To See the Summer Sky is Poetry

You forced yourself to let it go, gently setting it on the counter. “My mom called,” you conceded.

His hand immediately moved from Lola to your back, not moving. Just a steady presence there. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded again. “They’re—uh, she and Joseph—they’re coming here next week. Want to see us.”

“Oh. They aren’t going to stay with us, are they?” He sounded a little alarmed at the prospect, which made you smile.

“No, definitely not. Joseph will find the nicest suite in Boston, I’m sure.”

Ransom gave you a small smile. “A man after my own heart,” he joked.

You couldn’t quite join him. “Sure,” you shrugged.

His hand on your back became firmer. “Will it be nice,” he asked softly, “to see your mom?”

You took a deep breath. “Is it stupid if I say I miss her?” you asked quietly instead of answering him.

“No,” he said immediately. Firmly. “I can’t relate. But it’s definitely not stupid.”

You finally turned your body to him. “She’s really excited about the baby. That she gets to be a grandma.”

“That’s good,” he said, his hand on your back moving to your stomach, seemingly involuntarily. Like a magnet. That’s how it’d been for the last couple of weeks. Since you’d kissed. Since you’d talked. Otherwise, not much had changed in how he acted. Kisses when he left in the morning and usually when he got home. Or before he and you parted ways to go to your own bedrooms at night. He was taking things slowly. Presumably following your lead. But his hands. His hands always found you.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“How long will they be here?”

“Really just a day, I think. They want to have dinner with us. And Joseph wants to set up at least eighteen holes with you.”

Ransom’s hand shrank back from you, a look of horror on his face. “He wants to golf?!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because technically you’re his son-in-law. And I’m sure he’ll have some deal or something he’ll want to talk over with you too.”

He rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate golf.”

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “He’ll expect to win anyway.”

He looked affronted at that. “I didn’t say I was bad at it! Just that it’s a stupid way to waste your time.”

You sighed. “Well, can you do it for one afternoon? Just to make my life easier?”

He gave you a considering look. “You hate him?” he asked.

“I do,” you said, very quietly.

“Alright,” he said with a decisive nod. “I’ll play a fucking round of golf. And I’ll demolish him.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on your face. “Sure, Ransom,” you said fondly. You doubted it. Joseph golfed more than he worked. But the sentiment was really nice.

He took a step back into your space. The arm that wasn’t holding Lola wrapped around your waist. “You okay with them coming here? Really?”

And you knew, in that moment, that if you said “No,” he would figure out a way to keep them as far away from you as he could. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he cared. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’ll be good to see my mom.”

“Okay,” he said, with a shockingly gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I can tolerate golf with Joseph for an afternoon.”

You woke up early the morning your mother was visiting. You had too much nervous energy to sleep. So you got up, took care of Lola, and started making breakfast for yourself and Ransom.

Your mom was going to come spend the day with you at the house, and then you’d go to the country club together to meet Joseph and Ransom for dinner after they were done golfing. Spending the entire day with her would be good. It would.

Ransom didn’t comment when he got up and found you already in the kitchen. He just kept you company as you cooked. He seemed to understand that you needed the silence filled, so he told you about what he expected his work day to include. A new author coming in, a probable fight with Walt, paperwork he’d been putting off. He didn’t make any mention of the time he’d be spending with Joseph this afternoon, and you were grateful. You were anxious enough already.

Too soon, you were both done with breakfast, and Ransom had gone back upstairs to finish getting ready. The doorbell sounded, and you took a deep breath before answering it.

Your mother stood on the front step, looking put together but maybe as nervous as you were. And frail. She looked very frail. She smiled at the sight of you, as big as she had ever managed. Despite all of the feelings that always swirled around inside of you when you thought of her, you smiled too. And then you threw your arms around her in a big hug.

You hugged her as tightly as you thought she could handle, as you breathed in the familiar floral notes of the perfume Joseph always got her for her birthday. And she hugged you back, her face pressed close.

“Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” you replied. And you meant it. Eventually, you pulled away. “Did you have breakfast at your hotel? Can I make you something?” you asked as you ushered her into the house.

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that. We had a nice spread at the hotel. But if you wanted to share a pot of tea, I wouldn’t say n-“

The sound of footsteps hit the stairs, and your mom stopped talking immediately. You watched as her eyes tracked Ransom as he came down. Her body curled inward, just a bit, somehow making herself look even smaller than normal. “Ransom,” you called to him once he was in the room, wanting to break the strange tension that had suddenly filled the space. “You remember my mom, Lydia.”

Ransom stopped short, right next to you. A vague look of surprise on his face. He quickly schooled his expression into something much more neutral, and you made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Yes, of course,” he said, taking a step forward but stopping when she took a small step back. “It’s lovely to see you. I hope you got here alright.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say anything else. An uneasy silence settled over all three of you. You tried to catch your mom’s eye, see if she was okay, but she couldn't keep her wary gaze off of Ransom.

“Well,” Ransom finally spoke, as awkward as you’d ever heard him, “I should get going.” He turned to you, one hand immediately going to your bump. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, lowly, just for you.

You ducked your head with a shy smile at his care and nodded. His other hand came up to briefly caress your cheek as he gave you a small peck on the lips. Then he grabbed his work bag and headed out the door, calling out behind him, “I hope you have a good day together. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, you could feel your mom’s relief. You took a step towards her. “Mom, are you–“

“This is such a lovely home,” she said, stepping past you to look into the living room.

You blinked after her, trying to track what was happening. “Oh, um, thank you. We’re actually moving soon, though. Before the baby comes. We found a house we both really like.”

She looked at you, surprised. “He let you help decide?”

There was something about the question that made your heart crack, just a little. You weren’t sure yet who for. “Yeah, Mom. We discussed what we wanted. We’ll both be living there, after all.”

She opened her mouth to respond before she was distracted by Lola running into the room and jumping up onto the couch. “Oh!” your mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you still had your little dog!”

You did your best to ignore the implication of that—that she’d assumed Ransom would make you give her up—and went to Lola to scratch behind her ears. “Of course, I do. Lola goes wherever I go, don’t you, baby?”

You looked up to find your mom staring at you, her expression tricky to read. There was relief there, first and foremost, but something else you couldn't quite decipher. After a very long pause, she said very quietly, “He must be very fond of you.”

All you could do was blink at her for a moment. Then, “Yes, I think so. I think– We’re fond of each other. We get along well.” It felt strange to talk about your relationship this way. It felt so new and– and delicate. And yours. You didn’t know how to talk about it with someone who hadn’t been there for the whole thing.

“He really isn’t so bad?” she asked with a hopeful tinge to her voice.

“No,” you said, “he’s not so bad at all. Now that I’ve gotten to know him.”

And at that, her body sagged. Like she’d finally released a breath she’d been holding for the last eight months. Her eyes were watery when she looked you in the eyes and said, her voice shaking a little, “That’s good. That’s so good.”

You took a step towards her and held out one hand. “Mom,” you asked, “are you alright?”

“Of course,” she said, too quickly, with a wobbly smile. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” you said, but kept a careful eye on her. “Me too, Mom.”

You were able to busy yourself for a few minutes by preparing a few mugs of herbal tea for both of you before you settled on the couch in the living room with her.

Once you were seated, she put a hesitant hand on your stomach with a soft smile. “You’re glowing,” she said. “Is everything going well with the baby so far?”

“Yeah, I think so. The doctor doesn’t have any concerns right now. And they’ve started moving. It’s wild to think that there’s an actual person growing in there. I’m really looking forward to meeting them. And I think Ransom’s getting excited too.”

Her smile shifted a little. “Men are always excited to meet their sons.” And at that, you couldn’t help the way your smile dropped. Your mom noticed, of course. “Have you found out the baby’s sex yet?”

You turned away some as you shook your head. “No,” you said very quietly. “That appointment’s next week.”

