Chapter 146 To Grace, Or Whoever Shows Up

Chapter 146 To Grace, Or Whoever Shows Up
DANIEL POV
Over the next year, we prepare for the possibility of parenthood while living fully in the present, and watching Amelia balance both makes me fall in love with her all over again in new ways.
She finishes her second novel six months after our conversation, a romance about second chances that somehow manages to be both hopeful and realistic, and when she sends it to her agent, Sarah calls within a day asking if she can submit it immediately.
"It's your best work yet," Sarah tells her on speakerphone while I make dinner and Amelia paces the kitchen. "Lighter than The Divorce Clause but just as honest. Publishers are going to fight over this."
They do fight, and Amelia signs a two-book deal with a major publisher for more money than either of us made in our first years working, and watching her negotiate confidently for what she's worth makes my chest tight with pride.
My consulting firm expands carefully over those months, taking on projects aligned with my values instead of just chasing revenue. I work with three startups helping them build sustainable business models, and I turn down twice as many opportunities because they don't feel right, and the ability to say no without guilt feels like its own kind of success.
"We should move," Amelia says one Saturday morning while we're having coffee on the porch. "Somewhere with more room."
I look around at our penthouse, the place that's been our home even before Clearwaters. "You want to leave here?"
She shakes her head quickly. "Not far. Still inside Ravenstone. But somewhere with an extra bedroom or two, a yard maybe. Room for a family but still ours."
We spend weekends looking at houses, and I buy one along the quieter side of Ravenstone’s coast—removed from the penthouse, but firmly within the city I own. Three bedrooms, an office for each of us, a yard with an oak tree perfect for a swing someday, and a porch that faces the ocean.
"This is it," Amelia says, standing in the empty living room. "This is where we'll raise Grace."
"Or whoever shows up," I remind her, but I'm grinning because I can see it too, can picture our future here in these rooms.
We spend two months renovating carefully, choosing paint colors together and arguing good-naturedly about furniture placement, and every decision feels intentional, like we're building a foundation solid enough to hold whatever comes next.
"I want to take a honeymoon," Amelia announces one evening while we're unpacking boxes in our new kitchen. "Before we start trying for a baby."
"Where do you want to go?" I ask, setting down a stack of plates.
"Italy," she says immediately. "Two weeks of art and food and freedom and just us before everything changes."
We book it for September, and those two weeks become some of the best of my life. We wander through Florence looking at art that's survived centuries, we eat our way through Rome, we get lost in Venice and don't care because being lost together is its own adventure.
"Thank you for this," Amelia says one evening on a balcony overlooking the Coast, sunset painting the water gold. "For giving me this time to just be your wife before I become someone's mother too."
I pulled her back against my chest and wrapped my arms around her. "Thank you for wanting to do this with me again. For trusting me enough to build a family."
Our support network strengthens over those months too, and I realize how essential that is, how much we'll need community when a baby comes. Harper and her new partner, Jade, become fixtures at our dinner table, and watching their relationship flourish makes me grateful. Amelia has that kind of friendship, that kind of support.
Nathan and Rebeca have their second child, a son they name Thomas, and watching Nathan juggle two kids while maintaining his marriage and career makes fatherhood feel both more real and more manageable.
"It's chaos," Nathan tells me honestly one afternoon while we're watching the kids play. "Complete chaos sometimes. But it's the best kind of chaos."
Oliver brings his girlfriend Emma to family dinners with increasing frequency, and seeing my brother happy and in a healthy relationship feels like proof that people can change, can choose the better.
We attend couples therapy not because things are broken but to keep them strong, and Dr. Claire helps us talk through fears about parenthood, about maintaining our individual identities while building a family unit.
"The fact that you're thinking about this proactively is huge," she tells us during one session. "Most couples don't consider these dynamics until they're in crisis."
We practice presence with each other, making sure we're still dating even though we're married, still choosing each other actively instead of just coexisting. We have weekly date nights where we don't talk about work or future plans, just enjoy being together.
We build a foundation so solid I know we can invite a child into it without losing ourselves, without losing each other, and that certainty grows with each intentional choice we make.
Amelia's second book releases to strong reviews and even better sales, hitting bestseller lists faster than the first one did, and she handles the publicity with boundaries I admire, saying yes to opportunities that align with her values and no to everything else.
"I got invited to be a keynote speaker at a women's conference," she tells me one evening, showing me her laptop. "It's the same weekend as your mom's birthday party."
"You should do it," I say immediately, but she shakes her head.
"Family first. That's what we agreed. There'll be other conferences."
Watching her prioritize our life together over career opportunities makes me more determined to do the same, to make sure I'm pulling my weight in creating space for both of us to thrive.
We talk about what kind of parents we want to be, having conversations in the car and on walks and late at night when we can't sleep, building a shared vision that feels authentic instead of based on what we think we should do.
"I don't want to be the kind of father who's always working," I tell Amelia one night. "I want to be present. Actually, there for the big moments and the small ones."
"And I don't want to be the kind of mother who loses herself," she says. "I want to keep writing, keep having parts of my life that are just mine."
"So we make sure both of those things happen," I say simply. "We build our family around those values instead of sacrificing them."

I wake early in the morning, to find Amelia already up, standing in the bathroom doorway looking at something in her hand.
I get out of bed and cross to her, and I see she's holding her birth control pill pack, one week left in the current month. She looks up at me with nervous excitement in her eyes.
"Ready?" I ask, my heart starting to pound.
She sets the pills down on the bathroom counter deliberately, ceremonially, and turns to face me fully. "I'm not going to pick up the refill prescription."
The magnitude of what she's saying hits me and I pull her close, my heart racing so fast I'm dizzy. "You're sure? We can wait longer if you need more time."
She shakes her head against my chest. "I'm sure. We've prepared. We've built something solid. We've become people who can do this right."
I cup her face and kiss her, deep and slow and full of everything I'm feeling—joy and terror and gratitude and love so big it feels like it might crack me open.
"Ready," I say when we break apart, both of us breathing hard. "Let's build our family."
She laughs, the sound shaky and bright. "It might take a while. We might not conceive right away. We might need help."
"Or it might happen fast," I counter. "Either way, we're in this together."
We spend the morning in bed, wrapped in slow, tender lovemaking, no rush to conceive, just us loving deeply. I grab Amelia with soft kisses down her neck and breasts, teasing her until she’s ready. I enter her gently, moving together in a sweet rhythm until we both come. I spill inside of her with a quiet groan, holding her close as our hearts beat as one.
Later, over breakfast on our new porch overlooking the street, Amelia raises her orange juice in a toast. "To building our family."
I clink my coffee mug against her glass. "To Grace. Or whoever shows up."
"To becoming parents," she adds, and her smile is nervous but certain.
"To—doing it right this time," I finished.