Movement.
A small flutter beneath my hand that feels unmistakably alive.
“Watch,” I whisper.
Dane’s eyes lock onto my stomach.
We stay completely still together, both waiting—then there it is again. Small. Subtle. But impossible to mistake once you feel it.
Not me.
Not something wrong.
Dane makes a sound under his breath I’ve never heard from him before. Something between disbelief and awe and fear all tangled together.
I keep staring up at the sky because looking anywhere else feels impossible right now.
The realization doesn’t arrive as a thought first. It moves through me physically, rearranging everything all at once. The growth. The pressure. The nausea. The exhaustion.
Every piece falls into place so suddenly it almost leaves me breathless.
This isn’t something killing me.
It’s somethingbecoming.
“It’s not cancer,” I say softly.
Finally, I turn my head toward him. I don’t even know how to describe what’s on his face.
“It’s a baby.”
The tears start before I fully understand why. Not sharp or panicked. Just immediate, like my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
And what follows comes from somewhere deeper than I expected. Bigger than simple relief.
Because I thought I was dying. I’ve been saying goodbye to my life without admitting that’s what I was doing.
The realization sits underneath everything as the tears come harder now, impossible to contain. I don’t even try.
Dane pulls me upright from the sand and into him, and I go immediately. His arms lock around me tightly enough that I can feel the desperation in it.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
One hand presses into my hair while he holds me against his chest. His breathing is uneven now—subtle, controlled, but wrong enough that I know he’s fighting to keep himself together too.
I cry until it finally empties itself out of me, leaving behind something quieter.
“A baby.” Just two words, but his voice sounds different when he says them.
“Apparently so,” I manage.
He leans back enough to look at me fully. His eyes are bright now, not quite tears but close enough that it catches somewhere deep in my chest. He studies my face like he’s still trying to convince himself this is actually happening.
“You thought you were dying.”
“I did.”
Something shifts across his face then—too much emotion at once for any one expression to fully hold. Relief. Fear. Love. Grief for what he thought was happening to me.
