Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~11 min read
EMILIA
“Mama, why is your belly so big?”
I look down at my very pregnant stomach—eight months along with baby girl Blackwood-Rodriguez—and then at Miles, who’s studying me with genuine curiosity.
“Because your little sister is in there, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” He pats my belly gently. “Hi, sister! It’s me, Miles!”
The baby kicks in response, and Miles’ eyes go wide.
“She kicked me!”
“She’s saying hi back.”
“Can she come out yet? I want to play with her.”
“A few more weeks, baby.”
“That’s forever!”
He’s not wrong. These last few weeks have been dragging. I’m huge, uncomfortable, and so ready to not be pregnant anymore.
But also terrified. Because this time, I know what’s coming. The pain, the exhaustion, the complete upheaval of life with a newborn.
At least this time I won’t be alone.
Asher appears with my foot pillow—the man has a sixth sense for when my ankles are swelling.
“How are my girls?” he asks, helping prop up my feet on the couch.
“Enormous. I’m literally as big as this house.”
“You’re not that big.”
“I can’t see my feet. I haven’t seen them in weeks.”
“Your feet are still there. I checked this morning.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He sits beside me, hand automatically going to my belly. The baby kicks, and he smiles.
“She’s active today.”
“She’s active every day. I swear she’s training for a marathon in there.”
Miles climbs onto the couch between us. “When sister comes, I’m going to teach her everything.”
“Like what?” Asher asks.
“Like how to feed ducks. And how to climb trees. And how to make you do funny voices when you read books.”
“Those are all very important skills.”
“And I’ll share my toys. Except Eph. Eph is mine.”
“That’s fair. Everyone needs one special thing that’s just theirs.”
Miles seems satisfied with this and runs off to play, leaving Asher and me in a rare moment of quiet.
“Can you believe it’s been a year?” I ask.
“Since the wedding?”
“Since I crashed yours, actually. The anniversary is today.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then laughs. “Best worst day of my life.”
“Just best day.”
“You’re right. Nothing worst about it. That was the day I met my son. The day you came back into my life. The day everything changed.”
“Everything did change, didn’t it?”
I look around our living room—toys scattered everywhere, family photos on every surface, Miles’ artwork covering the fridge. Evidence of the life we’ve built.
“Sometimes I can’t believe this is real,” I admit. “That we’re here, married, about to have our second child. It feels like a dream.”
“If it’s a dream, I never want to wake up.”
The baby kicks hard, making me wince.
“You okay?” Asher asks immediately.
“Fine. She’s just very enthusiastic about her existence.”
“Gets that from her mother.”
“Or her father. You’re pretty enthusiastic these days.”
“I have a lot to be enthusiastic about.”
My phone buzzes. Cora.
How’s my pregnant sister?
Ready to not be pregnant.
Hang in there! Only a few more weeks!
If she says ‘only a few more weeks’ one more time, I’m going to scream.
Asher reads over my shoulder and laughs. “She means well.”
“She’s not the one who has to pee every five minutes.”
“True.”
Cora shows up an hour later with Autumn in tow, arms full of food and baby supplies.
“We’re here to help!” Autumn announces.
“Help with what?”
“Whatever you need. Cleaning, cooking, watching Miles. You’re eight months pregnant. You need help.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re enormous and exhausted. Accept the help.”
They bustle around, putting away groceries, tidying up, entertaining Miles. I try to protest, but honestly, it’s nice to just sit.
Asher joins me on the couch. “See? Accepting help isn’t so bad.”
“I’m not used to it.”
“I know. But you don’t have to do everything alone anymore. You have me. You have Cora and Autumn. My parents. A whole support system.”
“Your parents are coming tomorrow, right?”
“Yep. Mom wants to take Miles for the day, give us a break before the baby comes.”
“That’s actually really nice of her.”
“She’s changing. We all are.”
Cordelia and Atticus have been regular visitors since the wedding. Not overwhelming, but present. Involved. And Miles adores his grandparents.
“Gampa promised to take me fishing,” Miles announces, running through the living room.
“Did he?”
“Yes! And Mimi is teaching me to bake!”
“Wow. That’s very exciting.”
He’s gone again, a whirlwind of energy.
“I don’t remember having that much energy,” I observe.
“You’re growing an entire human. You get a pass.”
That evening, after Cora and Autumn leave and Miles is finally in bed, Asher and I find ourselves on the back deck.
It’s become our ritual—quiet time after Miles sleeps, just the two of us and the lake.
“You nervous?” he asks. “About the baby coming?”
“Terrified. I know what to expect this time, which is somehow worse.”
“But you’re not alone.”
“I know. That helps.”
“I’m going to be there for everything. Every contraction, every push, every moment. You won’t do any of it alone.”
Tears fill my eyes—pregnancy hormones make me cry at everything.
“I know. And I’m so grateful. But Asher, what if—” I stop, unsure how to voice the fear.
“What if what?”
“What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not enough for two kids? What if Miles feels left out? What if I’m a terrible mother?”
He pulls me close—as close as my belly allows.
“You’re already an amazing mother. Miles is thriving because of you. And you’ll be just as amazing with our daughter.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that. Because I’ve watched you with Miles. The patience, the love, the way you know exactly what he needs before he even asks. You’re going to be incredible.”
“We’re going to be incredible,” I correct. “Together.”
“Together,” he agrees.
We sit in comfortable silence, his hand on my belly, feeling the baby move.
“Have we decided on a name?” he asks.
We’ve been going back and forth for months.
“I like Luna.”
“Luna Rodriguez-Blackwood?”
“Or Blackwood-Rodriguez. We haven’t decided on that either.”
“We’re very decisive people.”
“The best at making decisions.”
He laughs, and the sound makes me smile.
