We check out at the front desk, and Emma schedules her next appointment. The receptionist congratulates us, and I realize this is going to keep happening. People are going to congratulate us. They're going to ask about the pregnancy, about names, about nursery colors and birth plans and a thousand other things I haven't even begun to think about.
And soon—very soon—David is going to find out. And so will Victoria and Samantha.
The fragile bubble Emma and I have been living in will burst spectacularly when that happens.
But standing here in this doctor's office, with Emma's hand in mine and ultrasound photos of our children in our folder, I realize something with absolute clarity.
I don't care.
Let David rage. Let Victoria scheme. Let Samantha be disgusted. Let the whole world have an opinion about my relationship with Emma, about the age gap, about the timing.
None of it matters.
What matters is the woman standing beside me, who's trying so hard to be brave while being scared out of her mind. What matters are the two tiny lives growing inside her, depending on both of us to get this right.
Everything else is just noise.
We walk to the car in silence, the spring sunshine bright and warm on my face. Emma's quiet, and I can practically feel her thinking. Processing what we just went through.
My driver opens the door, and we slide into the back seat.
Emma leans against me, her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, and we ride in comfortable silence for several blocks.
Then she says, "I keep thinking about what you said. About not being prepared for it to feel like that."
"Yeah?"
"I wasn't either." Her voice is soft. "When Dr. Byers showed me the first ultrasound, I was so panicked about the logistics—the money, the timing, telling you—that I didn't really let myself feel it. But today, hearing those heartbeats with you there?—"
She stops, and I wait.
"It felt so much more real," she finishes. "Are you ready for all of this?"
The question deserves honesty. "No. But I don't think anyone ever really is. You just do your best."
"What if our best isn't enough?"
I tilt her face up so I can see her eyes. "Then we figure it out. We ask for help. We learn. We try again." I brush my thumb across her cheek.
She nods, fresh tears welling. "I'm really glad you were there today."
"There's nowhere else I would have been."
And I mean it. Nothing—no business meeting, no property deal, no obligation—would have kept me from that appointment.From seeing and hearing those heartbeats. From being there when Emma needed me.
That right there is the difference. With Victoria, everything else came first. Work, deals, travel. Quality time was whatever was left over after I'd given my best energy to work.
With Emma, with these babies—they come first. Everything else can wait.
We pull up to my building, and I lead Emma inside, my hand on her lower back. In the elevator, she's quiet, staring at the ultrasound photos in her hands.
The elevator opens into my penthouse, and Emma heads straight for the couch, curling up in the corner. I pour us both water and join her, sitting close enough that our legs touch.
She's still staring at the photos. "They're so small."
"They'll get bigger. A lot bigger."
"In about twenty weeks, they'll be big enough that I won't be able to tie my own shoes."
