Updated Feb 20, 2026 • ~4 min read
LUCIA
I’m late.
Two weeks late.
I stare at the pregnancy test in my hand.
Three minutes feels like three hours.
Paloma is on speakerphone.
“What does it say?”
“I haven’t looked yet.”
“Look!”
I flip it over.
Two lines.
Positive.
“Oh my god.”
“WHAT?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Screaming.
She’s screaming.
I’m crying.
“Does West know?”
“Not yet. I just found out.”
“How are you going to tell him?”
Good question.
WESTLEY
I come home to candles everywhere.
And Lucia looking nervous.
“What’s all this?”
“I have news.”
“Good news or bad news?”
“Good news. I think. I hope.”
She’s rambling.
“Lucia, you’re scaring me.”
She hands me a small box.
“Open it.”
I do.
Inside: a tiny pair of baby shoes.
My brain short-circuits.
“Are you—”
“Pregnant. I’m pregnant.”
I drop the box.
Pick her up.
Spin her.
“We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby!”
I kiss her.
Over and over.
“I’m going to be a dad.”
“You’re going to be a dad.”
I’m crying.
Happy tears.
The best tears.
LUCIA
We tell our families at Sunday dinner.
Both sides. Everyone together.
“We have an announcement,” West says.
Everyone goes quiet.
“Lucia and I are expecting.”
Chaos.
Diana crying.
Tom shaking West’s hand.
Jonah hugging me.
Carmen screaming.
“I’m going to be an aunt!”
“You’re going to be an aunt!”
It’s perfect.
WESTLEY
Pregnancy is an adventure.
Morning sickness. Cravings. Mood swings.
Lucia wants pickles and ice cream at two AM.
I drive to three stores to find both.
“You’re a saint,” she says.
“I’m in love.”
We find out at twenty weeks.
“Want to know the gender?” the ultrasound tech asks.
We look at each other.
“Yes,” we say together.
“It’s a girl.”
A girl.
We’re having a daughter.
LUCIA
We paint the nursery.
Soft yellow. Gender neutral gone wrong.
But we love it.
“What about names?” West asks.
“I have one in mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Hope.”
He looks at me.
“Hope?”
“Yeah. Because that’s what you gave me. Hope. For a future. For love. For everything.”
His eyes fill with tears.
“Hope Archer. I love it.”
WESTLEY
Seven months pregnant.
Lucia is huge.
Beautiful but huge.
“I’m a whale,” she complains.
“You’re growing our daughter.”
“Whale.”
I kiss her belly.
“Hope, tell your mom she’s beautiful.”
The baby kicks.
Lucia laughs.
“She agrees with me,” I say.
“She’s kicking because I need to pee. Again.”
I help her up.
Watch her waddle to the bathroom.
I’m so in love.
With both of them.
LUCIA
Eight months.
False alarm.
We rush to the hospital.
It’s just Braxton Hicks.
“This is a practice run,” the doctor says.
“I don’t like this practice,” I mutter.
West squeezes my hand.
“Soon. She’ll be here soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
Nine months.
Due date comes and goes.
“She’s stubborn,” I tell Carmen.
“Like her mother.”
“Hey!”
One week overdue.
The doctor schedules an induction.
“Tomorrow,” West says. “We meet her tomorrow.”
I’m terrified.
Excited.
Ready.
WESTLEY
Labor is intense.
Fourteen hours.
Lucia is a warrior.
“I can’t do this,” she says at hour twelve.
“Yes you can.”
“I really can’t.”
“You’re almost there. I can see her head.”
“That’s not helpful, West!”
But she pushes.
And pushes.
And—
A cry.
High-pitched. Perfect.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor says.
They place her on Lucia’s chest.
Tiny. Pink. Screaming.
“Hi, Hope,” Lucia whispers.
I’m crying.
Full-on sobbing.
“She’s perfect.”
“She really is.”
LUCIA
I hold our daughter.
Marvel at her tiny fingers.
Her tiny nose.
West’s eyes.
My hair.
Perfect.
“We made this,” I say.
“We made her.”
Hope yawns.
Settles against my chest.
“Welcome to the world, baby girl.”
WESTLEY
That first night in the hospital.
Lucia is sleeping.
Hope is in my arms.
I talk to her quietly.
“Hi, Hope. I’m your dad. I’m going to mess up a lot. But I promise I’ll always love you. Always protect you.”
She grips my finger.
Holds on tight.
“Your mom is the bravest person I know. She’s going to teach you to be brave too.”
Lucia stirs.
“You talking to her?”
“Just making promises.”
“What kind of promises?”
“To love her. To be present. To be the dad she deserves.”
Lucia smiles.
“You already are.”
END OF CHAPTER 26
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