Updated Feb 23, 2026 • ~8 min read
POV: Rory
I wake up to morning sickness.
Again.
Third day in a row.
But I’m not complaining.
Because this time, I’m not stressed. Or scared. Or fighting for my marriage.
I’m just pregnant.
Happily, legally, joyfully pregnant.
Dominic appears in the bathroom doorway with ginger tea.
“Morning sickness again?”
“Yeah.”
“Tea?”
“Please.”
He hands me the cup. Rubs my back while I sip.
“How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Tired. Nauseous. Happy.”
He smiles.
“Good happy or sarcastic happy?”
“Good happy. Really.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We’re in our new apartment.
Not the house he shared with Celeste—he sold that six months ago.
This is ours.
A two-bedroom in a different neighborhood.
Bright. Airy. Full of plants and art and life.
One bedroom for us.
One for the baby.
We painted it yellow last weekend.
Gender-neutral.
Because we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet.
And honestly, we don’t care.
We just want healthy.
At ten weeks, I’m past the point where I lost the first baby.
It’s terrifying and hopeful at the same time.
“Every day that passes is a victory,” Dr. Patel told me at my last appointment.
Dominic comes to every single one.
Holds my hand during ultrasounds.
Asks a million questions.
Cries when we hear the heartbeat.
He’s going to be an amazing dad.
Work is good.
I’m still teaching art at the same school.
But I’ve cut back my hours.
Part-time now instead of full-time.
Less stress. More rest.
My principal was supportive.
“Family comes first,” she said when I told her about the pregnancy.
I’m lucky.
Priya comes over for lunch.
Brings soup and bread.
“How’s the morning sickness?” she asks.
“Brutal. But worth it.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks. I’m happy for me too.”
We eat.
Talk about baby names. Nursery designs. All the fun stuff.
“Have you thought about telling Celeste?” Priya asks carefully.
I pause.
“Dominic mentioned it. He said she’d heard through mutual friends already. That she sent congratulations.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah. She’s moved on. We’ve moved on. It’s… friendly now. Distant, but friendly.”
“That’s mature.”
“We try.”
That evening, Dominic and I go for a walk.
Our nightly routine.
Through the neighborhood. Around the park.
Just us. Talking. Holding hands.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“About?”
“The baby shower. When we have one. Who to invite.”
“Okay?”
“I think we should invite Celeste.”
I stop walking.
“Really?”
“Only if you’re comfortable. But… she’s part of our story. And she’s been nothing but supportive. I think it would be a nice gesture. To show there’s no hard feelings.”
I think about it.
A year ago, the idea would have terrified me.
But now?
“Okay. Let’s invite her.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re right. She’s been kind. And it feels… right. To include her.”
He kisses my forehead.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you. For being kind even when you have every right not to be.”
“Well, I learned from the best.”
He laughs.
“I’m not sure I’m the best example—”
“You are now. And that’s what matters.”
At twelve weeks, we tell our families.
My parents cry. Happy tears.
Dominic’s mom is ecstatic.
“A grandchild! Finally!”
His brother James claps him on the back.
“Congratulations, man. You deserve this.”
“Thanks. We both do.”
The pregnancy progresses smoothly.
No complications. No scares.
Just normal pregnancy stuff.
Nausea. Fatigue. Weird cravings.
At fifteen weeks, I start showing.
Dominic is obsessed with my belly.
Talks to it every night.
“Hi, baby. It’s your dad. We can’t wait to meet you.”
It’s adorable.
At eighteen weeks, we find out the gender.
A girl.
We’re having a daughter.
I cry in the ultrasound room.
Dominic cries too.
“A little girl,” he whispers.
“Our little girl.”
We start planning the nursery in earnest.
Paint the walls a soft lavender.
Buy a crib. A changing table. Tiny clothes.
It’s overwhelming and perfect.
“What should we name her?” I ask one night while we’re assembling furniture.
“I don’t know. What do you like?”
We throw out names.
Some traditional. Some unique.
Nothing feels quite right yet.
“We’ll know when we meet her,” Dominic says.
“You think?”
“I know.”
At twenty weeks, halfway through, we have a scare.
