“Night, Lucy,” she mumbles.
Aidan and I slip out of her room, leaving the door cracked just enough to let a sliver of hallway light spill in. He takes my hand as we head downstairs, his thumb tracing absent patterns against my skin. It’s these little touches that undo me, the casual intimacy that’s become our normal.
In the living room, he pulls me down beside him on the couch, his arm sliding around my shoulders. I curl into his side, breathing in his familiar scent—sea salt and something that’s uniquely Aidan.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs.
I nod, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“I need to tell you something, if that’s okay?” I finally ask, pulling away slightly so I can see his face.
His brows knit together, concern immediately darkening his eyes. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, my hands suddenly trembling. I clasp them together in my lap to still them.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I wasn’t sure how.” My voice sounds fragile to my own ears. “I had some health issues a while ago.”
His expression softens, his whole posture easing, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“The doctors explained that I have endometriosis, and it can affect fertility,” I continue, my throat tightening. “Not always, and not in the same way for everyone. They told methat getting pregnant might be more complicated for me. Not necessarily impossible, just…uncertain.”
My fingers curl against each other, a faint tremor running through them. “They couldn’t give me a clear percentage or guarantee either way. It’s more…a middle ground. A lot of unknowns, which has been really upsetting for me. I’ve always wanted to be a mother more than anything.”
I force myself to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of disappointment or regret. He’s quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. My stomach drops, anxiety clawing its way up my throat.
“I know this changes things,” I continue, looking back down to my lap. “And I understand if you need to think about what this means for us. You’re already an amazing father, and I wouldn’t want to take away your chance to have more children if that’s something you want.”
His brows furrow deeper, and he reaches for my hands, stilling their nervous movement.
“Lucy,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Look at me.”
I lift my gaze to his, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over.
“Is that what you’ve been worried about? That I’d walk away because of this?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “It’s why my last relationship ended. And the way you are with Isla… It’s one of the things I…” I catch myself before sayinglove about you.
“It’s so incredibly special,” I continue. “I wouldn’t want to take away the possibility of you having that again.”
His expression shifts, something between disbelief and tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“Baby,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I alreadyhave a daughter. A perfect, beautiful little girl who means everything to me. I’m not with you because I’m looking for someone to give me more children.”
“But you might want that someday,” I whisper. “And I might not be able to give that to you.”
“Might not,” he emphasizes. “Not can’t. Even if itwascan’t…” He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m here for you. Not for what your body can or can’t do.”
His words wrap around my heart, squeezing until I can barely breathe. I’ve been carrying this fear for so long it’s fused to my bones, stitched into every hopeful glance I let myself steal when he’s not looking. I’ve been bracing for disappointment, for the moment his sympathy turns into pity, or worse, distance.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lucy.”
I sob.
Not a quiet, graceful tear slipping down my cheek, but a whole-body kind of cry. It tears out of me like a dam breaking open.
It’s everything I’ve been holding in—all the fears and doubts and moments of grief when I’d allowed myself to imagine what might never be. It’s the memory of sitting in that sterile doctor’s office alone, the weight of possibilities shrinking with each clinical word. It’s every time I watched a mother with her child and felt that hollow ache.
I’m crying because he didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pull away or try to let me down easy. I’ve spent so long preparing for rejection that I never prepared for acceptance.
