Chapter 24
Pregnancy was nothing like I expected.
I thought it would be beautiful, peaceful–maybe even poetic. Instead, it was unpredictable, emotional, and at times, exhausting.
But it was mine. Ours.
Scott was with me every step of the way. He read every book he could get his hands on. He learned how to make ginger tea when morning sickness hit hard, massaged my swollen feet without needing to be asked, and whispered to my growing belly every night like our child could already understand him.
“Hey, little bean,” he’d say, pressing his lips against my bump. “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive.”
The fear I carried for years began to fade, gently, like the tide washing away footprints in the sand. I felt safe in ways I never had before. Safe in his arms. Safe with our future.
I had regular checkups. Heard the heartbeat for the first time and cried in Scott’s chest for five straight minutes. We painted the nursery pale yellow. Hung paper stars from the ceiling. I caught myself standing in the doorway too often, just staring at the crib, imagining our baby in it.
Then came the third trimester, when everything hurt. My back. My feet. Even my lungs.
Scott tried to distract me with cooking classes–though I burned every attempt at lasagna–and beach walks, even when I waddled more than walked.
One night, while lying in bed with my head on his chest, I whispered, “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”
He kissed the top of my head. “You already are. You’re loving this baby before it’s even born.
That’s what matters.”
When labor came, it didn’t feel dramatic at first. Just cramps. Pressure. But hours later, I was screaming into Scott’s hand while nurses rushed around me.
It felt like the world was tearing open.
Then came the moment.
A cry–tiny, loud, and defiant.
And just like that, our daughter was placed on my chest, red and wrinkled and perfect.
I couldn’t speak. I just stared at her, sobbing softly while Scott kissed both our foreheads and whispered, “She’s here. She’s ours.”
We named her Luna. She had my eyes and Scott’s smile–and lungs powerful enough to wake the whole villa at night.
The first few months were a blur of diaper changes, sleepless nights, lullabies, and panicked Google searches.
I cried when she wouldn’t latch. I panicked over her first fever. I laughed when she sneezed for the first time–startled, like she didn’t know it could happen.
Scott would rock her at 3 AM, whispering made–up bedtime stories and promising her the moon
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7:21 pm G DDD.
if she’d just go to sleep.
Sometimes I watched them and felt overwhelmed by love. The kind that ached in your chest,
warm and unbearable in the best way.
One night, while Luna was asleep on Scott’s chest, I curled beside him and whispered, “Do you ever think about the past?”
He looked at me for a moment, thoughtful. “Sometimes. But I think about this more.” He gestured to our daughter. “She’s our future.”
And she was.
Luna’s first laugh was the sweetest sound I ever heard.
Her first word was “da–da,” much to Scott’s smug delight.
She took her first step in the living room, barefoot and wobbly, while I cried and clapped and couldn’t stop recording.
Every milestone was a reminder that we survived. That life goes on.
We celebrated her first birthday under the stars in our backyard, surrounded by close friends. Aurora sent a letter and a tiny silver bracelet engraved with “Luna.” No return address. But I knew it was her. I smiled, feeling peace.
That night, as I held Luna in my arms while she drifted off to sleep, I stepped out to the balcony and looked at the sea.
A gentle wind swept through my hair. The sky was clear, and the moon–our daughter’s namesake–glowed softly above.
So much had happened. So many wounds. So many battles.
And yet, here I stood. Whole. Healing. Loved.
Scott came behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Still glowing,” he murmured, kissing the curve of my neck.
I leaned into him. “Can you believe it’s been a year?”
He chuckled. “I can. Every sleepless night is etched into my brain.”
I laughed quietly, holding our sleeping daughter close. “Wouldn’t trade it for the world.””
He turned me toward him, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Me neither.”
We kissed under the moonlight, a quiet promise of everything yet to come.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t just feel like I had survived.
I felt like I was truly, finally living.
Chapter 24
