The doctor smiles.
“Yep,” she says easily. “About thirteen weeks, based on the ultrasound.”
Time stops.
Just—
Stops.
Thirteen weeks.
My grip tightens around Esme’s hand without me even realizing it.
Thirteen weeks.
Jesus Christ.
“Benji?” she whispers.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
And suddenly everything clicks into place.
Every choice.
Every mistake.
Every second chance.
Every goddamn moment that led us here.
Her.
My wife.
Carrying our child.
Something in my chest cracks wide open.
I lift her hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm.
Once.
Twice.
But it’s not enough.
Not even close.
So I stand.
Pull her up with me.
Wrap my arms around her like I’m never letting go again.
“A baby?” My voice comes out rough, thick with everything I’m trying—and failing—to hold back. “Sweetheart, you’re giving me a baby?”
