Emma I used to measure time by meetings, deadlines, and late-night rendezvous in the office. Now, I count it by baby kicks, doctor appointments, and the way Killian’s eyes light up when he talks to my belly like our baby can already understand him. The second pregnancy has been so different. With Alina, it was all nerves and secrecy, a thrilling chaos we had to adjust to. But this time, it’s… tender. Familiar. Like our love has deepened into something even more meaningful, something that’s rooted in stability but still full of heat and wild affection. At twenty-one weeks, I’m finally starting to show. My bump is impossible to hide now, especially in the sleek work dresses I stubbornly insist on wearing. My assistant keeps trying to get me to wear maternity suits, and I keep brushing her off. I’m still me, bump and all. Killian has become even more annoyingly doting. He times my water
Emma The soft hum of the baby monitor was the only sound in our bedroom. Alina had finally drifted off after her usual dramatic bedtime story demands—two fairy tales, one impromptu dance session, and a cup of warm milk. I lay on my side, propped up on one elbow, watching Killian across the room. He stood by the dresser in nothing but sweatpants, brushing through his hair like it hadn’t already been disheveled by our toddler’s chaotic hugs. I smiled. “How is it,” I asked softly, “that you still look this good even after a whole day of spit-up and tantrums?” He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Years of practice not letting you see me crack.” “You crack plenty,” I teased, crawling over to the edge of the bed, letting my robe fall just slightly. “Usually when I do this—” His eyes darkened. “Emma…” “I just miss you,” I whispered. “Not just the husband wh
Emma’s POV Telling your child that everything is about to change isn’t something you can rehearse for. Especially not when your daughter has your temper and her father’s intensity. Alina was sitting on the floor of her pastel playroom, legs crossed, a tiara on her messy curls as she organized her stuffed animals like she was their CEO. She didn’t even look up when I walked in. She had Killian’s focus too. “Alina, baby,” I began, voice soft as I knelt beside her. “Can Mommy talk to you about something really important?” “Is it about Daddy eating my chocolates again?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Because I told him that bear was watching.” I stifled a smile. “It’s not about the chocolate. It’s something… bigger.” That caught her attention. She looked up, big hazel eyes blinking at me, already analyzing my tone. God, she was so young but already so much like the both o
Emma The bathroom floor was cold beneath my feet. The early morning sun filtered through the window, casting long golden lines across the tiles. My hands trembled slightly as I held the pregnancy test, heart pounding so loud I thought Killian might hear it from the bedroom. Two minutes. That’s all it took to change a life. I stared at the tiny stick like it was a bomb about to go off. And in a way, it was. We hadn’t planned for this. We hadn’t even discussed trying again. Alina was barely two. We were finally sleeping through the night, balancing life and passion again. And yet… here I was, holding my breath, half-terrified and half… hopeful? I glanced at the mirror and barely recognized myself in the reflection. A part of me still felt like the reckless girl who used to torment Killian in lecture halls. And now? I was a mother, a wife, a CEO—and maybe pregnant again.
Killian It was her sigh that did it. Not the dramatic kind. Not frustration. It was that soft, aching exhale Emma only made when she was overwhelmed and trying not to be. We were in the kitchen—Alina was finger-painting on the island while Emma tried to juggle a work call on her AirPods and stir the pasta sauce with one hand. I came in just in time to see her blink rapidly, like she was forcing herself not to fall apart over marinara and toddler chaos. So I took the spoon from her hand. Kissed her temple. And said, “We’re leaving.” She blinked up at me. “What?” “Weekend away. Just us. No phones. No work. No toddler. Just you and me and silence.” “And sex?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I smirked. “Absolutely. Lots of it.” She gave a tired laugh, but I caught the flicker of relief
Emma It started innocently. Alina was curled up in my lap, half-asleep with her thumb in her mouth and my silk scarf gripped tightly in her hand, her favorite comfort lately. Killian had just finished building her new playhouse in the backyard—complete with a miniature mailbox, flower boxes, and fairy lights. He looked so damn proud, sweat glistening on his brow as he stood there, hands on his hips, like a man who’d conquered the world. “You know,” I murmured, brushing a curl off Alina’s forehead, “you’d make a pretty good stay-at-home dad.” He smirked, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. “That sounds dangerously close to domestic bliss. Should I be worried?” I rolled my eyes, but then—my voice softened. “Sometimes I think she needs a sibling.” Killian froze. It was subtle. A half-second pause. A hitch in his breath. But I saw it.