My heart stutters. “Are you…?”
She nods, laughing through happy tears. “About eight weeks. I just found out yesterday. Surprise?”
“A baby?” I say, my voice breaking as I pull her to her feet and spin her carefully, laughter bursting out of me before I can stop it. “We’re having a baby?”
“Yeah.”
I set her down gently, both hands settling over her stomach like that’s where the universe decided to anchor itself. “Holy shit,” I whisper, awe flooding every corner of me. “We’re having a baby.”
“Language.” She laughs, wiping at her eyes. “Are you happy?”
“Happy?” I shake my head, overwhelmed. “Harper, I don’t even have words. This is everything.”
We hold each other there as the last light fades from the sky, the lake reflecting the stars back at us like a promise.
From the cabin, Mason’s voice carries out over the water, indignant and loud. “Where did they go? Grown-ups always leave during the fun parts!”
Carlie’s voice follows, warm and reassuring. “They’ll be back, buddy. They always come back.”
Harper looks up at me, smiling through tears, and I smile too, knowing she’s right. We walk hand in hand back toward our family.
EPILOGUE
Harper
Sunday morning settles into the house like it belongs here.
The heat clicks on somewhere in the walls, a low, steady hum that keeps the cold at bay, and the light coming through the kitchen windows is pale and wintry. Outside, the neighborhood is quiet in that soft way it gets before the day really begins. I wake slowly, one hand already on my belly before I’m fully conscious, registering the familiar weight and stretch of seven months pregnant before my brain catches up.
By the time I make my way down the hallway, carefully navigating the subtle waddle I’ve stopped pretending doesn’t exist, the kitchen is already alive. Batter splatters the counter in careless arcs, the smell of pancakes warm and comforting, and Mason’s voice fills the space with earnest instruction.
“No, no,” he says seriously. “You flip when the bubbles look like this. If you flip too early, they get floppy.”
Aiden hums in agreement like this is advanced culinary science, spatula poised over the griddle. He looks up when hehears me and smiles in that easy, familiar way that still catches me off guard.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.” I east into a chair and propping my feet up with a sigh I don’t bother hiding.
Mason turns toward me immediately, whisk still clutched in his hand. “Mom, I’m basically good at pancakes now. I think I could do this every day.”
“I don’t doubt that. But we might all get very tired of pancakes.”
He considers this. “Okay. Every other day.”
Aiden chuckles and slides a mug of coffee toward me before I even ask, exactly the way I like it. The small, practiced care of that gesture lands deep in my chest, the quiet reminder that this life didn’t happen by accident. We chose it. We keep choosing it.
Sadly, I’m choosing decaf for now.
Mason leans closer to me, peering at my belly like it might offer commentary. “Baby Millie,” he says solemnly, resting his palm there. “You better like firefighters, because Aiden’s gonna make you watch all the trucks.”
Aiden laughs softly. “I am not forcing truck appreciation on anyone.”
“Yes you are,” Mason replies confidently. “It’s your job.”
I shake my head, smiling, and press my hand over Mason’s. There’s a gentle roll beneath my skin, a movement that still feels miraculous no matter how many times it happens. “She heard you.”
Mason’s eyes go wide. “She did?”
