“That I wanted to see you.”
He tilted his head, voice careful. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Because I miss you,” I said, the words fraying as they left me. “Because I love you. Because...I forgive you.”
His breath hitched, eyes flicking over my face as if searching for the lie. “You said that before,” he murmured. “Do you mean it this time?”
I nodded. “I’ve never...I’ve never felt more cherished, more accepted, more like the truest version of myself, than I do when I’m with you. And it...terrifiesme, because I’ve never known what it’s like to be seen so completely and loved anyway.” I pushed the nerves down with a swallow. “You did one thing wrong, Khalifa, but you did a million things right. I’m tired of pretending I don’t need you in my life. I’m tired of acting like I’m fine without you, like what we have is something I can just...walk away from. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
His shoulders loosened, his chest deflated with an unsteady exhale as he reached for me—hesitant at first, then certain—and pulled me against him. His arms wrapped around me tightly. I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent.
“I missed you, too,” he whispered. “You and your aggravating personality.”
“Good. Because you’re stuck with both.”
His mouth found mine before I could think, before I could breathe, before I could remind myself that we were in a hospital. It didn’t matter. He kissed me like he’d been waiting a lifetime for the permission. Like every apology he couldn’t articulate was locked between us instead.
By the time I realized oxygen was a thing, I drew back, breathless. “Wait. I have to tell you something.”
He ignored that entirely, leaning in again. “No more talking,” he murmured against my lips. “I’m injured,Doctor. I need your magic touch to heal me.”
“Please. You’re barely injured.” I laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “This is serious.”
He sighed and looked at me, eyes equal parts exasperation and curiosity. “Fine. What’s so serious?”
I hesitated. He didn’t like silence, so he broke it by kissing me again—so quick and so unfair I almost forgot my own name. “Spit it out, Lillian,” he mumbled between kisses.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted into his mouth.
He froze, his lips hovering over mine, eyes opening in stunned disbelief. “Is it mine?”
My jaw dropped. I smacked his shoulder, harder than necessary. “Yes, it’syours.”
But as I watched him, the words I’d meant as a retort tangled in my throat. His gaze had already drifted to my stomach, his expression flickering between fear and wonder, grief and awe. His hands lifted tentatively as they came to rest against me, fingers splaying over the fabric of my shirt as if it might whisper the truth back to him.
“You’re pregnant with my child?” he whispered, voice breaking somewhere between the first word and the last.
And in that instant, I saw it hit him—the weight of everything this meant. The ghost of the woman who’d once lied to him, who’d let him believe a child was his, then let him mourn a heartbeat that had never been his to claim. The years he’d carried that agony like a second skin, convinced he was cursed to love only what would betray him.
I rolled my eyes, smiling through the sting of tears. “Ourchild. But yes, I am.”
“Ours,” he repeated, like he was testing the word in his mouth. He said it again, quieter this time, his thumb tracing lazy circles against my side, as if grounding himself in the reality of it. And I realized that for him, this wasn’t just news. It was redemption.
“How long have you known?” he asked, still breathless.
“Well...technically a few weeks,” I admitted. “But I think I’ve known the entire time. I’ve just been in denial about it.” Myfingers knotted together. “I had my first appointment earlier today.”
“Why were you in denial?”
I let out an incredulous little laugh. “Why do you think?”
His expression tilted, the moment of realization unmistakable. He cupped my cheeks, palms warm against skin that had gone cold with fear. “You are going to be an incredible mother.”
I nodded, blinking fast. “It’s a girl.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and then his eyes turned glassy. “We’re going to have a girl?”
“We’re going to have a girl.” I exhaled a shaky breath. “I already love her so much, and she’s not even born yet. And I just...” My voice wavered. “I can’t fathom treating her the way my mother treated me. I don’t know how she could—” The words jammed in my throat, splintering.
