CHAPTER 89: HATTIE
CHAPTER 89: HATTIE
The days after we told our families felt lighter somehow. The secret was out, and even though everyone’s happiness came with a quiet layer of worry, it still felt good to share the news. I started to settle into a rhythm again—work during the day, dinner with Preston at night, and weekends spent planning small things we hadn’t dared to talk about before. We didn’t rush into baby names or nursery colors, but sometimes, when he caught me staring at a tiny onesie in a store window, he’d smile and say, “Soon.”
At fourteen weeks, I was finally starting to feel like myself again. The nausea had faded, my energy was coming back, and I could eat without flinching at the smell of food. It was strange how quickly normal life could return, even when everything inside me was changing. One evening, Preston came over with takeout and a small bouquet of daisies. “For you,” he said, handing them to me. I laughed. “What’s the occasion?” He shrugged, a little shy. “You made it through the first trimester. That feels like something worth celebrating.” I set the flowers in a vase, my chest warm. “You’re getting sentimental on me.” “Maybe,” he said, smiling. “But I think we’ve earned it.”
After dinner, we sat on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. My head rested on his shoulder, and his hand found its way to my stomach, gentle and protective. “Do you ever think about what it’ll be like?” I asked softly. He looked down at me. “All the time.” I smiled. “Me too. I try not to get ahead of myself, but… it’s hard not to.” He nodded. “We’ll take it one day at a time. But it’s okay to be excited, Hattie. We’ve come this far.” His words settled deep inside me. For so long, I’d been afraid to hope, afraid to let myself imagine a future that might be taken away again. But now, sitting there with him, I felt something shift. Hope didn’t feel dangerous anymore. It felt like healing. Later that night, after he’d gone home, I stood by the window, one hand resting on my stomach. The city lights shimmered below, and for the first time, I whispered to the tiny life growing inside me. “We’re going to be okay,” I said softly. “I promise.” And for the first time, I truly believed it.
The ultrasound room was dim and quiet, the rhythmic sound of the baby’s heartbeat filling the space. I was twenty weeks along, and every time I saw that little flicker on the screen, it still felt like a miracle. The technician smiled as she moved the wand across my stomach. “Everything looks perfect,” she said. “Strong heartbeat, healthy growth.” Preston squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “We don’t want to know the gender,” he told her quickly, grinning.
She laughed. “Got it. I’ll keep it a surprise.” When we left the clinic, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. The baby was healthy. I was healthy. For once, everything felt right. But as we drove out of the city, I started to notice we weren’t heading home. The skyline faded behind us, replaced by long stretches of open road and trees just starting to turn green again.
I glanced over at Preston. “Where are we going?” He smiled, eyes on the road. “It’s a surprise.” I raised an eyebrow. “A surprise that’s forty minutes away?” “Patience, Hattie,” he said, his tone teasing. “You’ll see.” Eventually, the highway gave way to quiet streets lined with trees and tidy sidewalks. The houses here were spaced just far enough apart to feel private, but close enough to still feel like a neighborhood. Each one looked like something out of a storybook—white trim, soft colors, little porches with rocking chairs. When Preston turned into one of the driveways, I blinked in confusion.
The house was beautiful—pale blue with white shutters, a small garden out front, and a wraparound porch that looked like it belonged in a dream. He turned off the car and looked at me, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Preston,” I said slowly, my heart starting to race. “What is this?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “I wanted to wait until after the appointment,” he said. “I didn’t want to jinx anything.”
I stared at him, my pulse quickening. “Wait for what?” He handed me the envelope. Inside was a folded piece of paper—a real estate contract. My name and his were printed side by side at the top. I looked up at him, speechless. “It’s ours,” he said softly. “If you want it to be.” For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The house, the porch, the quiet street—it all felt too perfect, too much like something I’d only ever let myself imagine. “Preston…” My voice broke. “You bought a house?” He smiled, eyes shining. “I bought us a home.”
Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them. I looked back at the house, sunlight glinting off the windows, and for the first time, I could see it—us here, the baby’s laughter echoing through the halls, mornings on the porch with coffee and quiet. I turned back to him, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s perfect.” He reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over my wedding ring finger, bare but full of promise. “So are you,” he said. And for the first time, I didn’t just feel hopeful. I felt home.