But the closer we get to the cemetery, the quieter it gets. The laughter fades, replaced by a kind of silence that feels careful, like everyone’s bracing for a memory.
When we pull into the small parking lot, I carry Mom’s favorite flowers—white tulips.
The wind cuts a little sharper up here, threading through the trees. We follow the worn gravel path, boots crunching in rhythm, until we reach her spot halfway up the hill.
Her name’s carved clean into the stone, sunlight catching on the edges of each letter. It’s been years since the three of us came here together.
Dad clears his throat first. “Your mom always loved this view,” he says, nodding toward the valley below.
I kneel to brush away a bit of dirt from the base, fingers cold against the marble. “She’d like that we all made it back here together.”
David nods. “Yeah. And she’d definitely make us take a picture.”
For a while we just stand there. No small talk, no hurry.
Then David exhales, kneeling down. “Hey, Mom,” he says softly. “We made it to the Final.”
I crouch next to him, fingers tracing the edge of the stone. The sunlight feels warm on my shoulders, even with the wind cutting across the hill. A lump rises in my throat—not sadness, exactly. Something softer.
I take a slow breath, eyes fixed on her name.
“You’re going to be a grandma again,” I say quietly. “Twins, actually.”
For a second, nothing happens.
Then David blinks, frowning. “Wait…what?”
Dad turns, brows drawing together. “Charlotte, what did you just—”
I lift my head, smiling even as my eyes sting. “I’m pregnant.”
Both of them stare at me. David’s mouth falls open. “You’re—what—you’re pregnant?”
I nod, laughing a little through the tears. “Yeah.”
Dad’s hand goes to his chest like he’s making sure his heart’s still there. “You’re having a baby?”
“Two,” I say softly.
There’s a long beat before it lands, before they both snap their eyes to me again.
David lets out a stunned laugh, one hand dragging through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.Twins?”
“Apparently,” I say, laughing with him now. “Overachiever, remember?”
Dad’s laugh comes next: low, full, the kind that breaks whatever was left of the tension. “Jesus, Char. You’re really something.” He crouches beside me, eyes wet. “Your mom would’ve been over the moon.”
David grins, still shaking his head. “She’d have knitted a matching set of everything within a week.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, throat tight again. “She would’ve.”
Dad reaches for my hand, his grip warm and solid. “You okay with all of this?”
“I am,” I tell him. “It feels… right. Like exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
He nods slowly, smile deepening. “Then she’d be so proud. I know I am.”
For a long moment, the three of us just stand there, the wind moving through the trees, the air full of sunlight and something bigger than words.