A year ago, I was standing in that cathedral, Miles in my arms, about to crash Asher’s wedding. Terrified, desperate, unsure if I was making the right choice.
Now I’m here, married to him, about to have our second child, completely certain.
This is right. This is home.
“Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For fighting for us. For being here. For being the man I always hoped you’d be.”
“Thank you for giving me the chance. For crashing my wedding. For being brave when I was a coward.”
“We’re quite the pair.”
“The best pair.”
Miles’ voice comes through the monitor. “Mama? Dada? I had a dream!”
We both smile.
“Duty calls,” I say, starting to get up.
Asher stands first, helps me to my feet. “Together?”
“Always together.”
We head inside to comfort our son, and I think about how different everything is from a year ago.
A year ago, I was alone. Afraid. Unsure of the future.
Now I have Asher. Miles. A baby on the way. A home full of love.
It’s not perfect. Miles still has tantrums. Asher and I still argue about whose turn it is to change diapers. Life is still messy and complicated.
But it’s ours.
This beautiful, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life.
Two weeks later, at 3 AM, I wake Asher with the words every pregnant woman dreads.
“It’s time.”
He’s out of bed in seconds, alert despite the hour. “You’re sure?”
“Very sure.”
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“Six minutes.”
“Okay. Okay. We have time.” He’s trying to stay calm, but I can hear the panic in his voice. “I’ll call Cora. She can come stay with Miles.”
“Already texted her. She’s on her way.”
“Your bag?”
“By the door. Where it’s been for three weeks.”
“Right. Good. Okay.”
Another contraction hits, and I breathe through it. They’re different from last time—more intense, more purposeful. My body knows what to do now.
Cora arrives in record time, looking barely awake but functional.
“Go,” she tells us. “I’ve got Miles.”
The drive to the hospital is both eternal and instantaneous. Asher holds my hand the whole way, murmuring reassurances.
“You’ve got this. We’ve got this. Together.”
At the hospital, everything moves quickly. They get me into a room, check my progress—five centimeters already—and confirm that yes, this baby is coming today.
“Last time, labor was sixteen hours,” I tell the nurse.
“Every labor is different. This one might be faster.”
She’s right. Six hours later, at 9:37 AM, Luna Grace Rodriguez-Blackwood enters the world, screaming her displeasure at the bright lights and cold air.
They put her on my chest, and I fall in love all over again.
She’s perfect. Dark hair like Miles, but her features are different. More delicate. She has my nose.
“Hi, baby girl,” I whisper. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Asher is crying, standing beside me, one hand on my shoulder, the other gently touching Luna’s tiny fist.
“She’s beautiful,” he manages. “You’re both beautiful.”
“You were here,” I say, looking up at him. “The whole time. You didn’t leave.”
“Told you I wouldn’t.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. For being present. For being the father I always wanted for our children.”
He leans down, kisses my forehead. “Thank you for giving me this. For giving me everything.”
A few hours later, after Luna has been cleaned and weighed (seven pounds, two ounces) and I’ve been stitched up and moved to a recovery room, Cora brings Miles to meet his sister.
He’s tentative at first, standing in the doorway.
“Come here, buddy,” I call softly. “Come meet Luna.”
He approaches slowly, eyes wide, taking in the sight of me in the hospital bed with a tiny bundle in my arms.
“That’s sister?”
“That’s your sister.”
“She’s very small.”
“You were that small once.”
“I was?”
“Even smaller.”
He climbs onto the bed—carefully, with Asher’s help—and peers at Luna’s face.
“Hi, Luna. I’m Miles. Your big brother.”
Luna opens her eyes, unfocused and searching.
“She’s looking at me!”
“She is.”
“I think she likes me.”
“Of course she likes you. You’re her big brother.”
Miles very gently pats her head. “I’m going to teach you everything. But you have to grow first, okay?”
Luna makes a small sound, and Miles is delighted.
“She talked to me! Dada, did you hear? She talked!”
“I heard. You’re already best friends.”
That night, after visiting hours are over and it’s just me and Luna in the quiet hospital room, I hold my daughter and think about everything that led to this moment.
The heartbreak and the healing.
The cathedral crash and the wedding that followed.
The second chances and the choices we made.
All of it leading here. To this. To a family I built from the wreckage of my broken heart.
Asher sends me a photo from home—Miles asleep in his bed, Eph clutched in one fist, Asher’s hand on his curly head.
Our boy is asleep. Dreaming about his sister, probably. Can’t wait to bring you both home.
I text back:
We can’t wait to come home. I love you.
I love you too. More than all the leaves and ducks and everything else.
I laugh, quiet so I don’t wake Luna.
That reference to Miles’ declaration from a year ago. When he told us he loved us more than ducks, and we knew we were doing something right.
We’re still doing something right.
Building this life, one day at a time.
One crashed wedding, one proposal, one “I do” at a time.
One baby, then another.
One choice after another to love each other, to fight for us, to build this family.
Luna stirs in my arms, and I look down at her perfect little face.
“Welcome to the family, sweet girl,” I whisper. “It’s chaotic and messy and absolutely perfect. Just like us.”
She makes a small sound, settling back to sleep.
And I think: This is it.
This is what I almost didn’t have.
This is what I fought for.
This is what crashing a wedding and demanding the truth bought me.
A family.
A home.
A love that’s real and hard and worth every single moment.
Sometimes you have to crash a wedding to find your way home.
Sometimes you have to break before you can build something stronger.
Sometimes the worst decisions lead to the best outcomes.
And sometimes—if you’re really, really lucky—you get a second chance.
Not just at love.
But at everything.
And I’m taking it.
Every messy, beautiful, perfectly imperfect moment of it.
Forever.
—THE END—
Reader Reactions