Chapter 12
The doctor said it was impossible.
With her condition.
With the medication she was on.
With everything she'd been through.
But there it was.
On the ultrasound screen.
A tiny heartbeat.
A new life.
Cara was pregnant.
We cried.
We held each other.
We couldn't believe it.
After everything we'd been through.
After all the pain and loss and fear.
We were having another baby.
Lily was ecstatic.
"I'm going to be a big sister!" she told everyone.
She talked to the baby every day.
She sang to it.
She read to it.
She planned its future.
"You're going to love stargazing," she'd say, pressing her face to Cara's stomach. "And Daddy is going to build you the best tree house ever. And Mommy is going to teach you everything about the stars."
Elaine was over the moon.
Another grandchild.
Another chance to be part of a family.
She fussed over Cara constantly.
Made her special meals.
Made sure she rested.
Told her stories about when she was pregnant with Cara.
But there was fear too.
The doctors warned us.
The pregnancy could be dangerous for Cara.
Her heart was weak.
Her body was already compromised by the disease.
And there was still a 50% chance the baby would have Huntington's.
"We can terminate," the doctor said gently. "It's not too late. We can test the baby. If it has the disease—"
"No," Cara said immediately. "No. Whatever happens, this baby is a gift. We'll love it. No matter what."
I held her hand.
"We're keeping the baby," I said. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
The months that followed were the most stressful of our lives.
Every doctor's appointment was a battle.
Every test was a nightmare.
Cara was tired.
She was sick.
She was in pain.
But she never complained.
She never gave up.
She was going to have this baby.
And she was going to love it.
We did the genetic test.
The longest two weeks of our lives.
Waiting for the results.
Praying.
Hoping.
And then the call came.
The baby was negative.
No Huntington's.
Perfectly healthy.
We cried again.
Another miracle.
The baby was due in December.
On Christmas Eve.
We spent months preparing.
Lily helped me paint the nursery.
Stars on the ceiling.
Planets on the walls.
A rocket ship mobile.
Cara folded tiny clothes.
She sang lullabies.
She was the happiest I'd ever seen her.
On December 24th, our son was born.
He was perfect.
Ten fingers.
Ten toes.
Cara's eyes.
My nose.
We named him Orion.
After the constellation.
The hunter.
The protector.
Cara held him.
And she cried.
"He's perfect," she whispered. "Absolutely perfect."
I held both of them.
My wife.
My son.
My daughter.
My family.
And I thanked God.
For every miracle.
For every blessing.
For bringing us back together.
The next few years were the happiest of our lives.
Orion was a bright, happy baby.
He grew into a curious, adventurous little boy.
Lily was the best big sister.
She taught him everything.
How to count.
How to read.
How to find the North Star.
Cara's disease progressed slowly.
She had good days and bad days.
But she was there.
For every first step.
For every first word.
For every birthday.
For every holiday.
She was there.
We built a life full of love and laughter.
Full of stargazing and adventures.
Full of family.
Elaine was the best grandmother.
She spoiled both children rotten.
She told them stories about their mother.
About their grandfather Robert, and the importance of choosing good over evil.
About their grandmother Elaine, and the importance of being brave.
Maya was the favorite aunt.
She always brought presents.
She always had time to play.
She was family.
We had everything we'd ever dreamed of.
And more.
But there was still one thing left to do.
One promise Cara had made to her mother.
One thing she needed to do to find closure.
We were going to find Robert Bennett's body.
And we were going to move him.
Away from Elaine.
Away from the family he'd destroyed.
And we were going to put a proper headstone on Elaine's empty grave.
Telling the world she was alive.
That she'd survived.
That love had won.
But when we went to the cemetery to make arrangements, we found something we never expected.
May you like
Something that would change everything.
Again.