“Do you have a feeling either way?” your mother asked urgently.

“No,” you lied. Of course, you had an inkling. One that had been growing stronger every day. But you hadn’t dared voice that feeling yet. It was too terrifying. “I have no idea. I just want them to be safe and healthy.”

“Sweetheart,” she placed a hand on yours, demanding your attention. “That– No, you can’t afford to think that way. You need to be prepared in case the worst happens.”

“The worst?” you asked, voice small, unable to look at her.

“There’s no greater heartbreak than having a daughter.”

You almost gasped, the words hitting you right in your chest, deep and sharp. You couldn’t help the way your hands came up to cradle your stomach, wanting to protect the person inside if you couldn't protect yourself. “Mom,” you whispered, torn apart.

“Honey, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. But– But men want sons. Especially for the first one. They need heirs. And you and your children won’t be truly safe until you give Ransom an heir. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You must remember what it was like when your father died without an heir.”

“I–“ you started, but came up short. Your earliest memories were all a blur. You remembered feelings. Fear of your father. And then panic after he died. But nothing specific.

“It was the scariest time of my life. Even scarier than when I first married him. Because he died without an heir, because I hadn’t given him one, everything reverted back to his family. And my family wouldn’t take us back. You and I, we had nothing. Honey, I didn’t know where we were going to sleep or how I was going to feed you. I was so terrified. If I’d had a son, none of that would have happened. And I tried, after you were born, I tried so hard to give your father what he wanted. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give him another child, a son, so when he died, I had to do everything I could to find someone else to take care of us. We’re so lucky that Joseph was willing to take us in, that he already had an heir, and that he didn’t need that from me. He saved us.

“I don’t want any of that for you. Ransom is fond of you. That’s good. He’ll forgive you if this baby isn’t a boy. But if it isn’t, you need to try to have a son again as soon as you can. You can’t hesitate. You never know what might happen.”

“Mom, please–“

She gripped your hands tightly, “I know this is difficult to hear, but you need to listen to me. This is so important. I don’t want you to go through what I went through. I want a better life for you. Do you understand?”

You swallowed harshly. She was looking at you with such desperation that for a long moment all you could do was nod. You believed Ransom when he said he cared about you, cared about this baby. But you’d also seen previously doting husbands turn cold when their hope of an heir, their legacy, came unfulfilled. As painful as it was, your mother was right. You couldn’t afford to ignore everything that was at stake here.

“Yes, Mom,” you finally answered, voice rough. “I understand.”

She exhaled in relief as her grip on your hands lessened but didn’t disappear. “Honey, even though you weren’t the heir your father wanted, I was so happy when I finally got to meet you. I didn’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve always been the greatest joy of my life. And no matter what happens, this baby will be that for you too. You’re going to be such a wonderful mother. I just know it.”

You blinked back the tears threatening to spill over your lashes. Your heart was breaking for numerous reasons you couldn’t even name. You moved one hand from her grasp and used it to gently cradle your stomach. “I hope so,” you said, too quietly. “I want to be good for them.”

“You will be,” she said, with one final, loving pat to your hand. Then she reached for her tea and began to ask you about your new house. And you tried to pretend like everything was fine.

You got to the restaurant at the country club feeling raw and anxious. You’d wanted to enjoy your day with your mom, but her words from this morning were hanging over your head.

Ransom and Joseph were already at the table. Ransom with a shit-eating grin on his face while Joseph looked thunderous. Ransom stood to greet you as soon as you were at the table, with a gentle kiss on your cheek. With a wary eye towards Joseph, you asked, “How was the golf?”

Ransom’s grin got even bigger. “I think it went pretty well!” he said, surprisingly brightly, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Especially for my very first time. I won by three strokes!”

“Goddamn beginner’s luck,” Joseph grumbled under his breath from his side of the table, where your mom was already sitting stiffly next to him. He barely acknowledged her.

You looked back at Ransom, slightly confused. Just last week he’d told you he was an experienced golfer. At his subtle wink, you had to work hard to stifle your laughter. You couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Joseph more than being beaten by a supposed beginner.

“How was your day together?” Ransom asked as he pulled out your chair for you.

“It was nice,” you said. And parts of it were. The little girl inside you would always be happy to see your mom. Even if every flinch, every sigh, every piece of advice felt like a dire warning for the life you could have, the person you could become if you weren’t very, very careful. You smiled over at her, and she smiled back, even if it was a little fragile.

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Lydia’s been very excited to see you. Hopefully she got all that chattering out of her system.”

And just like that, your mom shrank back down, like she was trying to take up as little space at this table as possible. Joseph saved us. Your mother’s words from that morning echoed in your head. Had the cost been worth it? Had any of this ever been worth it?

Ransom leaned forward. “She’s been really looking forward to your visit, too.” He said to your mother, sincerely. “I hope it was a really good day.”

She looked up at him briefly before looking away again. “Yes, it was,” she said very softly. “Thank you.”

You reached under the table and grabbed Ransom’s hand. He didn’t react, but he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Joseph spent most of the dinner only talking to Ransom, which was honestly fine with you. You tried to engage your mom in conversation on your end of the table, but now that the two of you were no longer alone, she didn’t have much to say. Her eyes kept darting nervously to where the men were talking.

You didn’t catch what prompted it, but your attention was caught when Joseph laughed, “You’ll feel differently once your own son is born in a few months!”

Your son your son your son

But this baby isn’t a boy something inside you responded with a certainty you could not have. There was no way to know that. There was no reason to be so sure.

You were too busy spiraling to catch if and how Ransom responded. But then Joseph turned to you and captured all of your attention. “And look at you, Sweetheart,” he said, his tone slick and smug and awful, “you’re glowing. Don’t you feel silly for the scene you made that night? I told you it was just cold feet.”

Your heart lurched at his words. You didn’t have to pause to try to remember what he was talking about. That awful night when you’d gone to the man who’d raised you since you were six years old and begged him to have a shred of humanity and not all but sell you to a stranger. The night your step-father had laughed at you and patronized you and turned you away. The night your entire world had come crashing down and this man who was supposed to be your family hadn’t cared.

You knew you should say something. You knew you should stand up for yourself, but all you could do was choke on the words as you felt yourself going back in time. As you remembered how completely terrified you’d been.

Ransom went completely still next to you, still holding your hand under the table. “Cold feet?” he asked, his head tilting dangerously. “What are you talking about?”

Joseph seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed how tense the atmosphere had gotten. He chuckled. “Oh, she came to me after your first dinner. Fussing about the pregnancy clause. She begged me not to make her go through with the arrangement.” He rolled his eyes. “I told her she was being ridiculous, of course. That there was a lot more riding on this than some silly girl’s nerves over being a mother. And look at her now! I was right. Everything worked out fine.”

Ransom got very, very quiet. The only part of him that moved was a muscle in his jaw that ticked angrily. You squeezed his hand under the table, unsure of what he was going to do. And equally unsure if you wanted to stop him or not.

But before anyone else could say anything, your mom rushed in, her voice panicked and urgent, even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Oh, no, but– But she didn’t mean anything by it! All girls get nervous! It’s normal! It wasn’t anything against you! She just– She– She–“

“My god, Lydia,” Joseph interrupted. “What are you babbling about?”

Your mom went silent, but her eyes stayed on Ransom, desperate, pleading.

You felt Ransom take a deep breath and force his body to relax. He leaned across the table to your mom and said, voice calm and reassuring. “I would never be upset with her for being scared. I promise.” But as he turned from her to Joseph, you watched his face turn to stone. “But I can’t imagine ever turning away my own child if they were that scared of something.”

“It isn’t like she’s my actual child,” Joseph scoffed. “And she was overreacting, being dramatic. Everything turned out fine!”

