CHAPTER 36: Sixteen Weeks

The lawsuit faded into background noise as my body changed.

Sixteen weeks pregnant. Four months. A visible bump that I could no longer hide under loose shirts.

"You're showing," Victoria said, eyeing my stomach during our weekly lunch. "Like, really showing."

"I know. None of my pants fit anymore."

"Time for maternity shopping. I'm taking you this weekend."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Plus, someone needs to make sure you don't buy those awful elastic-waist jeans."

I laughed. "What's wrong with elastic waist?"

"Everything. We're getting you designer maternity. You're a Sterling now. Act like it."

Despite the stress of the lawsuit, despite James's constant media attacks, despite everything—I was happy.

The baby was growing. Strong. Healthy. Kicking more every day.

And Alexander was obsessed.

Every night, he talked to my belly. Read stories. Played classical music because he'd read it helped brain development.

"You're going to spoil her before she's even born," I teased.

"Impossible. She deserves everything."

"She's not even here yet."

"Doesn't matter. She's already my favorite person. Tied with you."

My heart melted every time.

---

The nursery was taking shape.

Alexander had hired a designer—someone who specialized in luxury baby rooms—but I'd insisted on being involved.

"Soft colors," I said, reviewing paint samples. "Nothing too pink. I don't want her thinking she has to like pink just because she's a girl."

"Noted. What about pale yellow? Or mint green?"

"I love mint green."

The designer nodded, making notes. "And for furniture? Traditional or modern?"

"Traditional," Alexander said.

"Modern," I said at the same time.

We looked at each other.

"Compromise?" he suggested.

"Traditional furniture, modern accents?"

"Perfect."

The designer smiled. "You two are surprisingly good at this."

"At what?" I asked.

"Compromise. Most couples fight about nursery design for weeks."

Alexander squeezed my hand. "We save our fights for important things. Like baby names."

"We're not fighting about names."

"We will be. I want Eleanor. You want something modern."

"I never said I wanted something modern!"

"You did. Last week. You said 'Eleanor is beautiful but maybe too traditional.'"

I paused. "Okay, fair. But I didn't mean—"

"See? We're already fighting."

The designer wisely excused herself.

---

That evening, Catherine came for dinner.

She'd been coming weekly since the wedding—making an effort to be part of our lives.

"How's the lawsuit?" she asked over pasta.

"Awful," I admitted. "They subpoenaed my medical records. Want to prove the timeline of conception."

Catherine's face hardened. "That's invasive."

"That's James," Alexander said bitterly.

"He's my grandson. But he's wrong about this." Catherine looked at me. "I'm testifying on your behalf. Patricia asked me last week."

I nearly dropped my fork. "You are?"

"Yes. I'm going to tell the court that James was unfaithful, irresponsible, and that you ended things with good cause. That Alexander's relationship with you began after your breakup with James."

"Mother, you don't have to—"

"I do. Because it's the truth. And because this family needs to stop protecting James from consequences." Her eyes were fierce. "I enabled him for too long. Excused too much. Not anymore."

Alexander looked emotional. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I should have done this months ago."

After dinner, Catherine pulled me aside.

"How are you really?" she asked. "Beyond the lawsuit. Beyond everything."

"Tired. Scared. Happy. All of it."

"That's motherhood. Even before the baby arrives." She touched my bump gently. "May I?"

"Of course."

The baby kicked against her hand. Catherine's eyes widened.

"She's strong."

"Like her grandmother," I said.

Catherine's eyes filled with tears. "I don't deserve that. I was terrible to you."

"You apologized. You changed. That's what matters."

"I was so worried about what people would think. About the scandal. About my reputation." She shook her head. "I forgot what actually matters. Family. Love. Choosing the people who make us better."

"You're choosing us now. That's enough."

She hugged me tightly. "You're good for my son. And you're going to be an excellent mother."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

---

That night, Alexander and I lay in bed, his hand on my bump.

"She's active tonight," he observed.

"She's always active at night. I think she's nocturnal."

"Great. We're going to have a night owl baby."

"Your fault. You keep talking to her at bedtime. She's waiting for story time."

He smiled and leaned close to my stomach. "Hello, little one. Your mom says it's my fault you won't sleep. She's probably right. But I can't help it. I love talking to you."

The baby kicked in response.

"She hears you," I whispered.

"Good. I want her to know my voice. To know she's loved. To know—" His voice caught. "To know I'll always be here for her. No matter what."

I ran my fingers through his hair. "You're going to be an amazing dad."

"I failed with James."

"You didn't fail. He made his own choices."

"Did he? Or did I spoil him too much? Give him everything without teaching him to work for it?"

"Alexander, you can't blame yourself for who James became."

"Can't I?" He looked up at me. "This baby—our daughter—I want to do it right this time. Teach her values. Responsibility. Kindness."

"You will. We will. Together."

"Together," he repeated. Then he smiled. "What about the name Luna?"

"Luna Sterling?"

"Too modern?"

"Actually... I love it."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really. Luna Sterling. It's perfect."

"Luna Catherine Sterling," he said. "After my mother. If that's okay."

My heart melted. "That's more than okay. It's beautiful."

"Luna Catherine Sterling." He tested it out. "Our daughter."

I smiled. "Our daughter."

For a moment, everything was perfect.

No lawsuit. No drama. No James.

Just us and our baby.

A family.

Then Alexander's phone buzzed with an alert.

His face went pale.

"What?" I asked.

"James. He just posted bail money for his court case."

"So?"

"Bella, the bail was $50,000. He shouldn't have access to that kind of money. I cut him off completely."

"Then where did he get it?"

Alexander was already dialing Marcus. "That's what I need to find out."

As he paced, talking urgently on the phone, I felt the familiar dread creep back.

We couldn't have one perfect moment without James finding a way to intrude.

Our daughter kicked hard, as if in protest.

"I know, baby girl," I whispered. "I'm tired of him too."

But tired or not, we had to stay vigilant.

Because James wasn't done fighting.

And neither were we.