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“We’re getting along great!” I chirp. “Two peas in a pod.”

“Or monsters in a graveyard,” Laz mutters under his breath.

Manny and Rhea have that same supernaturally good hearing.

But we are on a phone call across states, and they are in a busy hospital, by the sounds of shouting and beeping.

“What was that?” Manny asks.

“I just said, ‘The year is starting off great!’”

“Oh, good. Such a relief.”

Lazarus and I look at the pile at our feet, and I crack first. Hysterical, relieved laughter pours from my throat. “Such a relief!” I echo fervently.

They’re gone. The real monsters that haunted us and hunted us are gone.

We’re free to be the people we’re meant to be.

“Sounds like someone’s had too much champagne. We won’t call you two until the afternoon,” Manny chuckles. “Love you. Don’t stay up too late, kids.”

“Love you, we won’t,” Lazarus replies and hangs up. “Uh. We could probably shower and catch the tail end of that party at White Pines?” he suggests. “I didn’t buy any champagne, babe. I’m sorry.”

I grab him by the collar and pull his lips to mine. “I’ve got you. That’s all the celebration I need. Come on. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Birth and Re-birth

Manny: Emma Regina Finklestein is here at three pounds even, born 12:02 am, January Second. You are officially big brother and big sister-in-law.

Rhea: Don’t jinx it.

I smile at the phone. Vic is still asleep, curled naked under my arm, head on my chest. “Hey,” I whisper.

She blinks up at me, beautiful eyes no less beautiful because of the dark circles under them. I love how they open slowly, and a smile stretches over her face. She doesn’t jump or tense. When she sees me smiling down at her, she immediately reaches up to pull me deeper into our bed, into her embrace.

“Morning.”

“The baby is here. Emma Regina.”

Victoria bolts up, sleepy satiation gone. “Is she okay? Is she in the NICU? How much did she weigh? Wait, what day is this?”

I have to chuckle. “Friday, January 2nd. We have to go to work, but not for another hour. Here, see the messages.”

I pass her my phone and watch her eyes gloss up with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t Emily,” I whisper, kissing her arm as I lean against her. “But, um... One day?”

“One day. It’ll never be Emily, but we’ll think of good names. Oh, hey, you’re getting another text.”

It’s a picture.

Manny. Shirt off. Big green, scarred chest under a bright pink bundle with the tiniest oxygen tubes running across what I can see of her face.

Rhea: We are taking turns doing skin-to-skin time with her, but not for long. She is in the NICU in a special incubator crib, but they say these skin time visits are very important. Hannah is doing great. This has been such a scary ordeal for her, and she’s finally passed it. I think we were all worried that she would change her mind, but she told us that the way we took care of her just made it abundantly clear to her that we were the right parents for Emma. She knows we will take amazing care of her, and she can build the life she wants while still being part of Emma’s life, too. She is in recovery, and her parents have come back down. They are reconciling. Hannah is hoping that she can re-enroll and take the spring semester courses after all, since the classes don’t start for two weeks. It’s rough that Emma is early, but this is good for Hannah, and doctors say Emma is doing great for a preemie. They said she could possibly go home around 36 weeks. It’s all going to depend on her. That’s a long time for you kids to run things.

“God, she’s typing a book,” I moan as the words flow up the screen. “She should just call.”

“Call her, silly. She probably thinks we’re asleep. It’s barely seven.”