about how lucky I am.
That one night in Miami changed everything.
It gave me Emma. It gave me Marie. It gave me a life I never knew I wanted but now can't imagine living without.
"Happy?" Emma asks, squeezing my hand.
I look at her—at my fiancée, the mother of my child, my partner in every sense of the word.
"Happier than I've ever been," I say honestly.
And for the first time in forty-two years, I actually believe it.
Six weeks later
Marie Rose Mitchell enters the world at 3:47 AM on January 28th, weighing seven pounds, four ounces.
She has Emma's nose and my eyes and absolutely perfect tiny fingers that wrap around mine the moment the nurse places her in my arms.
I'm completely in love.
"She's beautiful," Emma whispers from the hospital bed, watching us.
"She's perfect." I can't look away from our daughter. "You're perfect."
