Chapter 147 Don’t Let Me Disappear

Chapter 147 Don’t Let Me Disappear
AMELIA POV
Three weeks later, I took a pregnancy test with shaky hands, sitting on the closed toilet lid in our bathroom while Daniel is at a client meeting downtown.
My period is five days late, which could mean nothing because stress affects my cycle, but something feels different this time, a knowing that sits low in my belly like a secret waiting to be told. I set the test on the counter and force myself to walk away, to not stare at it while the minutes ticked by.
I make it thirty seconds before I'm back, picking it up, checking for lines that haven't had time to appear yet.
The instructions said three minutes. I set a timer on my phone and paced the bathroom, then the bedroom, then back to the bathroom, my heart hammering so hard I feel dizzy.
When the timer goes off, I grab the test with trembling fingers.
Two lines. Clear and unmistakable. Positive.
I stare at them for ten minutes, maybe longer, emotions flooding through me so fast I can't separate them—joy and terror and excitement and fear and wonder all tangled together until I'm laughing and crying at the same time.
We're having a baby. There's a tiny human growing inside me right now, a combination of Daniel and me, and the magnitude of it makes my knees weak. I sank down to sit on the bathroom floor, test still clutched in my hand, and I let myself feel everything without trying to manage it or make sense of it.
I'm still sitting there when I hear the front door open and Daniel's voice calling out. "Love? I'm home. The meeting went great, they want to…"
He stops in the bedroom doorway, taking on my position on the bathroom floor, the tears on my face, and his expression shifts immediately to concern. He's beside me in three strides, kneeling on the tile.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?"
I can't speak, can only hold out the test with a shaking hand. He takes it, stares at the two lines, and goes completely still.
"Is this…" His voice cracks. "Are you…"
"Positive," I manage. "We're pregnant."
He continues staring at the test like it might change or disappear, then his face breaks into the biggest grin I've ever seen on him. "We're having a baby?"
I nod, fresh tears streaming down my face. "We're having a baby."
He drops the test and pulls me into his arms so tight I can barely breathe, and we're both crying and laughing on the bathroom floor, holding each other while the reality of it sinks in.
"I can't believe it," he says against my hair. "I can't believe this is real."
"Me neither." I pulled back to look at him, wiping tears from his cheeks with my thumbs. "Are you happy? Really happy?"
"Happy doesn't even cover it," he says, cupping my face. "Terrified and overwhelmed and so incredibly happy I might explode."
We stay on the bathroom floor for a long time, talking about due dates and doctors and how our lives are about to change completely, and when we finally stand up my legs are stiff from sitting, but my heart feels full enough to burst.
The pregnancy is mostly smooth, though the first trimester hits me hard with morning sickness that should really be called all-day sickness. I spend weeks surviving on crackers and ginger ale, and Daniel becomes an expert at knowing exactly when to bring me food and when to just hold my hair back.
"I'm never having sex with you again," I groan one morning after throwing up for the third time before breakfast.
He rubs circles on my back and doesn't point out that I said the same thing yesterday. "Totally fair. Worth it though."
"Easy for you to say," I mutter, but I'm smiling despite the nausea.
The exhaustion is brutal too, hitting me in waves that have me falling asleep on the couch at seven PM. Daniel handles it all with patience I didn't know he had, bringing me crackers before I ask, rubbing my feet without prompting, never making me feel guilty for being unable to do much besides exist.
"You're growing a human," he reminds me when I apologize for the third time in a day. "That's literally the most important job you could have right now."
We tell our inner circle at twelve weeks, after the first ultrasound confirms, everything looks good. Harper screams so loudly through the phone I have to pull it away from my ear, then she starts rapid-firing questions about showers and nursery themes and whether I'm keeping a pregnancy journal.
"Breathe, Harper," I say, laughing. "We just found out."
"I'm breathing, I'm also just planning," she insists. "I'm going to throw you the best shower, Amelia. The best."
Oliver becomes unexpectedly emotional when we tell him over dinner, his eyes getting suspiciously bright as he pulls Daniel into a hug that lasts longer than usual. "You're going to be a dad. An actual dad."
"I know," Daniel says, and his voice is thick. "Terrifying, right?"
"You'll be great," Oliver tells him firmly. "You've done the work. You're ready."
Evelyn cries happy tears and immediately starts talking about the blanket she's going to knit and the recipes she'll make for freezer meals and how she can't wait to meet her granddaughter or grandson. The joy radiating from her makes me grateful all over again that we chose to rebuild, that the baby will know this version of their grandmother instead of the sick, struggling woman from years ago.
At the twenty-week ultrasound, we hold hands while the technician moves the wand across my growing belly, and when she asks if we want to know the sex, we both say yes immediately.
"It's a girl," she announces, and I watch Daniel's face transform.
"Grace," he whispers, squeezing my hand so tight it almost hurts. "We're having Grace."
I cry watching the screen, watching our daughter move and stretch, her tiny hands opening and closing, her heart beating steady and strong. She's real, actually real, not just an idea anymore but a person we're going to meet, and the love I feel is so overwhelming I can barely breathe through it.
The second trimester is easier, the nausea fading and energy returning, and I spend those months writing and preparing the nursery and letting myself believe this is actually happening. Daniel paints the room a soft sage green while I sit in the rocking chair we bought, both of us imagining the nights we'll spend here with our daughter.
"What kind of kid do you think she'll be?" I ask one afternoon while he's assembling the crib.
He pauses, screwdriver in hand, considering. "Strong-willed like her mother. Stubborn like both of us. Hopefully kinder than I was and braver than I've ever been."
"She'll be perfect," I say, hand on my belly where Grace is currently doing what feels like gymnastics. "Whoever she turns out to be."
The third trimester brings discomfort I wasn't prepared for—heartburn and swollen feet and the inability to find a comfortable sleeping position. I'm huge and ungainly and constantly uncomfortable, and one evening, very pregnant and struggling to put on my shoes, panic hits me like a wave.
"What if I'm a terrible mother?" The words burst out before I could stop them, tears already streaming. "What if I mess her up? What if I lose myself again, and she grows up with a mother who's just a shell?"
Daniel stops assembling the changing table and comes to kneel in front of me, taking my hands. "You won't be. You've spent years learning boundaries, finding your voice, taking care of yourself. You'll teach her all of that."
"But what if pregnancy hormones or sleep deprivation or just the demands of motherhood make me forget?" My voice is rising, the fear that's been lurking for months finally breaking free. "What if I disappear?"
He pulls me close, awkward around my belly but gentle. "Then I'll remind you who you are. I'll hold space for you to take time for yourself. I'll make sure you never lose Amelia Hart-Sterling in being Grace's mom."
I rest my head on his shoulder, hand on my belly where Grace is still moving. "Promise you'll tell me if I lose myself?"
"I promise," he says firmly, pulling back to look at me. "And you'll tell me if I become controlling? If I start micromanaging or making decisions without you?"
I nod, wiping my eyes. "Deal."
"We're going to mess up," he says, and there's honesty in his voice that's more comforting than false reassurance would be. "We're going to have hard days and make mistakes and question ourselves constantly. But we'll do it together, and we'll keep choosing to be better."
"Together," I echo, and the word feels like an anchor, something solid to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain.
That night, lying in bed with Daniel's hand on my belly feeling Grace kick, I let myself believe we can do this, that we can be the parents she deserves while still being ourselves.