Ransom’s eyes narrowed as he hummed in thought. “You think you’d be a little more grateful to her, considering the fact that you’ve been trying to get the rights to Harlan’s works for decades without any luck. The only thing that made the deal go through this time was the fact that her addition finally made the pot sweet enough. So it might be a good idea to remember, if I were you, that the one thing holding together the only significant rights deal your flagging studio has had in years is the woman sitting next to me. Just a thought.” And then, just like that, he went back to eating his steak, like nothing had happened. But the hand holding yours shifted so that he could thread your fingers together.

You were quiet on the car ride home. Saying goodbye to your mom had been difficult, even as much as you were ready for your life to go back to normal, whatever that might be. She’d hugged you so tight. You hadn’t wanted to let go.

You were leaning your head against the window, watching the world go by in the dark, when Ransom cleared his throat. “And I thought Linda was a piece of work.” His attempt at humor hung in the air awkwardly. You didn’t say anything or turn to look at him. You were too tired.

“Sorry,” he said after another few long, silent moments. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said into the window. “I’m fine.” You knew he hated that word, but you didn’t know what else to say.

It was quiet as Ransom merged onto the highway, and then he tried again. “How old was your mom when she had you?”

That finally got you to turn your head. “What?”

He glanced over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “She was a lot younger than I expected.”

You gave him a confused look. “You met her before, didn’t you? At the wedding.”

He sighed and looked at you again. “That was a hard day. There was a lot that never really registered,” he answered, somewhat sheepishly. “And so today, I was surprised. I expected someone older.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “She was twenty with me.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “And your dad?” he asked, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.

You shrugged, shrinking in on yourself, just a bit. “I don’t know. I was really little, and– I don’t know. Old enough to have a heart attack, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ransom muttered to himself again.

He didn’t say anything else, but you were finally ready to talk. You had too many words swirling around in your head to be able to stop them from tumbling out of your mouth. “She was really afraid of you. Did you notice that?” You didn’t wait for him to respond. “Really scared. At first, I thought it was so weird. She doesn’t really know you, why would– And then I wondered if maybe she was just afraid of all men. Given her track record– But tonight, during dinner, it clicked. She’s afraid of you because if you got upset about anything, you could take it out on me. That’s what had her terrified. And then I realized, all the advice and the ‘just keep him happy’ and the letting me learn how to cook and how to dance and, and– She thinks she’s protecting me. And she is. I guess. In the only way she knows how. And I want to be grateful for it. I– I do. I am. Maybe. But, god, she still handed me the pen!”

“What pen?” Ransom asked, and you suddenly realized that you weren’t just exorcising your turbulent thoughts into the ether but having a real conversation. With your husband.

You swallowed hard, trying to will yourself to stay in the present instead of hurtling back in time to that awful day that started everything. “When they first showed me the contract for our marriage. When they made me sign it. She’s the one who handed me the pen. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. But he took his right hand off the steering wheel and extended it over the gear shaft to cover both of your hands in your lap. And he maybe didn’t know what to say, but this– It was enough.

A week later, you could tell Ransom was concerned as you walked into the clinic together. You knew why. You’d been quiet all day. Nauseous. Today was the day it could all fall apart.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked as you sat in the waiting room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quietly.

That just seemed to worry him more. “Are you sure? Did you eat today?”

“Yes, Ransom, I did,” you lied. “I said I was fine.”

“Is it the baby? They’re healthy, I’m sure. It’s going to be alright.”

You almost laughed in his face. This appointment was not going to be all right. That, you knew for certain. Instead, you just said, “Yes, I know, Ransom,” unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.

He didn’t say anything else, but you could feel him watching you until your name was finally called.

The appointment was going fine. The baby was healthy, a good size. Everything looked the way it was supposed to. You wished you could take comfort in that.

Ransom was staring at the screen of the ultrasound. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe and a soft smile on his face. “They’re starting to look like an actual baby.” He looked to you, to share in it, and you found it easier than you expected to smile back. He was so happy. You had to savor it. Especially since you were so scared that he’d no longer be looking at you like that in just a few minutes.

Sooner than you were ready for, Dr. Patel said the words you’d been dreading. “So,” she asked with a grin, “are we learning the sex of the baby today?”

Ransom’s smile got even bigger, eager. “Yea–“

“No!” You interrupted, too loud, too fast. This hadn’t been your plan, but the panic had overtaken you, and you were operating purely on instinct now. “No, we don’t want to find out!”

“What?” Ransom’s shock may have gotten to you if your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears.

“We don’t want to find out,” you repeated, urgently, shaking your head too hard.

He was staring at you. They both were. But you couldn’t do anything about it. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

That got a little easier when your husband finally turned his attention away from you. “Could you give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she said with a tight smile. Then everyone but you and Ransom left the room.

At first, Ransom didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, his thumb sweeping across it in soothing arcs. After a few minutes, his voice impossibly soft, he started a steady tide of comforting murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay, honey. You’re alright. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. Just breathe with me, honey. I’m right here with you. You’re okay.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be comforted by it, even if you knew it couldn’t last. After several minutes of that, you’d calmed down enough for him to attempt a real conversation. “I guess we probably should have talked about it first,” he said, keeping that same impossibly soft tone, “but I assumed you’d be excited to find out. I’m really excited to find out.”

At that, you tried to close your eyes even tighter, tears leaking out from the force of it, falling down your cheeks.

His thumb paused, for just a beat, then continued to sweep across your skin. “Honey. Please look at me. It’s okay, I promise. I just want you to look at me.” It took all the strength in you, but after a long moment, you forced your eyes open and finally looked at Ransom. His expression was terribly worried, but he let out a small breath in relief once he could see your eyes. “Okay, can you tell me why that was the wrong thing to say?”

This was the last conversation you wanted to have, but you knew you had no choice, so you powered through as best you could. “You’re excited to find out this baby’s your heir. That’s what you’re excited for.”

“What?” The worry on his face was replaced with sheer confusion. “Honey, I don’t give a shit if this baby’s my heir.”

“Yes, you do,” you countered, voice firm. “You might not know that you do, but you do. All men do, whether you realize it or not.” He opened his mouth to reply, but you kept going before he was able to get any words out. “And I’m not upset with you for that. I’m not. I understand. And I’m not afraid you’ll do something to me if they aren’t the boy you want. I know you won’t. I trust you. I know you’ll even still try to love this baby, but… I just– I just can’t see the disappointment on your face when you find out. I just can’t. I think it will break my heart completely, and I– Maybe it’ll be better if you find out when they’re born. Maybe it’ll be harder to be disappointed when there’s a real baby in your arms instead of just the idea of one. Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll still be upset. But I just can’t see your disappointment today. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Ransom was very quiet for a long time. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t have anything else to say. You just stared at his hand, still holding yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice surprisingly rough. “You know, there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot of things I’m really worried about. One of the biggest ones is the idea of a little me running around. I was a pretty terrible kid. An awful teenager. A shit twenty-something. I think of a son, and I think of all of the mistakes I’ve ever made. I worry that he won’t be able to escape them. But you know what doesn’t worry me? The thought of a little you. Beautiful. Kind. Funny. Unbelievably brave. That’s who I see when I close my eyes and imagine our child.” He paused, thoughtful, and squeezed your hand. “Either way, the thing I most want for this baby is that they have all the best parts of you and none of the worst parts of me. That’s what’s most important to me. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

You felt another wave of tears fall down your face. Later, maybe you’d be able to tell him all the ways you hoped your child was just like him, all the things of his that you wanted them to inherit, but for now, all you could say was, “You mean it?”

“Yes,” he said, so solemnly, looking you dead in the eyes. “I mean it.”

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered, not able to get any louder.

“Yeah? Okay? Should we let Dr Patel back in? Are you ready to find out?”

You took another deep breath. And then another. And then you nodded. At least now you would know for sure. Either way.

