Updated Oct 23, 2025 • ~9 min read
LINA’S POV
At almost seven months pregnant, I could no longer see my feet.
“This is ridiculous,” I said, staring down at where my toes used to be. “The baby’s moving more now. It’s surreal.”
“You’re perfect,” Seb said from the floor of what used to be his office, currently surrounded by crib parts and an instruction manual that might as well have been in hieroglyphics.
“You have to say that. You’re legally obligated.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He held up two identical-looking pieces. “Does this look like part B or part F to you?”
“They both look like wooden sticks.”
“Extremely helpful, thank you.”
I lowered myself into the rocking chair Isabella had insisted we needed—and honestly, she’d been right. It was perfect. Comfortable and soothing and exactly where I wanted to spend hours with our baby.
Our baby. I touched my stomach, feeling the now-familiar flutter of movement.
“They’re kicking again,” I said.
Seb dropped the crib parts immediately, crossing to kneel in front of me. His hands settled on my belly, gentle and reverent.
“Hey there,” he murmured. “It’s your dad. Stop beating up your mom from the inside.”
As if in response, there was a strong kick right under his palm.
“Did you feel that?” I asked.
“I did.” His face was pure wonder. “That’s incredible.”
“That’s your child telling you they have no intention of listening to you.”
“Already taking after you, then.”
“Seb!”
He grinned, pressing a kiss to my stomach before standing. “Come on. Help me with this crib before I give up and hire someone.”
“You’re an engineer. You can build a crib.”
“I design software, not furniture. Very different skill sets.”
Two hours later, the crib was assembled. Sort of. It leaned slightly to the left and made an ominous creaking sound when Seb tested it, but it was standing.
“We’re definitely hiring someone,” he said.
“Agreed.”
We stood in the doorway of the nursery, surveying our work. The walls were painted sage green—Isabella’s choice, and she’d been right about that too. The furniture was mostly assembled. The closet was slowly filling with tiny clothes that didn’t seem real.
“This is really happening,” I said softly.
“Are you scared?”
“Terrified. You?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled me against his side. “But also excited. And ready. Mostly ready.”
“I don’t know how to be a mom.”
“I don’t know how to be a dad. We’ll figure it out together.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
SEB’S POV
That night, I found Lina standing in the nursery, crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, immediately on alert.
“Nothing. Everything.” She gestured at the room. “This is real, Seb. We’re having a baby. In three months. Ninety days. And I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Nobody’s ready. That’s the point.”
“But what if I mess up? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if—”
“Stop.” I pulled her into my arms. “You’re going to be an amazing mother. You’re already thinking about the baby constantly. Researching everything. Making sure they have the safest crib and the softest blankets and the most ridiculous number of stuffed animals.”
“They need options.”
“They need you. That’s it.” I cupped her face. “And they’re getting the best version of you. The caring, stubborn, beautiful version who fights for the people she loves.”
“How do you always know what to say?”
“I don’t. I’m making it up as I go.” I kissed her forehead. “But I mean every word.”
She pulled back, wiping her eyes. “I have my ultrasound tomorrow.”
“I know. I took the afternoon off.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I’ve been to every appointment, Lina. I’m not missing this one.”
“What if they ask about the father? What if—”
“Then I’ll tell them I’m the father. Because I am. In every way that matters.”
She kissed me, soft and sweet. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now come on. You need sleep and I need to figure out if that crib is actually safe or if we’re going to wake up to it collapsed in the middle of the night.”
“Very reassuring.”
“I’m here to help.”
LINA’S POV
Dr. Gabriella Coleman’s office was decorated with photos of babies she’d delivered. Hundreds of them, spanning decades.
“One day our baby will be on that wall,” Seb said, studying the pictures.
“That’s assuming they let you take photos during delivery.”
“I’m taking photos. And video. And probably crying.”
“You? Crying?”
“I cry at commercials now. A baby? I’m going to be a mess.”
Dr. Coleman entered, warm and professional as always. “Lina! Sebastian! Ready to see your baby?”
“So ready,” I said.
The ultrasound gel was cold. I gripped Seb’s hand as Dr. Coleman moved the wand across my stomach.
And then there they were.
Our baby. Tiny and perfect and real.
“There’s the head,” Dr. Coleman narrated. “The spine. Four chambers of the heart, all looking good. And… do you want to know the sex?”
I looked at Seb. We hadn’t discussed this.
“Do you want to know?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“I’m good either way.”
Dr. Coleman laughed. “How about I write it down? You can look when you’re ready.”
