Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Harper

Second trimester brought energy back in full force, along with an appetite Damian found endlessly amusing.

“You ate an entire jar of pickles yesterday,” he said, watching me reach for another snack from the pantry. “An entire jar, Harper.”

“The baby wanted pickles.”

“The baby’s the size of an avocado. I looked it up.”

“An avocado with excellent taste in snacks, apparently.”

He laughed, pulling me close despite my mouth still full of crackers. “I love you. Pickle obsession and all.”

“Good. Because this obsession isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

We’d settled into a comfortable rhythm since the pregnancy announcement, ordinary domestic routine punctuated by doctor’s appointments and Lily’s increasingly elaborate nursery demands. She’d apparently abandoned the unicorn theme in favor of something she called “space unicorns,” which involved considerably more glitter than either Damian or I felt equipped to handle.

“She’s very committed to this vision,” I told my mother during her weekly visit, watching Lily present an elaborate drawing featuring what appeared to be a unicorn riding a rocket ship.

“She’s a Blackwood,” Evelyn said, amused. “Commitment runs in the family, apparently, regardless of how questionable the cause.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Evelyn studied me for a long moment, something soft and reflective in her expression. “I never thought I’d see you this happy, Harper. Not after everything I put you through, growing up angry at a family that never even knew our names.”

“You didn’t put me through anything, Mom. You survived something terrible and did your best raising me alone.”

“I filled you with anger instead of hope.”

“You gave me exactly what you had to give,” I said gently. “None of that stopped me from finding this anyway.”

Evelyn’s eyes glistened, though she blinked the emotion away quickly, never entirely comfortable with vulnerability despite years of therapy Damian had quietly arranged for her without ever mentioning it directly.

“He’s good for you,” she said finally. “Damian. I was wrong about him, completely wrong.”

“You had good reason to distrust the Blackwood name.”

“I did,” she agreed. “But watching you these past months, watching this family actually heal instead of just performing wealth and status, I think I finally understand what you saw in him from the beginning.”

Later that evening, Damian found me sitting in the nursery, hand resting against my rounded stomach, watching afternoon light spill softly across walls Lily had insisted on painting pale lavender.

“You look thoughtful,” he said, settling beside me on the small window seat.

“Just reflecting. My mother said something today. About finally understanding what I saw in you.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That some things take time to understand properly. Patience, mostly. The same lesson this whole relationship’s been teaching both of us since the very beginning.”

Damian smiled, resting his hand gently over mine against my stomach. “Speaking of patience, we should probably discuss names soon. Lily’s suggestions are becoming increasingly creative.”

“Please tell me she’s abandoned ‘Stardust’ as a serious option.”

“Unfortunately not.”

I laughed, leaning into his shoulder. “We have time still. A few more months before we need actual decisions.”

“I’ve been thinking, actually,” Damian said carefully. “If it’s a girl, what about Grace?”

Something warm and immediate settled in my chest at the suggestion. “After your mother.”

“After my mother,” he confirmed. “She would have loved this, Harper. Loved you, loved Lily, loved everything we’ve built despite every obstacle standing against us.”

“Grace,” I repeated softly, testing the name against the quiet room. “I love it.”

“And if it’s a boy?”

“Something equally meaningful,” I said. “Maybe after my father, actually. He died before I really knew him, but my mother always said he was gentle. Patient. Everything Richard wasn’t, back then.”

“What was his name?”

“Daniel.”

Damian considered this seriously. “Daniel Blackwood. I like that.”

“Me too.”

We sat together for a while longer, discussing possibilities and hopes for whoever waited quietly inside me, decisions and dreams unfolding naturally between us the way they’d learned to over the past year, unhurried and certain.

Damian

That weekend, we hosted a small gathering to celebrate the pregnancy properly, family gathered comfortably around the same table that had once hosted tense, obligatory dinners filled with unspoken resentment.

Richard arrived early, carrying a small, carefully wrapped gift that turned out to be an antique rocking horse, clearly restored with considerable care.

“This belonged to you,” he said quietly, handing it to Harper. “When you were young. I found it in storage. Thought your child might appreciate having something that survived this family’s complicated history.”

Harper’s eyes filled immediately, emotion breaking through her usual composure. “Richard, this is—thank you.”

“It’s overdue,” he said simply. “Like most things I should have offered years ago.”

Ethan arrived shortly after, considerably lighter and more relaxed than he’d been in months, therapy clearly continuing its steady, positive influence.

“Any name decisions yet?” he asked, settling beside Lily, who immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation of her space unicorn nursery theme.

“We’re considering Grace, if it’s a girl,” Harper said. “After Damian’s mother.”

Something shifted across Ethan’s expression, memory and grief mixing with quiet approval. “She would have loved that. Grandma always wanted more grandchildren, before everything fell apart.”

“Things are coming back together now,” I said. “Slowly, but genuinely.”

“They are,” Ethan agreed, something hopeful and unguarded in his voice that hadn’t existed there in years.

Victoria arrived last, immediately commandeering Lily’s attention with an elaborate discussion about proper nursery organization, the two of them disappearing upstairs almost immediately to “supervise” decorating decisions neither of them had any actual authority over.

Watching my family gathered together, genuinely present rather than performing obligation, I felt something settle permanently and completely in my chest. Harper caught my eye from across the room, something knowing and warm passing silently between us.

Later that night, once everyone had finally departed and Lily had exhausted herself from excitement, Harper and I sat together on our balcony, watching stars scatter across the clearing spring sky.

“Good day?” she asked.

“The best kind,” I said. “Watching everyone actually show up, actually try, actually love each other properly instead of just maintaining appearances.”

“We did that.”

“We did that,” I agreed, pulling her closer. “Whatever happens next, Harper, whatever challenges wait ahead with this baby, with Ethan’s continued healing, with Richard’s ongoing redemption, I know we’ll handle it. Together, exactly the way we’ve handled everything else.”

“Together,” she echoed softly, resting her head against my shoulder as the stars continued their steady, patient watch overhead.