The doctor and the tech came back in. More gel was squeezed onto your stomach. The baby’s placement was found again. The wand maneuvered around. And then, with a careful smile, a little wary of the news she was about to deliver, Dr. Patel said, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”

Your breath stopped again, and your eyes flew to Ransom. He was staring at you. A wide smile on his face. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “It’s okay?” you asked, voice shaking.

“It’s incredible,” he beamed, placing a happy kiss against your forehead. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

Exhaling a breath you felt like you’d been holding for weeks, you finally let yourself let go of some of your worry, just for now, and feel the same joy he felt. You smiled back at him. It was incredible. You were having a girl.

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You forced yourself to let it go, gently setting it on the counter. “My mom called,” you conceded.

His hand immediately moved from Lola to your back, not moving. Just a steady presence there. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded again. “They’re—uh, she and Joseph—they’re coming here next week. Want to see us.”

“Oh. They aren’t going to stay with us, are they?” He sounded a little alarmed at the prospect, which made you smile.

“No, definitely not. Joseph will find the nicest suite in Boston, I’m sure.”

Ransom gave you a small smile. “A man after my own heart,” he joked.

You couldn’t quite join him. “Sure,” you shrugged.

His hand on your back became firmer. “Will it be nice,” he asked softly, “to see your mom?”

You took a deep breath. “Is it stupid if I say I miss her?” you asked quietly instead of answering him.

“No,” he said immediately. Firmly. “I can’t relate. But it’s definitely not stupid.”

You finally turned your body to him. “She’s really excited about the baby. That she gets to be a grandma.”

“That’s good,” he said, his hand on your back moving to your stomach, seemingly involuntarily. Like a magnet. That’s how it’d been for the last couple of weeks. Since you’d kissed. Since you’d talked. Otherwise, not much had changed in how he acted. Kisses when he left in the morning and usually when he got home. Or before he and you parted ways to go to your own bedrooms at night. He was taking things slowly. Presumably following your lead. But his hands. His hands always found you.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“How long will they be here?”

“Really just a day, I think. They want to have dinner with us. And Joseph wants to set up at least eighteen holes with you.”

Ransom’s hand shrank back from you, a look of horror on his face. “He wants to golf?!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because technically you’re his son-in-law. And I’m sure he’ll have some deal or something he’ll want to talk over with you too.”

He rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate golf.”

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “He’ll expect to win anyway.”

He looked affronted at that. “I didn’t say I was bad at it! Just that it’s a stupid way to waste your time.”

You sighed. “Well, can you do it for one afternoon? Just to make my life easier?”

He gave you a considering look. “You hate him?” he asked.

“I do,” you said, very quietly.

“Alright,” he said with a decisive nod. “I’ll play a fucking round of golf. And I’ll demolish him.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on your face. “Sure, Ransom,” you said fondly. You doubted it. Joseph golfed more than he worked. But the sentiment was really nice.

He took a step back into your space. The arm that wasn’t holding Lola wrapped around your waist. “You okay with them coming here? Really?”

And you knew, in that moment, that if you said “No,” he would figure out a way to keep them as far away from you as he could. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he cared. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’ll be good to see my mom.”

“Okay,” he said, with a shockingly gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I can tolerate golf with Joseph for an afternoon.”

You woke up early the morning your mother was visiting. You had too much nervous energy to sleep. So you got up, took care of Lola, and started making breakfast for yourself and Ransom.

Your mom was going to come spend the day with you at the house, and then you’d go to the country club together to meet Joseph and Ransom for dinner after they were done golfing. Spending the entire day with her would be good. It would.

Ransom didn’t comment when he got up and found you already in the kitchen. He just kept you company as you cooked. He seemed to understand that you needed the silence filled, so he told you about what he expected his work day to include. A new author coming in, a probable fight with Walt, paperwork he’d been putting off. He didn’t make any mention of the time he’d be spending with Joseph this afternoon, and you were grateful. You were anxious enough already.

Too soon, you were both done with breakfast, and Ransom had gone back upstairs to finish getting ready. The doorbell sounded, and you took a deep breath before answering it.

Your mother stood on the front step, looking put together but maybe as nervous as you were. And frail. She looked very frail. She smiled at the sight of you, as big as she had ever managed. Despite all of the feelings that always swirled around inside of you when you thought of her, you smiled too. And then you threw your arms around her in a big hug.

You hugged her as tightly as you thought she could handle, as you breathed in the familiar floral notes of the perfume Joseph always got her for her birthday. And she hugged you back, her face pressed close.

“Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” you replied. And you meant it. Eventually, you pulled away. “Did you have breakfast at your hotel? Can I make you something?” you asked as you ushered her into the house.

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that. We had a nice spread at the hotel. But if you wanted to share a pot of tea, I wouldn’t say n-“

The sound of footsteps hit the stairs, and your mom stopped talking immediately. You watched as her eyes tracked Ransom as he came down. Her body curled inward, just a bit, somehow making herself look even smaller than normal. “Ransom,” you called to him once he was in the room, wanting to break the strange tension that had suddenly filled the space. “You remember my mom, Lydia.”

Ransom stopped short, right next to you. A vague look of surprise on his face. He quickly schooled his expression into something much more neutral, and you made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Yes, of course,” he said, taking a step forward but stopping when she took a small step back. “It’s lovely to see you. I hope you got here alright.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say anything else. An uneasy silence settled over all three of you. You tried to catch your mom’s eye, see if she was okay, but she couldn't keep her wary gaze off of Ransom.

“Well,” Ransom finally spoke, as awkward as you’d ever heard him, “I should get going.” He turned to you, one hand immediately going to your bump. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, lowly, just for you.

You ducked your head with a shy smile at his care and nodded. His other hand came up to briefly caress your cheek as he gave you a small peck on the lips. Then he grabbed his work bag and headed out the door, calling out behind him, “I hope you have a good day together. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, you could feel your mom’s relief. You took a step towards her. “Mom, are you–“

“This is such a lovely home,” she said, stepping past you to look into the living room.

You blinked after her, trying to track what was happening. “Oh, um, thank you. We’re actually moving soon, though. Before the baby comes. We found a house we both really like.”

She looked at you, surprised. “He let you help decide?”

There was something about the question that made your heart crack, just a little. You weren’t sure yet who for. “Yeah, Mom. We discussed what we wanted. We’ll both be living there, after all.”

She opened her mouth to respond before she was distracted by Lola running into the room and jumping up onto the couch. “Oh!” your mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you still had your little dog!”

You did your best to ignore the implication of that—that she’d assumed Ransom would make you give her up—and went to Lola to scratch behind her ears. “Of course, I do. Lola goes wherever I go, don’t you, baby?”

You looked up to find your mom staring at you, her expression tricky to read. There was relief there, first and foremost, but something else you couldn't quite decipher. After a very long pause, she said very quietly, “He must be very fond of you.”

All you could do was blink at her for a moment. Then, “Yes, I think so. I think– We’re fond of each other. We get along well.” It felt strange to talk about your relationship this way. It felt so new and– and delicate. And yours. You didn’t know how to talk about it with someone who hadn’t been there for the whole thing.

“He really isn’t so bad?” she asked with a hopeful tinge to her voice.

“No,” you said, “he’s not so bad at all. Now that I’ve gotten to know him.”

And at that, her body sagged. Like she’d finally released a breath she’d been holding for the last eight months. Her eyes were watery when she looked you in the eyes and said, her voice shaking a little, “That’s good. That’s so good.”

You took a step towards her and held out one hand. “Mom,” you asked, “are you alright?”

“Of course,” she said, too quickly, with a wobbly smile. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” you said, but kept a careful eye on her. “Me too, Mom.”

You were able to busy yourself for a few minutes by preparing a few mugs of herbal tea for both of you before you settled on the couch in the living room with her.

Once you were seated, she put a hesitant hand on your stomach with a soft smile. “You’re glowing,” she said. “Is everything going well with the baby so far?”

