Chapter 14
The next year was the best of my life.
Daniel and I settled into married life. Real married life. The kind where you fight about who left the toothpaste cap off and who forgot to take out the trash. The kind where you make up over coffee and donuts the next morning.
His business continued to grow. We hired more people. We took on bigger projects. We were building something real. Something that would last.
My parents stayed with us often. The guest room was rarely empty. My father's tutoring program was now run out of the local community center. He was busier in retirement than he'd ever been working.
My mother and Daniel's mother started a small catering business together. They made cakes and cookies and lasagna for local events. They called it "Two Mothers Kitchen." It was a huge hit.
Daniel's father loved working with his son. He said it was the best time of his life. They were closer than they'd ever been.
And Madison?
We got another letter from her. A year after the first one.
She was doing well. She was working at a nonprofit, helping women who'd been through abusive relationships. She was still in therapy. She was still working on herself.
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to make it up to you," she wrote. "But I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying. Not by bothering you. But by being a better person. By helping others. That's the only way I know how."
This time, I wrote back.
I didn't say much. Just that I was glad she was doing well. That I hoped she continued to heal. That maybe someday, when we were both ready, we could talk.
She wrote back one more time. Just two words.
"Thank you."
And that was enough.
Life was good.
But the best news came on a rainy Tuesday in October.
I was sitting in my office, going over the books, when I felt it.
A wave of nausea.
I ran to the bathroom.
When I came out, Daniel was standing there, concerned.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I think so," I said. "I just... I think I need to take a pregnancy test."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really."
We went to the store together. Bought three tests. Just to be sure.
I took them all.
They all said the same thing.
Pregnant.
I walked out of the bathroom, holding the tests.
Daniel looked at me. "Well?"
I smiled. "We're going to have a baby."
He stared at me. Then he laughed. Then he cried. Then he picked me up and spun me around.
"We're going to have a baby!" he shouted.
We told our parents that night.
My mother cried. My father hugged Daniel so hard I thought he'd break his ribs.
Daniel's mother started planning the nursery before we'd even finished telling her.
His father just shook his head and smiled. "A baby," he said. "Imagine that."
The next nine months were a blur of doctor's appointments and baby showers and painting the nursery.
My mother and Daniel's mother knitted enough blankets to keep an orphanage warm.
My father built a crib. By hand. Solid oak. Built to last.
Daniel talked to my belly every night. Told the baby stories. Promised to be the best dad in the world.
And he would be. I knew it.
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The man who'd once been too scared to stand up to his family was now going to be a father. A father who would protect his child. Who would teach them right from wrong. Who would love them unconditionally.
Our baby was going to be so loved.
