LOGINShe had tea. I had coffee. The ultrasound photo was in her bag. I set down my coffee and looked at her. "I want it to be different," I said. She looked at me. "Which part?" "All of it. Every appointment. Every change. The birth. The beginning." I looked down at the table. "I wasn't there for Alessandro's beginnings. I came in halfway through, and I've been working from that position for two years. I'm good at it now. I know how to do it." I looked at her. "But I want to be there for all of this. From the beginning. The way I couldn't be before." She was silent for a moment. She placed her hand flat on the table, palm down. I put mine over it. "I know," she said. "You already are." "I know I already am. I want to say it anyway." "Then say it." "I want to be present for this, unlike what happened with Alessandro. I want to be in every room. I want to know about every change before it's too late. I want to be there from the beginning, not be the person who arrives
Aiden's POV The twelve-week ultrasound was on a Tuesday morning. Dr. Oswell was running slightly behind, which left us waiting eleven minutes in the waiting room. The aquarium was still there. I hadn't been back in that waiting room since the paternity test, years ago, since Lucy had stood in front of that aquarium and told me I had the same eyes as her, then explained everything she knew about the fish. I looked at the aquarium and thought about that afternoon, about the distance between who I had been then and the man sitting in that chair now. Rosie was beside me, absorbed in her phone. She had that particular ease she had in waiting rooms, that calm, that ability to wait that I had always found difficult. She had learned to wait during the years when waiting had made up most of her existence. I had learned other things during those years, and waiting wasn't one of them. "The blue one is new," she said without looking up from her phone. I looked at the aquarium. Ther
She was eight years old, and she was more certain of him than he was of himself. "He knows," I said. "Good." She picked up her book again. "I wanted to check." "Lucy." She looked up. "Why didn't you ask if I was happy? Or scared? Most people would ask that first." She considered it with the seriousness she gave questions she thought deserved a real answer. "Because I could already see that you were happy and scared too," she said. "Both were on your face. I didn't need to ask you that." She looked back at her book. "I needed to ask you about the things that weren't on your face yet. The practical things." I sat at the kitchen table watching my daughter read her book. She had been the whole reason. For seven years, she had been the reason I got up and worked two jobs and walked forty minutes to save the cost of the bus and painted at kitchen tables after she fell asleep. She had been the reason I stayed when staying was difficult. She had been the reason I let Aiden
Rosalie's POV I told Lucy on a Saturday morning while Aiden took Alessandro to the park. It was deliberate. I had asked him the night before if he could take Alessandro out for an hour Saturday morning, and he had said yes without asking why, which was one of the things I had come to rely on without ever pointing it out. He heard the request and did the thing without demanding an explanation first. Lucy was at the kitchen table with a book when I came and sat across from her. She looked up. She read my face with that quick assessment she gave to things she considered worthy of her attention. Then she set down her book and gave me her full attention, which meant she had already decided this was going to be a real conversation. "I want to tell you something," I said. "Okay." "We're going to have another baby." She was silent for a moment. Not the silence of someone processing a shock. The silence of someone filing the information and deciding where it belonged. "When?
I leaned forward slightly. "You want to know why I believe it," I said. "You don't have to explain." "I know I don't. I want to." I placed my hands on the table. "You had the thought. You recognized what it was within eighteen hours. You came to me with it before it became something else. You went to Dr. Garrett. "You sat at this table this morning and told me what the apologies were really for. And now you're sitting here asking me not whether you deserve the benefit of the doubt, but whether the evidence supports the belief." I looked at him. "That isn't the man who looked for the window. That's the man who looked at the window and then came to find me." He was completely still. "The thought isn't who you are," I said. "What you did with the thought is who you are. And what you did with it was bring it here." He looked at the table. He took one slow breath. I watched the thing he had been holding continue to loosen, not completely. There were things inside him that wo
Rosalie's POV I spent the morning at the studio and the afternoon at the gallery, and I thought about the kitchen-table conversation during the drive home. Not with the heavy quality of the night before. The night before had needed to be what it was. This was different. This was the quality of the morning after, that precise clarity that came after something difficult had been said and carried without destroying anything. I had left the tea. He had drunk it. We had talked that morning with coffee between us, and we were okay. But I knew it wasn't over. We had had the apology conversation and the morning conversation, and they had been necessary and real, and I wasn't minimizing them. There was still a third conversation that hadn't happened yet, the one underneath the other two, the one about what the thought had really been about. He had said it at the table that morning. That he was still working on where the thought came from. I had said I was still working on my version o







