Chapter 151 Chapter 151
Month Eight
Tessa
Month eight felt unreal in the quietest way because for the first time since finding out I was pregnant, nothing felt fragile anymore; every appointment ended with reassurance instead of tension, and every doctor visit stopped beginning with fear sitting heavy in my chest. The last checkup changed something inside me completely.
The doctor smiled before even finishing the scan and said everything looked perfect, heartbeat strong, growth exactly where it needed to be, no complications, no warnings, no careful pauses that usually made my stomach twist while waiting for bad news. "Healthy"—that word followed me all the way home.
"Healthy baby, healthy pregnancy, and everything progressing normally," I repeated it silently like reassurance, but my mind still struggled to fully accept it after everything that happened before.
Zaiel didn't say much during the drive back, but his hand never left mine resting between us, thumb brushing slow circles across my skin like he was grounding himself more than comforting me. When we got home, he walked me inside carefully even though I reminded him several times I could walk perfectly fine on my own.
"I know," he said calmly. "I still prefer this."
There was no arguing with him anymore because his protectiveness softened instead of suffocating; now, fear was replaced by cautious hope neither of us wanted to say out loud too quickly. The nursery door stayed closed for weeks, not because we ignored it, but because opening it felt too final, too hopeful, but after that appointment something shifted.
That evening I walked upstairs slowly and found the door open for the first time. Zaiel stood inside surrounded by unfinished furniture pieces, sleeves rolled up, and tools spread across the floor, while quiet concentration settled across his face. I leaned against the doorway watching him work.
The most powerful man I knew was sitting cross-legged assembling a crib with absolute seriousness. He noticed me immediately.
"You shouldn't stand long," he said without looking away from tightening a screw.
"I walked ten steps," I replied, smiling.
He glanced up and then softened instantly, walking toward me and guiding me carefully to the chair already placed near the window. "I told you I would finish this," he said.
"I know," I murmured, looking around the room.
Soft colors filled the space nothing overwhelming, warm tones, sunlight falling across freshly painted walls, shelves waiting for books, small folded blankets already stacked neatly, It didn't feel like preparation anymore; it felt real.
"You’ve been working on this all week, haven't you?" I asked, and he didn't deny it.
"I wanted it ready," he said simply.
Emotion rose unexpectedly, tightening my throat, because this wasn't obligation or expectation; this was anticipation carefully built piece by piece.
He adjusted the crib once finished, stepping back to inspect it like the outcome mattered more than any business deal he handled daily.
"Our daughter will sleep there," I said quietly, testing the words aloud.
His gaze moved to me instantly, something warm and almost disbelieving passing through his expression. "Yes," he answered softly.
Later that week Alina decided I needed fresh air, which somehow turned into an entire family shopping trip involving Michelle, Shea, and Daliah, who arrived armed with lists, enthusiasm, and opinions strong enough to overpower any resistance I attempted.
"I only need a few things," I protested while being guided through baby stores.
"No mother ever needs only a few things," Michelle replied immediately, handing me tiny dresses before I even processed what happened. Everything felt surreal: small socks, soft blankets, and impossible little shoes. I held one dress against my stomach, laughing quietly because imagining someone small enough to wear it still amazed me. Alina watched beside me, her expression gentle.
"You're allowing yourself to enjoy it now," she said.
"I think I'm finally believing she's coming home," I admitted.
Her hand squeezed mine warmly. "She is," she said warmly.
Shopping turned into laughter, arguments over colors, and debates about practicality versus cuteness while bags multiplied faster than I could keep track. Shea insisted on plush toys, Daliah focused on essentials, and Michelle ignored practicality entirely, choosing anything adorable.
By the time we returned home, the car barely fit everything. Dad and Anthony stood near the entrance, shaking their heads amused as security helped carry packages inside.
"Looks like a store exploded," Anthony commented.
"It was necessary," Alina replied firmly.
Dad smiled at me, his eyes soft with pride.
"You doing alright, kiddo?" he asked.
"I am," I answered honestly.
And for once it wasn't reassurance spoken for others; I meant it. That evening Zaiel walked into the living room, stopping completely when he saw the growing pile of baby items spread across couches and tables, and his brows lifted slightly.
"I was gone four hours," he said.
"Progress happened," Michelle replied proudly.
He looked at me, then at the bags again, before exhaling quietly, amusement replacing disbelief. Later upstairs we unpacked everything together, slowly folding clothes and placing items carefully into drawers he installed earlier. Every movement felt calm, normal, and peaceful.
I sat on the nursery rug watching him arrange shelves while our daughter shifted gently inside me, responding to movement or sound or maybe simply existing.
"She kicked again," I said. He crossed the room instantly, kneeling beside me, hand resting carefully over my stomach, waiting patiently until movement returned beneath his palm, and his expression softened every single time he felt movement.
"I think she knows your voice," I teased.
"She should," he murmured.
Night settled quietly around the house; afterward, family voices drifted faintly downstairs while warmth filled spaces once occupied by fear. Lying in bed later I realized something, we were patiently preparing, planning and waiting for our little girl to get here.
My hand rested over my stomach while Zaiel’s arm wrapped securely around me, sleep already pulling at him after long days balancing work and home.
Month Nine
Zaiel
The last month felt longer than the entire pregnancy combined because every hour carried weight now, and every small discomfort she felt settled somewhere sharp inside my chest whether I wanted it to or not. Tessa hated slowing down.
That became obvious the moment her feet started swelling badly enough that walking across the room exhausted her and the doctor finally said the words I already expected. Limited movement,, reduce salt and rest as much as possible
She smiled politely during the appointment, but I knew that look: frustration hidden behind cooperation because independence mattered to her more than comfort ever did. The moment we got home, I made adjustments immediately. Her favorite chair moved closer to the windows, extra pillows appeared everywhere, meals were scheduled, medication was timed, and security was tightened without discussion, and she noticed all of it.
"You’re turning me into royalty," she murmured one afternoon while I adjusted blankets around her legs.
"You already were," I replied calmly while lifting her swollen feet onto another cushion. She rolled her eyes but didn't argue because standing too long now left her breathless and uncomfortable. The house never felt empty anymore; Mom practically moved in permanently.