The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden below. I sat by the window of my unit, cradling my stomach, and marveling at how fragile and miraculous life felt inside me.
Calix leaned against the doorframe, sipping his coffee quietly, watching me with a soft, unreadable expression.
"You're glowing," he finally said.
I smiled faintly, brushing a hand over my belly. "I feel… nervous. Excited. Overwhelmed."
"Good," he said, finally stepping closer and wrapping his arms around me from behind. His warmth pressed into my back, steady and reassuring. "You should feel all of that. It means this is real."
I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest.
The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear was grounding. Safe.
"I never thought… I'd feel like this," I murmured. "Like I could actually… enjoy this."
"You deserve it," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. "After everything you've been through, you deserve this kind of happiness. Every bit of it."
—
Days passed slowly, sweetly.
I found myself reveling in the small routines we created together: morning walks, Calix holding my hand and steadying me whenever my balance faltered; quiet dinners on the balcony; soft laughter spilling from the kitchen as he tried, and failed, to cook something edible.
Sometimes he would brush a strand of hair from my face and murmur, "You're perfect."
I'd roll my eyes, laughing softly, but inside, I felt the truth of it sink in.
Imperfect, flawed, human and loved entirely.
Calix suggested we go for a checkup together.
Not because I needed encouragement, but because he wanted to be there, fully present.
The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and polished floors, a contrast to the warmth of our home. I gripped Calix's hand tightly as we waited for the doctor.
"Are you nervous?" he asked quietly, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
"Just… hopeful," I admitted. "I want everything to be okay."
He squeezed my hand. "It will be. And if anything worries you… we'll handle it together."
Finally, the doctor smiled at us, sliding the ultrasound image across the table.
"There's a strong heartbeat," she said. "Everything looks healthy and normal."
I stared at the screen, at the tiny flickering image of life inside me.
My chest tightened, and tears filled my eyes.
Calix, noticing, lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss. "See?" he whispered. "It's real. You're amazing."
I rested my head against his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.
I wasn't hiding. I wasn't performing. I was just… me. And I was being seen, being loved, fully and unconditionally.
—
The evenings became my favorite part of each day.
Calix would carry me to the balcony, wrapping a blanket around us, and we'd watch the city lights flicker to life.
He'd tell me stories, sometimes from his childhood, sometimes made-up tales of adventures we'd have together. I laughed more than I had in years, sometimes so hard that my ribs ached, and he'd hold me tight, letting me release every ounce of tension I didn't even realize I was holding.
"Do you ever get scared?" he asked one night, his lips brushing the top of my head.
"Of what?"
"Of… everything changing. Of this… of us."
I paused, considering. "Sometimes," I admitted. "But I think… it's worth it. Whatever comes. Because we're together."
He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "Together," he agreed.
And in that quiet, golden light, I realized I had never felt so safe, so cared for, so deeply, entirely happy.
—
Weeks turned into months, and the reality of our future began to settle softly into our days.
I felt life growing inside me, a constant, miraculous reminder of hope.
And with Calix by my side, steady, patient, gentle, I began to believe that maybe, finally, this was the life I had always deserved.
A life where love wasn't frightening.
A life where I could lean on someone, trust someone, and be seen for who I really was.
And slowly, with each heartbeat, each quiet morning and each soft evening, I allowed myself to imagine a family.
Our family.
It was still new, still fragile, but it was ours.