“Yeah, I think so. The doctor doesn’t have any concerns right now. And they’ve started moving. It’s wild to think that there’s an actual person growing in there. I’m really looking forward to meeting them. And I think Ransom’s getting excited too.”

Her smile shifted a little. “Men are always excited to meet their sons.” And at that, you couldn’t help the way your smile dropped. Your mom noticed, of course. “Have you found out the baby’s sex yet?”

You turned away some as you shook your head. “No,” you said very quietly. “That appointment’s next week.”

“Do you have a feeling either way?” your mother asked urgently.

“No,” you lied. Of course, you had an inkling. One that had been growing stronger every day. But you hadn’t dared voice that feeling yet. It was too terrifying. “I have no idea. I just want them to be safe and healthy.”

“Sweetheart,” she placed a hand on yours, demanding your attention. “That– No, you can’t afford to think that way. You need to be prepared in case the worst happens.”

“The worst?” you asked, voice small, unable to look at her.

“There’s no greater heartbreak than having a daughter.”

You almost gasped, the words hitting you right in your chest, deep and sharp. You couldn’t help the way your hands came up to cradle your stomach, wanting to protect the person inside if you couldn't protect yourself. “Mom,” you whispered, torn apart.

“Honey, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. But– But men want sons. Especially for the first one. They need heirs. And you and your children won’t be truly safe until you give Ransom an heir. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You must remember what it was like when your father died without an heir.”

“I–“ you started, but came up short. Your earliest memories were all a blur. You remembered feelings. Fear of your father. And then panic after he died. But nothing specific.

“It was the scariest time of my life. Even scarier than when I first married him. Because he died without an heir, because I hadn’t given him one, everything reverted back to his family. And my family wouldn’t take us back. You and I, we had nothing. Honey, I didn’t know where we were going to sleep or how I was going to feed you. I was so terrified. If I’d had a son, none of that would have happened. And I tried, after you were born, I tried so hard to give your father what he wanted. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give him another child, a son, so when he died, I had to do everything I could to find someone else to take care of us. We’re so lucky that Joseph was willing to take us in, that he already had an heir, and that he didn’t need that from me. He saved us.

“I don’t want any of that for you. Ransom is fond of you. That’s good. He’ll forgive you if this baby isn’t a boy. But if it isn’t, you need to try to have a son again as soon as you can. You can’t hesitate. You never know what might happen.”

“Mom, please–“

She gripped your hands tightly, “I know this is difficult to hear, but you need to listen to me. This is so important. I don’t want you to go through what I went through. I want a better life for you. Do you understand?”

You swallowed harshly. She was looking at you with such desperation that for a long moment all you could do was nod. You believed Ransom when he said he cared about you, cared about this baby. But you’d also seen previously doting husbands turn cold when their hope of an heir, their legacy, came unfulfilled. As painful as it was, your mother was right. You couldn’t afford to ignore everything that was at stake here.

“Yes, Mom,” you finally answered, voice rough. “I understand.”

She exhaled in relief as her grip on your hands lessened but didn’t disappear. “Honey, even though you weren’t the heir your father wanted, I was so happy when I finally got to meet you. I didn’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve always been the greatest joy of my life. And no matter what happens, this baby will be that for you too. You’re going to be such a wonderful mother. I just know it.”

You blinked back the tears threatening to spill over your lashes. Your heart was breaking for numerous reasons you couldn’t even name. You moved one hand from her grasp and used it to gently cradle your stomach. “I hope so,” you said, too quietly. “I want to be good for them.”

“You will be,” she said, with one final, loving pat to your hand. Then she reached for her tea and began to ask you about your new house. And you tried to pretend like everything was fine.

You got to the restaurant at the country club feeling raw and anxious. You’d wanted to enjoy your day with your mom, but her words from this morning were hanging over your head.

Ransom and Joseph were already at the table. Ransom with a shit-eating grin on his face while Joseph looked thunderous. Ransom stood to greet you as soon as you were at the table, with a gentle kiss on your cheek. With a wary eye towards Joseph, you asked, “How was the golf?”

Ransom’s grin got even bigger. “I think it went pretty well!” he said, surprisingly brightly, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Especially for my very first time. I won by three strokes!”

“Goddamn beginner’s luck,” Joseph grumbled under his breath from his side of the table, where your mom was already sitting stiffly next to him. He barely acknowledged her.

You looked back at Ransom, slightly confused. Just last week he’d told you he was an experienced golfer. At his subtle wink, you had to work hard to stifle your laughter. You couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Joseph more than being beaten by a supposed beginner.

“How was your day together?” Ransom asked as he pulled out your chair for you.

“It was nice,” you said. And parts of it were. The little girl inside you would always be happy to see your mom. Even if every flinch, every sigh, every piece of advice felt like a dire warning for the life you could have, the person you could become if you weren’t very, very careful. You smiled over at her, and she smiled back, even if it was a little fragile.

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Lydia’s been very excited to see you. Hopefully she got all that chattering out of her system.”

And just like that, your mom shrank back down, like she was trying to take up as little space at this table as possible. Joseph saved us. Your mother’s words from that morning echoed in your head. Had the cost been worth it? Had any of this ever been worth it?

Ransom leaned forward. “She’s been really looking forward to your visit, too.” He said to your mother, sincerely. “I hope it was a really good day.”

She looked up at him briefly before looking away again. “Yes, it was,” she said very softly. “Thank you.”

You reached under the table and grabbed Ransom’s hand. He didn’t react, but he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Joseph spent most of the dinner only talking to Ransom, which was honestly fine with you. You tried to engage your mom in conversation on your end of the table, but now that the two of you were no longer alone, she didn’t have much to say. Her eyes kept darting nervously to where the men were talking.

You didn’t catch what prompted it, but your attention was caught when Joseph laughed, “You’ll feel differently once your own son is born in a few months!”

Your son your son your son

But this baby isn’t a boy something inside you responded with a certainty you could not have. There was no way to know that. There was no reason to be so sure.

You were too busy spiraling to catch if and how Ransom responded. But then Joseph turned to you and captured all of your attention. “And look at you, Sweetheart,” he said, his tone slick and smug and awful, “you’re glowing. Don’t you feel silly for the scene you made that night? I told you it was just cold feet.”

Your heart lurched at his words. You didn’t have to pause to try to remember what he was talking about. That awful night when you’d gone to the man who’d raised you since you were six years old and begged him to have a shred of humanity and not all but sell you to a stranger. The night your step-father had laughed at you and patronized you and turned you away. The night your entire world had come crashing down and this man who was supposed to be your family hadn’t cared.

You knew you should say something. You knew you should stand up for yourself, but all you could do was choke on the words as you felt yourself going back in time. As you remembered how completely terrified you’d been.

Ransom went completely still next to you, still holding your hand under the table. “Cold feet?” he asked, his head tilting dangerously. “What are you talking about?”

Joseph seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed how tense the atmosphere had gotten. He chuckled. “Oh, she came to me after your first dinner. Fussing about the pregnancy clause. She begged me not to make her go through with the arrangement.” He rolled his eyes. “I told her she was being ridiculous, of course. That there was a lot more riding on this than some silly girl’s nerves over being a mother. And look at her now! I was right. Everything worked out fine.”

Ransom got very, very quiet. The only part of him that moved was a muscle in his jaw that ticked angrily. You squeezed his hand under the table, unsure of what he was going to do. And equally unsure if you wanted to stop him or not.

But before anyone else could say anything, your mom rushed in, her voice panicked and urgent, even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Oh, no, but– But she didn’t mean anything by it! All girls get nervous! It’s normal! It wasn’t anything against you! She just– She– She–“

“My god, Lydia,” Joseph interrupted. “What are you babbling about?”

Your mom went silent, but her eyes stayed on Ransom, desperate, pleading.

