Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Harper

Grace slept in fifteen-minute increments those first few weeks, a pattern that left both Damian and me perpetually exhausted, stumbling through hallways at odd hours, trading shifts with the quiet efficiency of two people determined to survive new parenthood together rather than separately.

“Your turn,” I mumbled at three in the morning, nudging Damian awake as Grace’s cries drifted through the baby monitor.

“Already up,” he said, though his voice carried the particular roughness of someone who’d barely slept in days.

I watched him disappear down the hallway, listening to his low, steady voice through the monitor as he settled Grace back to sleep, murmuring something too quiet to make out clearly. Six months ago, I might not have believed this version of Damian existed — the cold, controlled billionaire reduced entirely to soft murmurs and gentle rocking at three in the morning, entirely devoted to a tiny, demanding person who couldn’t yet understand any of it.

He returned twenty minutes later, Grace finally settled, exhaustion written clearly across his features despite the quiet contentment underneath it.

“She’s getting easier,” he said, settling back into bed.

“That’s what we said last week.”

“I have hope.”

“Delusional hope.”

He laughed softly, pulling me closer despite our mutual exhaustion. “Maybe. But it’s working so far.”

Lily, for her part, had embraced her role as big sister with characteristic enthusiasm, though her interest occasionally outpaced her patience for actual infant behavior.

“She doesn’t do anything,” Lily complained one afternoon, watching Grace sleep peacefully in her bassinet. “She just sleeps and cries.”

“That’s mostly what babies do for a while,” I said, amused.

“When does she get interesting?”

“Soon. A few months, maybe.”

Lily sighed dramatically, though she remained close beside the bassinet regardless, occasionally reaching in to gently touch Grace’s tiny hand whenever she stirred. Despite her complaints, her devotion remained obvious in every careful, protective gesture.

Richard visited frequently during those early weeks, his presence steady and consistent in ways that still occasionally surprised me given our complicated history.

“She has your eyes,” he told Damian one afternoon, studying Grace with careful attention. “The same shape, exactly.”

“Everyone says that.”

“Because it’s true.” Richard’s expression softened, something reflective and quiet passing behind his usually guarded composure. “Your mother had eyes like that too. I used to tell her the same thing, actually. Watching you as a baby.”

Something shifted in Damian’s expression at the mention, grief and gratitude tangling together visibly. “I don’t remember much about her. Just fragments.”

“I should have told you more, over the years. Kept her memory alive properly instead of burying it beneath business and ambition.” Richard glanced toward Grace, something almost apologetic in his tone. “I’m trying to do better now. With all of you.”

“You are,” Harper said gently. “Every single day.”

Damian

By Grace’s third month, life had settled into something resembling manageable routine, sleep still scarce but growing gradually more consistent, the initial chaos of newborn care giving way slowly to easier rhythms.

Mason stopped by one afternoon, ostensibly for a business update, though his attention drifted almost immediately toward Grace, currently asleep against Harper’s shoulder.

“She’s gotten big,” he observed.

“They do that,” Harper said, amused.

“I forget how fast it happens. Feels like yesterday you two were dealing with Halloway’s shareholder complaints.”

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” I said honestly. Watching Harper now, exhausted but radiant, cradling our daughter with the same quiet confidence she brought to everything else in her life, the earlier chaos of scandal and manufactured business crises felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the steady, ordinary joy that had replaced it.

“Speaking of business,” Mason said, shifting slightly toward his actual purpose for visiting, “Hensley wants to finalize the acquisition next month. They’re hoping you’ll attend the signing personally.”

“I’ll be there.”

“With Harper?”

I glanced at Harper, silently asking the question. She smiled, nodding easily. “Wouldn’t miss it. Someone needs to make sure Ethan doesn’t crash another dinner.”

Mason laughed, though genuine relief colored his expression. “Speaking of Ethan, he’s actually been incredibly helpful lately. Handled the Morrison contract entirely on his own last week. Excellent work, honestly.”

Pride swelled unexpectedly in my chest at the update. Ethan’s continued growth, slow and genuine, remained one of the most rewarding developments of the past year, watching him gradually transform from bitter resentment into someone actually invested in contributing meaningfully rather than simply competing for attention.

“I’ll have to tell him that myself,” I said. “He deserves to hear it directly.”

“He’d appreciate that,” Mason said. “More than he’d probably admit out loud.”

Once Mason left, Harper and I settled onto the couch together, Grace still peacefully asleep between us, afternoon light spilling warmly across the living room.

“Everything’s actually working,” Harper said quietly, studying our sleeping daughter with quiet wonder. “The business, the family, all of it. I keep waiting for something to fall apart.”

“Old habits,” I said, understanding completely. “I spent years waiting for disaster too. Convinced myself happiness was inherently temporary, something to guard against rather than actually enjoy.”

“And now?”

“Now I think maybe we’ve earned this. Actually earned it, through patience and honesty rather than luck alone.”

Harper smiled, resting her head against my shoulder while Grace stirred slightly between us, tiny fingers curling instinctively around Harper’s hand even in sleep.

“I keep thinking about that night on the beach,” Harper said softly. “The message in the sand. I wonder sometimes if we should go back. Show Grace where everything really started.”

“When she’s older,” I said. “When she’s old enough to actually appreciate the story properly.”

“What story will we tell her?”

I considered the question carefully, thinking through everything that had led us here — the scandal, the fake marriage, months of careful, deliberate patience building slowly into something entirely real. “The true one, I think. That sometimes the messiest beginnings lead to the most meaningful endings. That patience and honesty matter more than perfect circumstances.”

“That’s a good story.”

“It’s our story,” I said. “I think that makes it good by default.”

Harper laughed softly, careful not to wake Grace, contentment settling completely across her tired but peaceful expression. “I love you, Damian. Completely and permanently.”

“I love you too,” I said, meaning it more fully than I’d ever managed to mean anything else in my entire life. “Completely and permanently.”

We sat together for a long while after that, watching afternoon light slowly shift toward evening, Grace sleeping peacefully between us, Lily’s distant laughter drifting in from somewhere else in the house where she was undoubtedly orchestrating some elaborate game with Victoria or Ethan.