Chapter 26 Some mornings still felt like winter. Even under the warmth of the sun, even when the skies were clear, there were days I'd wake up and feel the heaviness behind my ribs. I'd stand by the window with a mug of tea, watching the world go by, wondering if the ache would ever fully disappear. But I didn't cry anymore. Not in the same way. I'd trace the outline of the sky with my eyes, close my lids, and breathe deep-accepting what was lost, and holding onto what remained. Scott never asked me to move on. He simply stayed. In the early mornings when I couldn't sleep, he'd pull me close and rest his hand on my back. In the silence of my boutique, when I'd stare too long at the tiny baby onesie I'd hidden in my drawer, he'd hold my hand without a word. He never rushed me, never told me to forget. But his love… it made remembering easier. It made healing possible. I threw myself back into work slowly. Not to run from grief, but to feel purpose again. Sketch by sketch, thread by thread, I stitched pieces of myself together. We took long walks by the beach on Sundays. We painted the guest room soft cream and yellow even when we weren't sure if it would ever be used. He built me a little corner desk facing the window-just because he knew I liked the light. And on the anniversary of what we lost, he surprised me with a star. "I named it Hope," he said, pressing the certificate into my hands. "Because it never left you. Not even when everything else did." didn't say a word. I just held onto him and cried-for the first time in months, not from pain, but From being seen. Weeks turned into months. The ache never truly vanished, but it softened-like a scar that had Finished forming. And then, one morning-months later-I felt off. At first, I thought it was nothing. Just too much work. Maybe a little stress. But when I rushed to the bathroom to throw up, Scott's concerned expression already told me what I hadn't dared to say aloud. "You okay?" he asked gently, crouching beside me with a towel. "I… I don't know," I whispered. He helped me up, brushed the hair from my face. "Let's go to the doctor." The visit was a blur. Blood tests. Waiting rooms. Tense fingers gripping his tighter than I meant Then came the moment. The doctor smiled gently. "You're pregnant." My breath caught. Scott looked at me. His eyes wide, searching. Chapter 26 And then the softest, most broken laugh escaped his lips. "You're pregnant," he repeated, like saying it would make it real. "We're going to have a baby." Tears blurred my vision, but they were different this time-warm, grateful. I nodded, voice trembling. "We're really getting a second chance?" He kissed my knuckles, forehead, nose. "Yes, baby. We are." From that moment, everything changed. Scott wouldn't let me lift a thing. "Feet up," he ordered constantly. "I don't care if you're organizing buttons. Sit." I laughed, resting back in my chair. "I'm not an invalid, love." "No," he grinned, "you're something rarer. You're the mother of my child." He came to every appointment, hand firmly clasped in mine. We heard the heartbeat together, saw the tiny fluttering silhouette on the monitor. He cried more than I did, which became a running joke between us. "Softie," I teased. "I just really, really love you," he said. We painted the nursery lavender and cream. He lined the shelves with storybooks and plushies, and even framed the first onesie I had designed after our loss. "This one's special," he said smoothing the fabric like a prayer. The boutique flourished, but for the first time in forever, I stopped needing to do everything. I allowed myself rest. I allowed myself to be cared for. Some days, I'd watch Scott hum lullabies while assembling the crib, and I'd smile. Because this? This was healing. 'This baby's gonna be spoiled," I said one night as he brought me mangoes-again. 'You're spoiled," he smirked. "Baby's just along for the ride." fell in love with him all over again during those months. The way he remembered every craving, every appointment, every little flutter of fear and joy. And then-on a quiet morning just before dawn-our daughter arrived. Her cry was fierce, loud, demanding the world to know she existed. held her on my chest, skin to skin, tears soaking my cheeks. Scott kissed my temple, brushing his fingers over her downy head. "She's perfect," he whispered. 'We'll call her Aster," I said. "A flower that blooms even in the hardest season." He smiled. "Our reminder that love grows even in winter." The days after were messy, exhausting, and beautiful. Sleepless nights, lullabies at odd hours, milk-stained shirts, and tiny socks that always went missing. But I never felt lost. Not this time. We moved into a house by the lake-not too far from the boutique. Calm water, quiet winds, and a nursery that glowed with warmth. We filled the walls with framed photos, notes, sketches, and every memory we promised to never Chapter 26 2/3 35.6% forget. Above my desk hung the star certificate Scott gave me-the one that said Hope. Aster slept beside it in her cradle. Sometimes, late at night, I watched him rock her gently while humming the same tune he played during our honeymoon. His voice was soft, his eyes full of wonder. And I knew- This was the life I never thought I'd have. Not the perfect life. But the right one. Chosen. Earned. Loved. I didn't think about Troy anymore. Or Vanessa. Or the brothers who only remembered my worth too late. I had let go. had survived. And now… I was truly, finally living.