You felt Ransom take a deep breath and force his body to relax. He leaned across the table to your mom and said, voice calm and reassuring. “I would never be upset with her for being scared. I promise.” But as he turned from her to Joseph, you watched his face turn to stone. “But I can’t imagine ever turning away my own child if they were that scared of something.”

“It isn’t like she’s my actual child,” Joseph scoffed. “And she was overreacting, being dramatic. Everything turned out fine!”

Ransom’s eyes narrowed as he hummed in thought. “You think you’d be a little more grateful to her, considering the fact that you’ve been trying to get the rights to Harlan’s works for decades without any luck. The only thing that made the deal go through this time was the fact that her addition finally made the pot sweet enough. So it might be a good idea to remember, if I were you, that the one thing holding together the only significant rights deal your flagging studio has had in years is the woman sitting next to me. Just a thought.” And then, just like that, he went back to eating his steak, like nothing had happened. But the hand holding yours shifted so that he could thread your fingers together.

You were quiet on the car ride home. Saying goodbye to your mom had been difficult, even as much as you were ready for your life to go back to normal, whatever that might be. She’d hugged you so tight. You hadn’t wanted to let go.

You were leaning your head against the window, watching the world go by in the dark, when Ransom cleared his throat. “And I thought Linda was a piece of work.” His attempt at humor hung in the air awkwardly. You didn’t say anything or turn to look at him. You were too tired.

“Sorry,” he said after another few long, silent moments. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said into the window. “I’m fine.” You knew he hated that word, but you didn’t know what else to say.

It was quiet as Ransom merged onto the highway, and then he tried again. “How old was your mom when she had you?”

That finally got you to turn your head. “What?”

He glanced over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “She was a lot younger than I expected.”

You gave him a confused look. “You met her before, didn’t you? At the wedding.”

He sighed and looked at you again. “That was a hard day. There was a lot that never really registered,” he answered, somewhat sheepishly. “And so today, I was surprised. I expected someone older.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “She was twenty with me.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “And your dad?” he asked, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.

You shrugged, shrinking in on yourself, just a bit. “I don’t know. I was really little, and– I don’t know. Old enough to have a heart attack, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ransom muttered to himself again.

He didn’t say anything else, but you were finally ready to talk. You had too many words swirling around in your head to be able to stop them from tumbling out of your mouth. “She was really afraid of you. Did you notice that?” You didn’t wait for him to respond. “Really scared. At first, I thought it was so weird. She doesn’t really know you, why would– And then I wondered if maybe she was just afraid of all men. Given her track record– But tonight, during dinner, it clicked. She’s afraid of you because if you got upset about anything, you could take it out on me. That’s what had her terrified. And then I realized, all the advice and the ‘just keep him happy’ and the letting me learn how to cook and how to dance and, and– She thinks she’s protecting me. And she is. I guess. In the only way she knows how. And I want to be grateful for it. I– I do. I am. Maybe. But, god, she still handed me the pen!”

“What pen?” Ransom asked, and you suddenly realized that you weren’t just exorcising your turbulent thoughts into the ether but having a real conversation. With your husband.

You swallowed hard, trying to will yourself to stay in the present instead of hurtling back in time to that awful day that started everything. “When they first showed me the contract for our marriage. When they made me sign it. She’s the one who handed me the pen. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. But he took his right hand off the steering wheel and extended it over the gear shaft to cover both of your hands in your lap. And he maybe didn’t know what to say, but this– It was enough.

A week later, you could tell Ransom was concerned as you walked into the clinic together. You knew why. You’d been quiet all day. Nauseous. Today was the day it could all fall apart.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked as you sat in the waiting room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quietly.

That just seemed to worry him more. “Are you sure? Did you eat today?”

“Yes, Ransom, I did,” you lied. “I said I was fine.”

“Is it the baby? They’re healthy, I’m sure. It’s going to be alright.”

You almost laughed in his face. This appointment was not going to be all right. That, you knew for certain. Instead, you just said, “Yes, I know, Ransom,” unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.

He didn’t say anything else, but you could feel him watching you until your name was finally called.

The appointment was going fine. The baby was healthy, a good size. Everything looked the way it was supposed to. You wished you could take comfort in that.

Ransom was staring at the screen of the ultrasound. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe and a soft smile on his face. “They’re starting to look like an actual baby.” He looked to you, to share in it, and you found it easier than you expected to smile back. He was so happy. You had to savor it. Especially since you were so scared that he’d no longer be looking at you like that in just a few minutes.

Sooner than you were ready for, Dr. Patel said the words you’d been dreading. “So,” she asked with a grin, “are we learning the sex of the baby today?”

Ransom’s smile got even bigger, eager. “Yea–“

“No!” You interrupted, too loud, too fast. This hadn’t been your plan, but the panic had overtaken you, and you were operating purely on instinct now. “No, we don’t want to find out!”

“What?” Ransom’s shock may have gotten to you if your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears.

“We don’t want to find out,” you repeated, urgently, shaking your head too hard.

He was staring at you. They both were. But you couldn’t do anything about it. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

That got a little easier when your husband finally turned his attention away from you. “Could you give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she said with a tight smile. Then everyone but you and Ransom left the room.

At first, Ransom didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, his thumb sweeping across it in soothing arcs. After a few minutes, his voice impossibly soft, he started a steady tide of comforting murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay, honey. You’re alright. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. Just breathe with me, honey. I’m right here with you. You’re okay.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be comforted by it, even if you knew it couldn’t last. After several minutes of that, you’d calmed down enough for him to attempt a real conversation. “I guess we probably should have talked about it first,” he said, keeping that same impossibly soft tone, “but I assumed you’d be excited to find out. I’m really excited to find out.”

At that, you tried to close your eyes even tighter, tears leaking out from the force of it, falling down your cheeks.

His thumb paused, for just a beat, then continued to sweep across your skin. “Honey. Please look at me. It’s okay, I promise. I just want you to look at me.” It took all the strength in you, but after a long moment, you forced your eyes open and finally looked at Ransom. His expression was terribly worried, but he let out a small breath in relief once he could see your eyes. “Okay, can you tell me why that was the wrong thing to say?”

This was the last conversation you wanted to have, but you knew you had no choice, so you powered through as best you could. “You’re excited to find out this baby’s your heir. That’s what you’re excited for.”

“What?” The worry on his face was replaced with sheer confusion. “Honey, I don’t give a shit if this baby’s my heir.”

“Yes, you do,” you countered, voice firm. “You might not know that you do, but you do. All men do, whether you realize it or not.” He opened his mouth to reply, but you kept going before he was able to get any words out. “And I’m not upset with you for that. I’m not. I understand. And I’m not afraid you’ll do something to me if they aren’t the boy you want. I know you won’t. I trust you. I know you’ll even still try to love this baby, but… I just– I just can’t see the disappointment on your face when you find out. I just can’t. I think it will break my heart completely, and I– Maybe it’ll be better if you find out when they’re born. Maybe it’ll be harder to be disappointed when there’s a real baby in your arms instead of just the idea of one. Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll still be upset. But I just can’t see your disappointment today. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Ransom was very quiet for a long time. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t have anything else to say. You just stared at his hand, still holding yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice surprisingly rough. “You know, there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot of things I’m really worried about. One of the biggest ones is the idea of a little me running around. I was a pretty terrible kid. An awful teenager. A shit twenty-something. I think of a son, and I think of all of the mistakes I’ve ever made. I worry that he won’t be able to escape them. But you know what doesn’t worry me? The thought of a little you. Beautiful. Kind. Funny. Unbelievably brave. That’s who I see when I close my eyes and imagine our child.” He paused, thoughtful, and squeezed your hand. “Either way, the thing I most want for this baby is that they have all the best parts of you and none of the worst parts of me. That’s what’s most important to me. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

You felt another wave of tears fall down your face. Later, maybe you’d be able to tell him all the ways you hoped your child was just like him, all the things of his that you wanted them to inherit, but for now, all you could say was, “You mean it?”

