My Mate's Father Claimed Me
“Not hope, not fear. I needed to know this wasn’t just my body remembering what it used to be, to know it was real before I gave it a name.”
Miranda reaches for my hands. Her palms are warm and grounding.
“You were always careful with miracles,” she says. “Even as a child, you hid your favorite stones because you thought the sun would fade them.”
“I wanted to make it a gift,” I admit. “Not another crisis, not another thing the world could take from us.”
She exhales slowly. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make you wrong,” she says, squeezing my fingers. “It makes you a mother.”
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