The second trimester brought relief.
Nausea faded. Energy returned. Lina started showing—a small bump that grew week by week. She loved it. Loved running her hands over her belly, feeling the flutter of movement that gradually became kicks.
Kai talked to the baby every night.
"Hello in there," he'd say, pressing his mouth to her stomach. "It's your dad. I played piano for you today. Hope you liked it."
"He's going to come out knowing all your compositions," Lina teased.
"That's the plan."
They found out the gender at twenty weeks.
A girl.
Lina cried. Kai cried. The technician cried.
"A daughter," Lina whispered. "We're having a daughter."
Kai held her tight. "A little girl. With your eyes, I hope."
"And your musical talent. And your patience. And—"
"She'll be perfect. However she turns out."
They named her Hope. Because she was everything they'd been hoping for.
The pregnancy progressed smoothly.
Lina wrote during the day, pausing to feel kicks. Kai composed lullabies at night, playing them softly for his daughter. They prepared the nursery—pale yellow walls, a white crib, shelves of books.
"It's really happening," Lina said one night, standing in the doorway of the nursery. "We're really going to be parents."
Kai came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her bump. "Scared?"
"Terrified. You?"
"Terrified. Also excited. Also pretty much every emotion possible."
She leaned back against him. "Good. As long as we're terrified together."
"Always together."