“Yes,” he said, so solemnly, looking you dead in the eyes. “I mean it.”

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered, not able to get any louder.

“Yeah? Okay? Should we let Dr Patel back in? Are you ready to find out?”

You took another deep breath. And then another. And then you nodded. At least now you would know for sure. Either way.

The doctor and the tech came back in. More gel was squeezed onto your stomach. The baby’s placement was found again. The wand maneuvered around. And then, with a careful smile, a little wary of the news she was about to deliver, Dr. Patel said, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”

Your breath stopped again, and your eyes flew to Ransom. He was staring at you. A wide smile on his face. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “It’s okay?” you asked, voice shaking.

“It’s incredible,” he beamed, placing a happy kiss against your forehead. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

Exhaling a breath you felt like you’d been holding for weeks, you finally let yourself let go of some of your worry, just for now, and feel the same joy he felt. You smiled back at him. It was incredible. You were having a girl.

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Slowly he starts worming his way more, and more into your life.

First he insists you come stay with him for a few days since you’re so sad about everything. Which of course you happily accept. It only makes sense really since you’re practically living there already after all your failed dates.

Then oh no! The cleaner messed up the spare bed! And he wouldn’t be a good best friend if he let you sleep on the couch. No. He insists you cuddle up with him in his bed. It really only makes sense since you tend to seek him out in the middle of the night anyways.

It’s not long before you forget about the dates, and the bed. Because you’re snuggled up with your best friend, enjoying the rhythmic beating of his heart as you lay on his chest. Soaking up the warmth, that the human furnace that he is, provides.

But then there’s a day, your mutual friend sets you up on a promising date. This one is a double date, with her and her boyfriend. You’re confused as you see Ransom’s jaw tick and his fists clench at his sides.

“What’s wrong Ransom?” You gently stroke the furrow in his brow until the muscles loosen and release.

“Maybe you should stay home tonight, Kitten.” He murmurs to you, pulling you close.

“Did something happen?” You question, more worried now, “Are you okay?”

Ransom pulls you into a hug then, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see the fire burning in his eyes. “I don’t-“ he cuts himself off. “Please just stay…”

His whispered words pull at your heart, of course. “Ransom, I’m worried, please just tell me. Are you okay?”

He sighs into your neck, hugging you impossibly tighter. “It’s…it’s something with Grandfather…”

You can hear the wetness in his voice, the crack at the end making your face contort into misery.

“Oh Ransom.” You pull him over to the couch.

“Please,” he’s begging you now, tears gathered in his eyes making the blue shine so much brighter. “Please just stay with me tonight.”

His hands clasped yours, almost afraid to let you go.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’ll pull you down to the couch then, snuggling you into his chest. He knows he’ll have to tell you the truth at some point. But for now, just this was enough to soothe his soul.

He’ll watch you as you pick at a thread on his sweater, and then he’ll pick his moment. The perfect moment. Where he’ll tilt your chin up so he can look at you, and you him.

He’ll marvel at the confused expression on your face until, he leans down and seals your lips with his own.

Then it’ll be like two puzzle pieces slipping into place. Because of course you’ve always loved Ransom, maybe you just didn’t realize it was like that.

***

You forced yourself to let it go, gently setting it on the counter. “My mom called,” you conceded.

His hand immediately moved from Lola to your back, not moving. Just a steady presence there. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded again. “They’re—uh, she and Joseph—they’re coming here next week. Want to see us.”

“Oh. They aren’t going to stay with us, are they?” He sounded a little alarmed at the prospect, which made you smile.

“No, definitely not. Joseph will find the nicest suite in Boston, I’m sure.”

Ransom gave you a small smile. “A man after my own heart,” he joked.

You couldn’t quite join him. “Sure,” you shrugged.

His hand on your back became firmer. “Will it be nice,” he asked softly, “to see your mom?”

You took a deep breath. “Is it stupid if I say I miss her?” you asked quietly instead of answering him.

“No,” he said immediately. Firmly. “I can’t relate. But it’s definitely not stupid.”

You finally turned your body to him. “She’s really excited about the baby. That she gets to be a grandma.”

“That’s good,” he said, his hand on your back moving to your stomach, seemingly involuntarily. Like a magnet. That’s how it’d been for the last couple of weeks. Since you’d kissed. Since you’d talked. Otherwise, not much had changed in how he acted. Kisses when he left in the morning and usually when he got home. Or before he and you parted ways to go to your own bedrooms at night. He was taking things slowly. Presumably following your lead. But his hands. His hands always found you.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“How long will they be here?”

“Really just a day, I think. They want to have dinner with us. And Joseph wants to set up at least eighteen holes with you.”

Ransom’s hand shrank back from you, a look of horror on his face. “He wants to golf?!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because technically you’re his son-in-law. And I’m sure he’ll have some deal or something he’ll want to talk over with you too.”

He rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate golf.”

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “He’ll expect to win anyway.”

He looked affronted at that. “I didn’t say I was bad at it! Just that it’s a stupid way to waste your time.”

You sighed. “Well, can you do it for one afternoon? Just to make my life easier?”

He gave you a considering look. “You hate him?” he asked.

“I do,” you said, very quietly.

“Alright,” he said with a decisive nod. “I’ll play a fucking round of golf. And I’ll demolish him.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on your face. “Sure, Ransom,” you said fondly. You doubted it. Joseph golfed more than he worked. But the sentiment was really nice.

He took a step back into your space. The arm that wasn’t holding Lola wrapped around your waist. “You okay with them coming here? Really?”

And you knew, in that moment, that if you said “No,” he would figure out a way to keep them as far away from you as he could. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he cared. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’ll be good to see my mom.”

“Okay,” he said, with a shockingly gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I can tolerate golf with Joseph for an afternoon.”

You woke up early the morning your mother was visiting. You had too much nervous energy to sleep. So you got up, took care of Lola, and started making breakfast for yourself and Ransom.

Your mom was going to come spend the day with you at the house, and then you’d go to the country club together to meet Joseph and Ransom for dinner after they were done golfing. Spending the entire day with her would be good. It would.

Ransom didn’t comment when he got up and found you already in the kitchen. He just kept you company as you cooked. He seemed to understand that you needed the silence filled, so he told you about what he expected his work day to include. A new author coming in, a probable fight with Walt, paperwork he’d been putting off. He didn’t make any mention of the time he’d be spending with Joseph this afternoon, and you were grateful. You were anxious enough already.

Too soon, you were both done with breakfast, and Ransom had gone back upstairs to finish getting ready. The doorbell sounded, and you took a deep breath before answering it.

Your mother stood on the front step, looking put together but maybe as nervous as you were. And frail. She looked very frail. She smiled at the sight of you, as big as she had ever managed. Despite all of the feelings that always swirled around inside of you when you thought of her, you smiled too. And then you threw your arms around her in a big hug.

You hugged her as tightly as you thought she could handle, as you breathed in the familiar floral notes of the perfume Joseph always got her for her birthday. And she hugged you back, her face pressed close.

“Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” you replied. And you meant it. Eventually, you pulled away. “Did you have breakfast at your hotel? Can I make you something?” you asked as you ushered her into the house.

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that. We had a nice spread at the hotel. But if you wanted to share a pot of tea, I wouldn’t say n-“

The sound of footsteps hit the stairs, and your mom stopped talking immediately. You watched as her eyes tracked Ransom as he came down. Her body curled inward, just a bit, somehow making herself look even smaller than normal. “Ransom,” you called to him once he was in the room, wanting to break the strange tension that had suddenly filled the space. “You remember my mom, Lydia.”

