Our Children

Our Children
Chapter 299: Our Children

Savannah 

Later that day…

We stood in the driveway, staring at the house, and something inside me simply… refused it. 

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden wave of dread or sharp, instinctive alarm. Just a quiet, stubborn resistance blooming in my chest like a flower that refused to open. 

A strong and certain no. I didn't like it. 

The house was objectively beautiful. Sleek architecture. Clean angles. Expansive glass panels that reflected the sky like a mirror. Sunlight clearly poured across its surface, making it shimmer in a way that was probably meant to impress.

But it didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a display case.

I folded my arms loosely across my stomach, tilting my head as I studied the structure again, searching for warmth and finding none.

“Ummm… Roman,” I murmured, lowering my voice, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze traced the length of the glass façade, then drifted toward the open stretch of minimalist landscaping—perfectly trimmed, perfectly arranged, perfectly…impersonal.

“Maybe,” he whispered back. “But I don’t know what you’re thinking.” He leaned slightly closer, voice dropping even further. “But I definitely don’t picture a baby crawling around in there.”

Relief flooded me so quickly I almost laughed. “Yes,” I whispered. “Exactly that.”

A woman stood near the front entrance, hands politely clasped in front of her, her professional smile unwavering. She watched us with the patient optimism of someone trained to believe every showing might be the one.

I leaned into Roman, my lips barely moving. “Let’s just leave. Please. We don’t even need to go inside. I hate it already.”

His shoulders shook faintly with suppressed laughter. “Whatever you say,” he murmured.

He walked toward the agent while I remained where I was, breathing in the warm afternoon air and trying not to feel guilty. 

From a distance, I watched him speak with her—calm, respectful, decisive. Her smile didn’t falter, though I saw the faint shift in her posture that signaled disappointment carefully tucked away beneath professionalism.

When he returned, he slid his hand into mine. “She understands,” he said. “There’s another property. She thinks we’ll like that one better.”

Hope stirred again. “Let’s go,” I said immediately.

\~~~~~

Less than an hour later—after a necessary stop at a drive-through because hunger had arrived with crazy urgency—we turned onto a quieter part of an upscale neighbourhood that was lined with trees that arched overhead.

And then I saw it.

The second house stood at the end of a gentle curve in the road. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trying to impress anyone. And it definitely wasn't built like an art gallery. It simply… existed.

Warm stone. Cream walls softened by sunlight. Wide windows framed by climbing greenery. Space that looked made for evening conversations and slow mornings with coffee.

Before we even stepped out of the car, something inside me settled into place. “Oh,” I breathed.

Roman glanced at me. “That good?”

I nodded slowly, unable to look away. “That good.”

Love didn’t arrive loudly. It slipped quietly into my chest and slowly unfolded there. I could see it already.

Laughter drifting through open windows. Toys scattered across the floors. Tiny footsteps racing down hallways. The smell of something baking. Music playing softly somewhere in the background.

Our new life.

We stepped out of the car together, and the breeze carried the faint scent of grass and distant blossoms. It felt welcoming and alive.

The agent unlocked the door and stepped aside for us. “Take your time,” she said warmly.

I crossed the threshold and something within me whispered a strong yes.

The interior was flooded with natural light that pooled gently across warm wooden floors. The space felt open without being cold, spacious without being overwhelming. Every corner seemed to hold possibility rather than emptiness.

I moved slowly through the living area, fingertips grazing the wall as if testing whether the place was real. The texture beneath my palm was smooth, solid and comforting.

I could see photographs here. Frames filled with memories not yet made. Birthdays. Holidays. Graduations. Prom. Messy art projects proudly displayed.

Roman’s footsteps followed behind me. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

I turned, and the answer came without hesitation. “I love it,” I said. “I really love it.”

His smile spread slowly. “I knew you would,” he said. “I love it too.”

We moved through the kitchen, and I immediately began rearranging it in my mind—colors shifting, cabinets painted, a table placed just so. I could see myself standing here late at night, barefoot, listening to soft music while preparing something simple.

Beyond the kitchen, glass doors opened to a backyard where a pool shimmered gently beneath the sun. There was a wide and open space beside it, waiting.

“A garden,” I murmured to myself. “We could put a garden there.” Flowers. Herbs. Maybe even a small tree.

Roman’s hand settled at the small of my back, grounding me gently. He turned toward the agent. “My wife loves it,” he said simply. “We’ll take it.”

Her composure held, but delight sparkled unmistakably in her eyes. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “We can begin the paperwork immediately.”

“How quickly can we start?” Roman asked.

“Right away, if you’d like.”

“Let’s do it.”

She gestured toward an area, and Roman kissed my forehead before following her. “Give me a minute, baby.”

I nodded, watching him go. Then, drawn by curiosity, I made my way toward the staircase.

The steps rose in a gentle curve, sunlight spilling down from a window above. Each step felt like walking into a future that had been waiting patiently for us to arrive.

Upstairs, a hallway branched in two directions. I turned right.

The first door opened into a bright, spacious room with wide windows overlooking the backyard. Light danced across the floor like something alive.

I stepped inside, already imagining soft pastel walls, two cribs positioned just right, shelves lined with small books and a truckload of toys.

“This would be perfect,” I whispered.

A nursery.

Roman had talked endlessly about building a crib himself. About painting the walls. About doing everything with his own hands like other excited new fathers did. 

Now I could see it clearly—him kneeling on the floor, tools scattered around, determination etched into his features as he created something for our children.

Our children. The thought still felt miraculous.

I moved from room to room, each space offering a new vision.

A bedroom filled with morning light. A playroom echoing with laughter. Walls adorned with drawings made by tiny hands. Even the quiet spaces felt alive with possibility.

Standing in the center of the hallway, I pressed my palm gently against my stomach. “How did I get so lucky?” I whispered.

A month ago, uncertainty had shadowed every step. Fear had lived in the corners of my thoughts. Now, peace had taken root where doubt once lingered.

I could hear Roman’s steady voice faintly downstairs as he handled details with the agent. His presence was like a constant anchor, holding everything steady. And I couldn't be luckier to have him beside me. 

This was real. Not a dream. Not a fragile illusion. But a home. A family. A future unfolding one quiet moment at a time.

I walked to the window at the end of the hall and looked out across the backyard again. Sunlight shimmered across the pool’s surface, reflecting upward in rippling patterns that danced across the walls.

Somewhere beyond the trees, a breeze moved through the leaves with a soft whisper. I closed my eyes briefly, letting the feeling settle fully into my chest. 

This house wasn’t just beautiful. It felt like belonging. And I didn’t just imagine a life here… I recognized it as ours.