In the morning, I wake up to the sound of Dex making pancakes while Blythe provides detailed commentary on proper batter consistency. Tyson’s at the kitchen table reading hockey stats aloud, because apparently that’s his contribution to breakfast conversation.
Normal family chaos. The kind I never thought I’d have again.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Dex says, kissing me as I pour coffee.
“Morning.”
“Sleep well?”
“Best sleep of my life.”
And it’s true. All of it. The sleep, the morning, the life we’ve built together. It’s everything I never dared to hope for and more than I ever thought I deserved.
But I do deserve it. We all do.
EPILOGUE
“Rememberthe day of the custody hearing?” I ask, settling onto the edge of our bed where Dex is still reading game notes, laptop balanced on his knees.
He looks up, eyebrows raised at my seemingly random question. “Hard to forget. You nearly wore a hole in the floor.”
“Not that part.” I twist my wedding ring—still new enough that the gesture feels unfamiliar. “The conversation about kids. When you asked if I wanted more and I said I might be done with that chapter.”
Something shifts in his expression, alert now in a way that tells me he senses this isn’t just reminiscing. “I remember.”
“And you said you’d always pictured having two or three kids. That you grew up with siblings and cousins everywhere.”
“Goldie...” He closes the laptop, setting it aside. “Where is this going?”
I take a breath, my hand unconsciously moving to rest on my still-flat stomach. “I took a test this morning. After you left for practice, after the kids went to school.”
He goes completely still. “And?”
“It was positive.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The pregnancy test is still sitting in my nightstand drawer—I’d needed time to process it alone first, to figure out how I felt before bringing him into it. That’s who I am, how I handle big news. Even good news. Especially unexpected news.
The morning had started normally enough. Dex kissing me goodbye before heading to practice, Tyson grabbing his backpack and reminding me about his science project due Friday, Blythe spinning through the kitchen in her latest “outfit coordination” while explaining why polka dots and stripes are “fashion allies, not enemies.”
Just another Tuesday in our beautifully chaotic life.
Except I’d been feeling off for a few days. Tired in a way that extra coffee couldn’t fix. Emotional in a way that didn’t match my cycle. And this morning, standing in our kitchen after the kids left, pouring coffee I suddenly didn’t want, the possibility had hit me like a slap shot to the chest.
I’d driven to the pharmacy in my pajamas and winter coat, bought the test with shaking hands, and sat on our bathroom floor for twenty minutes staring at those two pink lines while my entire worldview shifted.
Because the thing is, I’d been telling the truth that day. I was maybe done. Tyson and Blythe had consumed every ounce of maternal energy I had to give during those dark years with Evan. The thought of sleepless nights and tiny helpless humans depending on me had felt impossible, exhausting before it even began.
But sitting on that cold tile floor this morning, test in hand, I’d realized something had changed. Not just my circumstances—though god knows those were different. But me. I was different.
The woman who stood across from Dex in my kitchen that evening, carefully explaining why she was done having children,had been operating from a place of survival. Protecting herself and her existing children from any additional vulnerability, any extra complication that might give Evan more ammunition.
But Evan’s not a threat anymore. And Dex... Dex isn’t Evan. Not even close.
“We weren’t trying,” I say unnecessarily.
“No,” he agrees quietly. “We definitely weren’t.”
I study his face, looking for signs of panic or regret. Instead, I see something that looks like cautious hope, quickly tempered by concern.