Spotting.
I panic immediately.
Dominic rushes me to the hospital.
Dr. Patel examines me.
Runs tests.
“Everything’s fine,” she finally says. “The baby is healthy. This happens sometimes. But I want you on bed rest for a week. Just to be safe.”
Bed rest.
I hate it.
But I comply.
Because this baby is everything.
Dominic takes a week off work.
Stays home with me.
Makes me meals. Reads to me. Keeps me sane.
“Thank you,” I tell him on day three.
“For what?”
“For being here. For choosing me. For choosing us.”
“Every day. I told you. I meant it.”
“I know. But I’m grateful anyway.”
At twenty-two weeks, I feel the baby kick for the first time.
We’re lying in bed.
Dominic’s hand on my belly.
And then—flutter.
“Did you feel that?” I ask.
“I think so. Do it again, baby girl.”
Another kick. Stronger this time.
We both laugh.
“She’s strong,” Dominic says.
“Like her mom.”
“And stubborn like her dad.”
“God help us.”
At twenty-five weeks, we start planning the baby shower.
Small. Intimate.
Just close friends and family.
Isabel helps me plan.
“What’s the theme?” she asks.
“Books. We want to build her a library. So in lieu of cards, everyone brings a book with a message.”
“I love that!”
We send invitations.
Including one to Celeste.
She responds immediately.
Celeste: “I’d be honored to attend. Thank you for including me. Congratulations again.”
Me: “Thank you. We’re glad you can make it.”
Dominic was right.
It feels good to include her.
To show that we’ve all healed.
At thirty weeks, I’m officially enormous.
Waddling. Uncomfortable. Impatient.
“Only ten more weeks,” Dominic reminds me.
“Ten WEEKS? That’s forever.”
He laughs.
“You’re doing great.”
“I’m huge.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Liar.”
“I’m serious. You’re glowing. You’re growing our daughter. You’re incredible.”
I cry.
Damn hormones.
At thirty-two weeks, we have the baby shower.
Priya’s backyard.
Decorated with soft pastels and flowers.
Twenty guests.
Including Celeste.
She arrives with a gift bag and a warm smile.
“Congratulations,” she says, hugging me carefully. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too.”
It’s not awkward.
It’s just… nice.
We’ve all moved on.
And it shows.
During the shower, people share books and messages.
My mom brings “Goodnight Moon” with a note about bedtime routines.
Priya brings “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” with a message about growth.
Celeste brings “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” by Dr. Seuss.
Inside, she’s written:
“For Baby Ashford. May your life be full of adventure, love, and joy. And may you always know how loved you are. Congratulations to your amazing parents. – Celeste”
I cry reading it.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“Of course. I meant every word.”
Later, Celeste pulls Dominic aside.
I watch from across the yard.
They talk. Smile. Hug.
It looks… peaceful.
When he comes back, I ask: “What did she say?”
“That she’s happy for us. That we deserve this. That she’s found peace.”
“Is she dating anyone?”
“Yeah. A guy named Michael. From her dance class. She seems really happy.”
“Good. She deserves it.”
“She does. We all do.”
That night, after everyone leaves and we’re cleaning up, I sit with my giant belly and my pile of books.
Fifty-three in total.
A whole library for our daughter.
“She’s going to be so loved,” I whisper.
Dominic sits next to me.
Puts his hand on my belly.
Our daughter kicks.
“She already is.”
At thirty-five weeks, we’re in the home stretch.
Everything is ready.
Nursery done. Hospital bag packed. Names narrowed down.
We’re just waiting now.
For her to decide she’s ready.
“What do you think she’ll be like?” I ask one night.
“I don’t know. But I hope she has your kindness. Your creativity. Your strength.”
“And your patience. Your loyalty. Your heart.”
“She’s going to be amazing.”
“Yeah. She is.”
We lie in bed.
My belly between us.
Our daughter moving. Stretching. Preparing.
And I think: we made it.
Through the impossible situation.
Through the heartbreak.
Through the healing.
We made it.
And now we get to meet the person we made.
Together.
Finally.
Joyfully.
END OF CHAPTER 29
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