“Perfect,” I said.
She printed pictures—so many pictures. Our baby in profile. Their tiny hand near their face. Their feet crossed at the ankles.
“Everything looks healthy,” Dr. Coleman said. “Baby’s measuring right on track. Strong heartbeat. You’re doing great, Lina.”
“Thanks to my husband,” I said, squeezing Seb’s hand. “He makes sure I actually eat vegetables and sleep.”
“Good man.” She smiled at Seb. “Keep it up. She needs to take care of herself.”
In the car, Seb studied the ultrasound photos like they were precious artifacts.
“Look at their nose,” he said. “It’s so small.”
“Everything is small. They’re a baby.”
“But it’s our baby’s nose. That’s different.”
I pulled the envelope from my purse—the one with the baby’s sex written inside.
“Should we look?” I asked.
“Do you want to?”
“I asked you first.”
“I’m happy either way. Boy, girl, doesn’t matter. I just want them healthy.”
I turned the envelope over in my hands. “Me too. But also… I kind of want to know. To picture them. Plan.”
“Then let’s look.”
I opened the envelope slowly. Read the single word written in Dr. Coleman’s neat handwriting.
Girl.
“A girl,” I whispered.
Seb’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re having a daughter.”
“A daughter who’s going to have you wrapped around her tiny finger.”
“Absolutely. She won’t even have to try.” He pulled me into a kiss. “A daughter. Lina, we’re having a daughter.”
The reality of it hit me all at once. A little girl. With Seb’s eyes, maybe. Or his smile. A tiny person we’d raise and love and teach and protect.
“I don’t know how to raise a girl,” I said.
“You are a girl. You have some experience.”
“Was a girl. Now I’m a terrified woman about to raise one.”
“Then we’ll figure it out. Like everything else.” He touched my stomach. “Hey there, little one. Your mom and I are a little scared but also really, really excited to meet you.”
Another kick, stronger now.
“She hears you,” I said.
“Good. She should know her dad’s voice.”
SEB’S POV
That night, I couldn’t stop looking at the ultrasound photos.
A daughter. My daughter.
“You’re spiraling,” Lina said from the bed.
“I’m not spiraling. I’m processing.”
“You’ve been staring at that photo for twenty minutes.”
“She’s beautiful. Look at her profile.”
“Seb, you can barely make out features in that picture.”
“I can see everything.” I set the photo on the nightstand, crawling into bed next to her. “A daughter, Lina. What if she asks about her biological father? What if she wants to know why her DNA doesn’t match mine?”
“Then we’ll tell her the truth. Age-appropriately.” Lina turned to face me. “But Seb, you’re going to be her father. The one who changes diapers and reads bedtime stories and teaches her to ride a bike. That’s what matters.”
“What if it’s not enough?”
“It will be. Because you’re enough.” She took my hand, placed it on her stomach. “Feel that? That’s your daughter. She already knows your voice. Your touch. By the time she’s born, you’ll be the most familiar thing in her world besides me.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re here. Every day. Every moment. That’s what makes you her father.”
I kissed her, slow and deep, trying to pour every feeling into it. Love. Gratitude. Fear. Hope. All of it.
“Thank you,” I murmured against her lips.
“For what?”
“For letting me be part of this. For making me a father.”
“You made yourself a father. By staying. By choosing us.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
“Better than the green card marriage?”
“The green card marriage led me to you. So yes. Best decision.”
We fell asleep tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand on her stomach where our daughter was growing.
And for the first time since this whole thing started, I felt completely, absolutely certain.
This was my family.
This was my home.
And I was never letting go.
LINA’S POV
The next morning, I woke up to find Seb already in the nursery, measuring walls.
“What are you doing?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Planning. If we move this bookshelf here and add storage there, we’ll have more space for—”
“Seb, the baby won’t need that much space for months.”
“I know. But I want it perfect.” He set down his tape measure. “I want her to have everything.”
“She will. Because she’ll have us.”
He crossed to me, pulling me into his arms. “I called a professional. To fix the crib. And to help with the rest of the furniture. I want this room safe. Ready.”
“It will be. We have time.”
“Not that much time. Three months goes fast.”
“Are you nesting?”
“I’m not nesting. I’m preparing.”
“You’re totally nesting.”
“Maybe a little.” He kissed the top of my head. “I just want everything to be perfect for her. For you.”
“It already is perfect. Because we’re doing it together.”
And standing there in our daughter’s nursery, wrapped in my husband’s arms, I believed it.
We could do this.
We would do this.
Together.
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