Chapter 93: That's My Beautiful Grandbabies
As they stepped over the threshold and into the quiet, sunlit expanse of the penthouse, Leona’s phone almost immediately started buzzing in the palm of her hand. A rapid succession of soft dings echoed in the entryway as the notifications from her post began rolling in.
She glanced down at the glowing screen, a bright, exhausted laugh escaping her as she read the first wave of comments flooding the photo. She leaned closer to Owen, holding the screen up so he could see as they walked into the living room.
Ben: Yeah, first you were whiskey drunk, now you're love drunk. Beautiful family, guys.
Sarah and Maya: Awe, you guys are so cute. I'm going to barf. Lol jk, love you guys. Can't wait to meet Hazel!
Diane: THAT'S MY BEAUTIFUL GRANDBABIES!
Owen let out a rich, echoing chuckle, completely unsurprised by his mother's all-caps enthusiasm or Ben's spot-on assessment of their history. He kicked the front door shut behind them with his heel, effectively sealing out the rest of the world.
"Ben isn't entirely wrong," Owen grinned, his dimples flashing as he shifted Olive's weight on his hip. He looked at Leona, his eyes completely soft and entirely sober with love. "I'm definitely intoxicated, Leo."
Olive, sensing the happy energy, threw her hands up and let out a bright, musical squeal of agreement, completely ready to explore the penthouse after her two days away.
He sat cross\-legged on the floor, his long frame folded up, completely and utterly engrossed in building a slightly lopsided tower out of brightly colored, soft fabric blocks. He wasn't designing world\-class skyscrapers right now; he was engineering a target for his daughter. Every single time he managed to stack them three high, a very energetic, giggling Olive would launch herself forward, aggressively swatting the tower down with her chubby hands. And every single time, Owen would throw his head back and let out a rich, chest\-deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the quiet room, happily gathering the blocks to start all over again.
A few feet away, Leona was safely curled up in the deep corner of the oversized sofa, her bare feet tucked warmly beneath her. The penthouse was perfectly, beautifully quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic, snuffling sounds of a brand\-new Hazel nursing against her chest, and the bright, musical, infectious giggles of her older sister on the rug. Leona rested her cheek against the back of the sofa, letting the heavy, bone\-deep exhaustion of the last forty\-eight hours wash over her.
She looked up from the tiny, perfect, sleeping face resting against her heart and simply watched her husband. She watched the exact way Owen looked at Olive—with an absolute, fierce, and fiercely protective, adoration that entirely defied biology, bloodlines, and circumstance. He looked at the toddler as if she had hung the very moon and stars in the sky.
The overwhelming magnitude of the moment, violently mixed with the sudden, crashing wave of postpartum hormones and lingering physical exhaustion, hit Leona all at once, stealing the breath right out from her lungs. Her chest tightened painfully, a beautiful, overwhelming kind of ache. Before she could even blink, a thick, hot rush of tears instantly flooded her eyes, spilling over her lashes and blurring the perfect image of her family in the golden light.
Owen placed another soft fabric block on top of the precarious tower, but before Olive could swat it down, he glanced up toward the sofa. The easy, playful smile instantly vanished from his face the second he saw the silent tears spilling over Leona's dark lashes.
He dropped the block, completely abandoning the game, and was on his feet in a fraction of a second. He crossed the rug in two long strides, dropping to his knees right beside the velvet cushions.
"Babe, what's wrong?" Owen asked, his voice tight with immediate, protective panic as his large, warm hands gently framed her face. "Are you hurting? Do you need to go back to the hospital?"
Leona quickly shook her head, leaning into the warmth of his palms as another tear tracked down her cheek. "Oh no, nothing like that."
She sniffled, her watery gaze drifting past him to the living room rug. She watched her oldest daughter, who was currently happily gnawing on the corner of a yellow block, completely oblivious to the sudden shift in the room. Olive looked so much like her biological father—Leona's brother, Chad. And because of that strong, shared bloodline, it made the little girl look strikingly like Leona herself. They shared the same dark curls, the same deep eyes, the same undeniable family fire.
Leona's breath hitched, almost a full, heavy sob breaking from her chest. The sudden crash of postpartum hormones was completely driving her crazy, amplifying every single fear and insecurity until she felt like she was drowning in them.
Owen's thumbs gently swept across her cheekbones, catching the falling tears before they could drop. "Then what is it, Leo?" he murmured softly, his stormy gray eyes completely, entirely focused on her.
Leona swallowed hard, forcing the terrifying, vulnerable question past the lump in her throat.
"Are you sorry we took in Olive?" Leona asked, her voice cracking. She looked at her oldest daughter on the rug, her heart aching with a profound, fierce love and affection, before forcing her gaze back up to her husband. She instinctively held Hazel a little tighter against her chest. "Is it too much? I mean... now that we have Hazel and you have your own biological daughter?"
The room went profoundly still. Owen’s hands tightened gently but firmly, clutching both sides of her tear-stained face. He didn't pull away; he leaned in closer, his storm-gray eyes flashing with a fierce, unshakable devotion that left absolutely zero room for doubt.
"Oh, babe," Owen breathed, his voice thick with raw, overwhelming emotion. He gently turned her head just a fraction so she was looking past his shoulder, down at the little girl on the rug. "Look at her. She is the spitting image of you. She is mine, Leona, no matter where she came from."