His hand cups the back of my neck, warm and firm. “Claire. You don’t earn this. You receive it.”
A tear slips before I can stop it. He wipes it with his thumb.
“Tell me the part that scares you,” he says softly.
I swallow. “That if I rely on you… I’ll lose myself.”
His brow furrows gently, not offended. “You won’t lose yourself. You’ll grow into this like anything else in life.” He nudges his forehead to mine. “You’re still Claire. This, what we have together, is a partnership.”
My breathing hitches. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is,” he says quietly. He presses a kiss to my temple, slow and deliberate.
“I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs. “You’re mine; we fit together, and you’re safer in my world than outside it.”
I grip his shirt. “I believe you.”
“Good.” His lips brush my hair. “Then rest. I’ll run the security scan again in an hour.”
My eyes widen. “Another alert?”
“Don’t worry about it.” His voice softens to something lethal. “That’s my job.”
I exhale, sinking into him, warmth spreading through my chest emotionally.
I close my eyes. And for the first time in years… I feel at home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Claire
Four weeks later…
Everything in my life feels different. The morning sun glows through Erik’s loft windows, striping the floor in gold while I finish my last pumping session before heading into the kitchen. The bottles on the counter are heavy, twelve ounces today. I stare at them with a mix of awe and disbelief.
Nearly two months ago, there was nothing. Now, it feels like my body is writing a miracle story.
Erik passes behind me, fingers brushing the back of my neck in a way that feels both tender and claiming. “Good output this morning,” he murmurs, voice low. “You’re responding beautifully. And I can’t wait to drink some today.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks. I put the bottles in the fridge and pull my shirt down when someone knocks.
Grace steps inside, glowing, with one hand resting protectively over her adorable baby bump. At eighteen weeks, she’s blooming, her belly finally showing through her dress, cheeks rosy, and eyes bright.
“Look at you,” I whisper, hugging her carefully. “You’re glowing.”
“And look at you,” she teases, eyes darting to my now very expanded chest. “Mama Claire.”
I flush. “Not a mama… yet."
Grace arches a brow. “You’re producing twelve ounces a day and radiating like a nightlight. Honey, if the shoe fits…”
She sinks onto the couch, one hand rubbing slow circles on her little belly. “I feel like the baby is fluttering today,” she says softly. “I’m sure it’s probably gas, but it still feels like magic to me.”
Emotion catches in my throat. “Grace…”
“I wanted to share this moment with you.” Her smile softens. “You and I? We’re both growing something miraculous.”
I sit beside her, resting my head against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
