Her face softens as she looks at the name, something tender easing into her expression. She reaches out, her fingers hovering just above the letters like she’s afraid to disturb them.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?”
She nods slowly, almost as if she’s picturing our daughter grown up, introducing herself, carrying this name we’re choosing for her right now.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice catching just a little. “Isla. Our Isla.”
The way she says “our” does something to my chest.
We straighten at the same time, close enough that we almost bump into each other. Neither of us moves away. There’s something in the quiet between us that feels gentler than the last couple of weeks. A tiny shift pulling us forward.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says softly.
“I’m glad too.”
Her eyes flick to mine, full of something restless and tender, and then she clears her throat. “Are you hungry? I was thinking Chinese.”
“That sounds good,” I say.
She orders without consulting me, because she alreadyknows what I’ll want. When she sets her phone down, she tells me dinner will be here in half an hour, and we drift to the couch, settling into our familiar corners.
Except tonight, the space feels different. Closer. Something in the air is shifting back toward us instead of away.
Natalie traces her fingers along the seam of a pillow, her shoulders lifting in a small breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I think I do.” Her eyes stay on the pillow, then lift to me. “You’ve been kind. And patient. And I haven’t been either of those things.”
“You’ve had a lot going on.”
“It’s not just that.” Her hand stops. “It’s…”
Her sentence dissolves into a sudden stillness. One hand moves to her stomach, her eyes widening in surprise.
“What happened?” My whole body shifts toward her.
“She’s kicking.” Her voice is full of awe. “Jake. She’s kicking.”
Everything inside me tightens. “Can I feel?”
“Yes. Come here.”
She reaches for my hand and places it low on her stomach. I hold my breath. Waiting. Then it happens. The smallest tap against my palm. A tiny, determined movement. I don’t breathe for a second. Then another kick comes, a little stronger.
“Oh my God,” I say quietly.
“I know.”
“That’s her.”
I keep my hand there until the movements slow, and evenwhen they stop, I don’t move right away. It feels like the moment might break if I do.
“Was that the first time you felt her?” I ask quietly.
She hesitates, just a beat. “No. I felt something two weeks ago. I didn’t know if it was her or just…I don’t know. But yeah. I think it was her.”
