The morning after giving birth to the daughter her late husband never got to hold, Shirley was trying to survive the weight of grief and new motherhood at once. Then a nurse walked in carrying black balloons and a small gift box, giving her one last act of love that she never saw coming.
The day Steve and I found out I was pregnant, he laughed so hard he cried.
We were standing in our kitchen at six in the morning, both still half asleep, staring at two pink lines like they had personally offended us with their timing.
I looked at the test, then at him, then back at the test again.
“Are you seeing this?” I asked.
He took it from my hand like he did not trust my eyesight. Then he stared for about three seconds before making this choked, startled sound.
“Oh my God,” he said. Then louder: “Oh my God.”
I started laughing because he looked so stunned. “Steve.”
He looked at me with tears already in his eyes. “We’re having a baby?”
“Apparently.”
He dropped the test on the counter, grabbed my face with both hands, and kissed me so hard I had to brace myself against the kitchen island.
Then he pulled back and said, “Nope. No. Hold on. We need to do another one. I don’t trust this one. It looks smug.”
That was Steve. Even his panic was charming. We did two more tests.
Then we sat on the kitchen floor in our pajamas, with tea going cold on the counter, and talked about names and cribs and whether the baby would get his smile or my laugh.
He put his hand on my stomach and said, “Hi, little bean. Your dad is already obsessed with you.”
I said, “If it’s a girl, you are not naming her after a sci-fi character.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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