The thought should have terrified me. And it did, a little—a cold finger of fear tracing my spine at the thought of responsibility, of failure, of all the ways I could mess this up. But underneath that, stronger than I would have believed possible, was a sense of rightness. Of pieces falling into place. Of a door opening onto a future I’d never dared imagine.
I climbed the steps slowly, each one bringing me closer to Burke, to the conversation we needed to have. The wood creaked under my weight, familiar now where once it had made me jump. The screen door squeaked on its hinges as I pulled it open, then slapped shut behind me with a sound like punctuation.
The house was quiet—no TV, no radio, just the soft tick of the clock in the hall and the distant hum of the refrigerator. I stood in the entryway, suddenly unsure. Burke could be anywhere—the basement, the attic, out back with the tool shed door propped open, music blaring too loud for anyone to hear me call.
But something pulled me forward, down the hall toward the living room. My feet knew where to go, even when my brain was still catching up.
I paused outside the door, hand on the frame. Took a deep breath, feeling it fill my lungs all the way to the bottom. For the first time since that wave of nausea had hit me three days ago, my stomach stayed quiet. No churning, no flipping, just a steady, certain warmth spreading from my center outward.
I was scared. Of course I was. Scared of Dennis, scared of the hearing, scared of being responsible for a life when I was still figuring out my own. But I was also, impossibly, hopefully alive with a feeling I hadn’t had since I was too young to know better.
The kind of hope that didn’t wait for permission. The kind that grew in the dark places, stubborn and sure, until one day it broke through into the light.
I stepped into the doorway, and there he was—Burke, stretched out on the couch with a magazine open on his chest, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’d been dozing.
He wasn’t asleep, though. I could tell by the way his breath caught when I entered, by the slight tensing of his shoulders that said he was aware of me even with his eyes closed.
“Hey,” he said, not moving his arm. “Where’ve you been all day? I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I crossed to the couch, each step feeling like it was happening in slow motion. My heart hammered against my ribs, but for once, the sensation wasn’t fear. It was anticipation. Certainty. The knowledge that whatever happened next, I wouldn’t face it alone.
“I was talking to Carter,” I said, perching on the edge of the cushion. “About... something important.”
Burke lowered his arm, green eyes finding mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Yeah? What about?”
I reached for his hand, twining our fingers together. His palm was warm, callused in all the places mine was soft. A perfect fit, like we’d been made to slot together.
“I think,” I said, voice steady despite the hammering in my chest, “that we need to talk about the future. Our future. All three of us.”
His eyebrows drew together, confused. “Three?”
I placed his hand on my stomach, flat for now but someday, maybe, not. “You, me,” I said, watching understanding dawn in his eyes, “and whoever’s in here.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe, as far as I could tell. Then his face did something complicated—surprise, wonder, fear, joy, all of them chasing each other across his features too fast to track.
“Danny,” he whispered, and my name in his mouth was the best sound I’d ever heard. “Are you...?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He was moving then, surging up from the couch to pull me into his arms. His hug was careful, gentle—always gentle now, after the bruises—but I could feel the emotion in it, the barely contained joy vibrating through every line of his body.
“We’re having a baby,” he said against my hair, voice rough with feeling. “Holy shit, we’re having a baby.”
I laughed, the sound shaky with relief. “We’re having a baby,” I agreed, and it was the truest thing I‘d ever said.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I love you,” he said, simple and sure. “Both of you. So much it hurts.”
And there it was—the fear, the hope, the impossible rightness of it all, crystallized into a moment I would remember forever. Me and Burke, on a battered couch in a ranch house that wasn’t much to look at but felt, somehow, like coming home. His hand on my stomach, my heart in his eyes, and between us, the beginning of everything.
“I love you too,” I said, and leaned in to kiss him, pouring eight weeks of terror and wonder and bone-deep certainty into the press of my lips against his.
Outside, the sun was setting, painting the world in gold and amber. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges—Dennis, the hearing, the long road ahead. But for now, in this moment, with Burke’s arms around me and the future stretching bright before us, I finally understood what it meant to be safe.
To be seen.
To be, against all odds, exactly where I was meant to be.
Chapter Eleven
