Chapter 10
Three months later.
I was in the nursery, folding tiny onesies, when I felt it.
A slow, steady cramp low in my belly.
I froze.
Then it came again.
Stronger.
“Ethan!” I called.
He was in the kitchen, making coffee.
He was in the nursery in two seconds flat.
“Is it time?” he said, his eyes wide.
I nodded, laughing through the sudden rush of tears.
“It’s time.”
The next twelve hours were a blur of pain, and pushing, and Ethan holding my hand so tight I thought it would break.
Ryan and Alexander paced the waiting room, drinking bad coffee, calling every five minutes for updates.
Then, at 3:17 a.m., I heard it.
The loud, strong cry of my son.
The doctor laid him on my chest, warm and slippery and perfect.
“He’s here,” I whispered, crying so hard I could barely breathe. “Liam. His name is Liam.”
He was seven pounds, two ounces.
Ten fingers.
Ten toes.
A head full of dark hair.
My eyes.
Ethan’s chin.
He was perfect.
The brothers came in one by one, an hour later, once I was cleaned up and settled.
Ethan went first.
He stood beside the bed, looking down at Liam like he was the most precious thing in the world.
“Hey, little man,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m your Uncle Ethan. I’m never going to let anything hurt you. Ever.”
He held him for a long time, so gentle, like Liam was made of glass.
Ryan was next.
He’d always been the serious one, the businessman, the one who never showed emotion.
But when he held Liam, he cried.
“I’m your Uncle Ryan,” he said. “I’m going to teach you how to play chess. How to run a company. How to spot a liar before they get close enough to hurt you.”
Alexander went last.
He’d brought a tiny stuffed bear, the same one he’d had as a kid.
He sat in the chair beside the bed, holding Liam close, singing the lullaby our mom used to sing to us.
His voice was soft, a little off-key, but perfect.
Liam fell asleep in his arms, his tiny hand wrapped around Alexander’s finger.
A week later, we brought Liam home.
The house was ready.
The nursery was warm, the crib made up with soft sheets, the bookshelf full of stories.
My brothers had moved into the house next door, buying it the day Liam was born.
They’d knocked down a small section of the fence between the two yards, so we could walk back and forth whenever we wanted.
That first night home, I sat in the rocking chair in the nursery, holding Liam as he slept.
Ethan came in, bringing me a glass of warm milk.
He sat down on the arm of the chair, his arm around my shoulders.
“You okay?” he said.
I nodded, looking down at Liam’s perfect face.
“I’m more than okay,” I said. “I’m happy. Really, truly happy. I never thought I’d get this. I thought I’d lost everything.”
Ethan pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“You never lost us,” he said. “We were always here. Waiting. And now? We’ve got forever. All of us. You, me, Ryan, Alexander, and this little guy. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”
Liam stirred in my arms, letting out a tiny sigh, his eyes fluttering open.
He looked up at me.
And he smiled.
A real, genuine smile, the first one he’d ever given.
I cried.
Happy tears.
Tears of relief.
Tears of love so big I thought my heart would burst.
I looked at Ethan.
At the open door, where Ryan and Alexander were standing, watching, smiling.
At my son, safe in my arms.
Three years ago, I’d been alone on a cold floor, bleeding, thinking I’d lost everything.
Now?
I had everything that mattered.
Justice had been served.
Daniel was gone, never to hurt anyone again.
I was safe.
I was loved.
I was home.
I held Liam closer, rocking him gently, as the sun came up over the oak trees in the backyard.
The future was bright.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t scared to walk into it.
I had my family beside me.
May you like
My son in my arms.
And a whole lifetime of happy days ahead.
