“I feel perfect,” Kelechi said, bouncing Zara gently. “Though the baby’s been kicking all morning, I think they love the loud music.”
“Aww, that’s how excited they always are. God, I miss my bump,” Atlas replied, and we laughed.
Carmen caught my eye and grinned. “I still can’t believe you two are going to be mums.”
“Neither can I. It’s like a dream, one I don’t ever want to wake up from,” I said.
That night three years ago, when Kelechi had shown up at my house, the day she chose me, chose us, it felt like a lifetime ago. Now we shared everything..our lives, our work, our daily routines, our dreams for our growing family.
“The philosophy department is throwing us a baby shower next month,” she told me as we started walking with the crowd. “Professor Douglas insisted.”
We had decided to make Canada our home, so immediately after completing our degrees, we applied for our postgraduate work permits. The process had been smoother than we’d anticipated, and now, as permanent residents just months away from citizenship, we felt truly settled in our new country.
My position as a lecturer in Philosophy of Mind and Cognitive Science paid well enough to support us both, especially with the consulting work I’d picked up with local non-profits and my trust fund. Kelechi’s research in Applied Ethics was already generating interest from publishers. Her latest paper on Applied Ethics and the Boundaries of Moral Obligation had been accepted by a prestigious journal, too.
“Your mum called this morning,” she added. “She wants to FaceTime tonight to see how much the bump has grown.”
“Didn’t she call just two days ago to see the bump?” I said, and we both burst into laughter.
My parents had adored her from the moment they met her. Their love had meant everything to both of us, especially as we dealt with her own family situation.
The silence from her parents had stretched on for three years now. No phone calls, no messages, nothing. It was as if she had ceased to exist the moment she walked out their door.
Her sister Esther was finishing her master’s in Calgary and visited whenever she could, already planning to help when the baby arrived. She was the only bridge left to Kelechi’s family, carefully maintaining relationships on both sides while respecting the painful divide.
Sometimes I caught her staring at her phone, and I knew she was thinking about calling home. About sharing news of the pregnancy, of our marriage, of the life we’d built.
But then she would set the phone aside and reach for my hand instead, choosing the affection that chose her back over the affection that came with impossible conditions.
The loss still ached. I could see it in the way she touched her belly sometimes, a shadow crossing her face as she probably imagined her parents never holding our child.
But we’d created our own family. Found our chosen community. Built something beautiful from the pieces of what had been broken.
We found a spot along the parade route and settled in to watch. I positioned myself behind her, my arms circling her waist and my hands resting on her belly.
She leaned back against me, and I felt the baby give a strong kick against my palm.
“Someone’s active today,” I murmured into her ear.
“They know their mama’s here,” she whispered back, turning her head so I could kiss her temple.
When she turned fully in my arms, her brown eyes meeting mine with that soft smile that still made me forget how to breathe, I felt that familiar surge of gratitude overwhelm me.
“I adore you,” I said suddenly. “Both of you.”
She kissed me slowly, the parade noise fading into background music. Her hands came up to cup my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones in that gentle way that never failed to undo me.
She was bolder now, more confident in her skin, in us.
“Get a room!” Atlas called out, grinning.
“You two can’t get enough of each other,” Carmen added. “Almost four years together and you still act like newlyweds.”
We all laughed.
Two years ago, Kelechi and I got married in a small ceremony in the backyard of our new home, just our closest people surrounding us as we promised forever.
It had been perfect in its intimacy, focusing on what mattered — us, choosing each other again and again.
