Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Harper

Damian returned to his usual demanding schedule, though he’d started making a visible effort to leave the office by six most evenings, dinner with the family taking priority over lingering meetings.

I noticed the exhaustion first. Small things, easy to dismiss initially — falling asleep earlier than usual, feeling unusually queasy during my morning coffee, a persistent tiredness that no amount of sleep seemed to fix.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Damian observed one evening, watching me push food around my plate without much enthusiasm.

“Just tired.”

“You’re always tired lately.”

“I know.” I set my fork down, considering the pattern more seriously than I had before. “I think I might need to see a doctor.”

Something flickered across his expression, concern immediately replacing his earlier casual tone. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing. Just persistent exhaustion, some nausea. Could be stress.”

“Could be something else,” he said carefully.

I looked up, meeting his eyes, understanding exactly what he meant without him needing to say it directly. “Damian—”

“I’m not saying it is,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

The possibility settled heavily between us, neither of us quite brave enough to fully voice the hope quietly building beneath the uncertainty.

I scheduled an appointment for the following week, Damian insisting on accompanying me despite his usually packed schedule.

“You don’t have to come,” I said in the waiting room, though secretly grateful for his presence beside me.

“I want to be here.”

“Even if it’s nothing?”

“Especially if it’s nothing,” he said. “I want to be here regardless of what we find out.”

The doctor called us back twenty minutes later, running through routine questions before drawing blood for testing. The wait afterward felt endless, Damian’s hand gripping mine tightly enough to betray the calm exterior he usually maintained so effortlessly.

When the doctor finally returned, her expression carried the particular warmth reserved for good news.

“Congratulations,” she said simply. “You’re pregnant. Approximately six weeks along, from the initial bloodwork.”

The words landed between us with enormous weight, silence stretching several long seconds before either of us fully processed what we’d just heard.

“Pregnant,” I repeated, disbelief and joy tangling together in my voice.

“Pregnant,” Damian echoed, something entirely undone in his expression, walls I’d rarely seen fully lowered breaking open completely.

The doctor continued with additional information, prenatal vitamins, follow-up appointments, general guidance for early pregnancy, though most of it barely registered through the overwhelming joy settling steadily through my chest.

Once we finally left the office, Damian pulled me close right there in the parking lot, uncaring about anyone watching.

“We’re having a baby,” he said, voice rough with emotion.

“We’re having a baby,” I confirmed, laughing through unexpected tears.

“Harper.” He pulled back slightly, cupping my face gently. “I never thought I’d have this again. Not after everything with Lily’s mother. I convinced myself this particular happiness wasn’t meant for me twice.”

“Life apparently disagrees.”

“Life apparently does,” he said, kissing me softly, right there among parked cars and afternoon traffic, uncaring about anything except the overwhelming joy neither of us had fully expected to feel again.

Damian

Telling Lily proved considerably more entertaining than either of us anticipated.

“A baby?” she asked, eyes wide with barely contained excitement. “An actual baby?”

“An actual baby,” Harper confirmed, watching our daughter’s reaction carefully.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We don’t know yet, sweetheart.”

“I want a sister.”

“We can’t exactly choose that,” I said, amused.

“Well, I’m choosing anyway. A sister. Named after a unicorn.”

“We are not naming your sibling after a unicorn,” Harper said firmly, though her laughter undercut any real authority behind the statement.

“Fine. Half a unicorn name, then. Something subtle.”

“There’s no such thing as a subtle unicorn name.”

Lily considered this seriously, clearly already planning entire nursery decorations in her head. “Can I help pick the room colors, at least?”

“Absolutely,” Harper said. “You’ll be the best big sister this baby could ask for.”

Lily beamed, practically glowing with pride at the responsibility being offered to her. Watching the exchange, something settled warmly and completely in my chest, gratitude threading through every part of this unexpected, beautiful continuation of everything we’d built together.

Telling the rest of the family unfolded with similar warmth. Victoria cried, quietly and uncharacteristically, insisting she’d known something felt different during our last dinner together. Richard, surprisingly, seemed the most affected, quietly requesting a moment alone with me once the initial celebration settled.

“I wasn’t there for you, this way, when you were young,” he said carefully. “I want the chance to be different, this time around.”

“You’ll get that chance,” I said. “This baby deserves grandparents who actually show up.”

“I intend to,” Richard said, something genuine and determined in his voice that I hadn’t heard directed toward family matters in longer than I could remember.

Ethan, when he heard the news, offered congratulations that felt entirely sincere, free of the resentment that once colored every interaction between us.

“I’m happy for you,” he said. “Really happy. This family needed something like this.”

“Thank you, Ethan. That means more than you probably realize.”

Later that evening, once the excitement had settled and the house had quieted, Harper and I found ourselves back in the study, the same room where we’d first admitted our feelings months earlier.

“Can you believe this?” Harper asked, resting a hand gently against her still-flat stomach. “Everything that’s happened, leading us here.”

“I believe it completely,” I said. “I think this is exactly where we were always supposed to end up, even during all those months I convinced myself love was a weakness I couldn’t afford.”

“I’m glad you were wrong about that.”

“So am I,” I said, pulling her close, pressing a gentle kiss against her forehead. “Every single day, I’m grateful I was wrong about that.”

Outside, winter continued its steady march toward spring, snow slowly beginning to melt into the promise of warmer days ahead. Inside, wrapped together in quiet contentment, Harper and I sat with the enormous, beautiful weight of everything still waiting for us.

A new baby. A healing family. A love neither of us had expected to find, built patiently and deliberately from scandal and revenge into something entirely, permanently real.