Ransom stopped short, right next to you. A vague look of surprise on his face. He quickly schooled his expression into something much more neutral, and you made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Yes, of course,” he said, taking a step forward but stopping when she took a small step back. “It’s lovely to see you. I hope you got here alright.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say anything else. An uneasy silence settled over all three of you. You tried to catch your mom’s eye, see if she was okay, but she couldn't keep her wary gaze off of Ransom.

“Well,” Ransom finally spoke, as awkward as you’d ever heard him, “I should get going.” He turned to you, one hand immediately going to your bump. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, lowly, just for you.

You ducked your head with a shy smile at his care and nodded. His other hand came up to briefly caress your cheek as he gave you a small peck on the lips. Then he grabbed his work bag and headed out the door, calling out behind him, “I hope you have a good day together. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, you could feel your mom’s relief. You took a step towards her. “Mom, are you–“

“This is such a lovely home,” she said, stepping past you to look into the living room.

You blinked after her, trying to track what was happening. “Oh, um, thank you. We’re actually moving soon, though. Before the baby comes. We found a house we both really like.”

She looked at you, surprised. “He let you help decide?”

There was something about the question that made your heart crack, just a little. You weren’t sure yet who for. “Yeah, Mom. We discussed what we wanted. We’ll both be living there, after all.”

She opened her mouth to respond before she was distracted by Lola running into the room and jumping up onto the couch. “Oh!” your mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you still had your little dog!”

You did your best to ignore the implication of that—that she’d assumed Ransom would make you give her up—and went to Lola to scratch behind her ears. “Of course, I do. Lola goes wherever I go, don’t you, baby?”

You looked up to find your mom staring at you, her expression tricky to read. There was relief there, first and foremost, but something else you couldn't quite decipher. After a very long pause, she said very quietly, “He must be very fond of you.”

All you could do was blink at her for a moment. Then, “Yes, I think so. I think– We’re fond of each other. We get along well.” It felt strange to talk about your relationship this way. It felt so new and– and delicate. And yours. You didn’t know how to talk about it with someone who hadn’t been there for the whole thing.

“He really isn’t so bad?” she asked with a hopeful tinge to her voice.

“No,” you said, “he’s not so bad at all. Now that I’ve gotten to know him.”

And at that, her body sagged. Like she’d finally released a breath she’d been holding for the last eight months. Her eyes were watery when she looked you in the eyes and said, her voice shaking a little, “That’s good. That’s so good.”

You took a step towards her and held out one hand. “Mom,” you asked, “are you alright?”

“Of course,” she said, too quickly, with a wobbly smile. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” you said, but kept a careful eye on her. “Me too, Mom.”

You were able to busy yourself for a few minutes by preparing a few mugs of herbal tea for both of you before you settled on the couch in the living room with her.

Once you were seated, she put a hesitant hand on your stomach with a soft smile. “You’re glowing,” she said. “Is everything going well with the baby so far?”

“Yeah, I think so. The doctor doesn’t have any concerns right now. And they’ve started moving. It’s wild to think that there’s an actual person growing in there. I’m really looking forward to meeting them. And I think Ransom’s getting excited too.”

Her smile shifted a little. “Men are always excited to meet their sons.” And at that, you couldn’t help the way your smile dropped. Your mom noticed, of course. “Have you found out the baby’s sex yet?”

You turned away some as you shook your head. “No,” you said very quietly. “That appointment’s next week.”

“Do you have a feeling either way?” your mother asked urgently.

“No,” you lied. Of course, you had an inkling. One that had been growing stronger every day. But you hadn’t dared voice that feeling yet. It was too terrifying. “I have no idea. I just want them to be safe and healthy.”

“Sweetheart,” she placed a hand on yours, demanding your attention. “That– No, you can’t afford to think that way. You need to be prepared in case the worst happens.”

“The worst?” you asked, voice small, unable to look at her.

“There’s no greater heartbreak than having a daughter.”

You almost gasped, the words hitting you right in your chest, deep and sharp. You couldn’t help the way your hands came up to cradle your stomach, wanting to protect the person inside if you couldn't protect yourself. “Mom,” you whispered, torn apart.

“Honey, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. But– But men want sons. Especially for the first one. They need heirs. And you and your children won’t be truly safe until you give Ransom an heir. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You must remember what it was like when your father died without an heir.”

“I–“ you started, but came up short. Your earliest memories were all a blur. You remembered feelings. Fear of your father. And then panic after he died. But nothing specific.

“It was the scariest time of my life. Even scarier than when I first married him. Because he died without an heir, because I hadn’t given him one, everything reverted back to his family. And my family wouldn’t take us back. You and I, we had nothing. Honey, I didn’t know where we were going to sleep or how I was going to feed you. I was so terrified. If I’d had a son, none of that would have happened. And I tried, after you were born, I tried so hard to give your father what he wanted. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give him another child, a son, so when he died, I had to do everything I could to find someone else to take care of us. We’re so lucky that Joseph was willing to take us in, that he already had an heir, and that he didn’t need that from me. He saved us.

“I don’t want any of that for you. Ransom is fond of you. That’s good. He’ll forgive you if this baby isn’t a boy. But if it isn’t, you need to try to have a son again as soon as you can. You can’t hesitate. You never know what might happen.”

“Mom, please–“

She gripped your hands tightly, “I know this is difficult to hear, but you need to listen to me. This is so important. I don’t want you to go through what I went through. I want a better life for you. Do you understand?”

You swallowed harshly. She was looking at you with such desperation that for a long moment all you could do was nod. You believed Ransom when he said he cared about you, cared about this baby. But you’d also seen previously doting husbands turn cold when their hope of an heir, their legacy, came unfulfilled. As painful as it was, your mother was right. You couldn’t afford to ignore everything that was at stake here.

“Yes, Mom,” you finally answered, voice rough. “I understand.”

She exhaled in relief as her grip on your hands lessened but didn’t disappear. “Honey, even though you weren’t the heir your father wanted, I was so happy when I finally got to meet you. I didn’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve always been the greatest joy of my life. And no matter what happens, this baby will be that for you too. You’re going to be such a wonderful mother. I just know it.”

You blinked back the tears threatening to spill over your lashes. Your heart was breaking for numerous reasons you couldn’t even name. You moved one hand from her grasp and used it to gently cradle your stomach. “I hope so,” you said, too quietly. “I want to be good for them.”

“You will be,” she said, with one final, loving pat to your hand. Then she reached for her tea and began to ask you about your new house. And you tried to pretend like everything was fine.

You got to the restaurant at the country club feeling raw and anxious. You’d wanted to enjoy your day with your mom, but her words from this morning were hanging over your head.

Ransom and Joseph were already at the table. Ransom with a shit-eating grin on his face while Joseph looked thunderous. Ransom stood to greet you as soon as you were at the table, with a gentle kiss on your cheek. With a wary eye towards Joseph, you asked, “How was the golf?”

Ransom’s grin got even bigger. “I think it went pretty well!” he said, surprisingly brightly, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Especially for my very first time. I won by three strokes!”

“Goddamn beginner’s luck,” Joseph grumbled under his breath from his side of the table, where your mom was already sitting stiffly next to him. He barely acknowledged her.

You looked back at Ransom, slightly confused. Just last week he’d told you he was an experienced golfer. At his subtle wink, you had to work hard to stifle your laughter. You couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Joseph more than being beaten by a supposed beginner.

“How was your day together?” Ransom asked as he pulled out your chair for you.

“It was nice,” you said. And parts of it were. The little girl inside you would always be happy to see your mom. Even if every flinch, every sigh, every piece of advice felt like a dire warning for the life you could have, the person you could become if you weren’t very, very careful. You smiled over at her, and she smiled back, even if it was a little fragile.

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Lydia’s been very excited to see you. Hopefully she got all that chattering out of her system.”

And just like that, your mom shrank back down, like she was trying to take up as little space at this table as possible. Joseph saved us. Your mother’s words from that morning echoed in your head. Had the cost been worth it? Had any of this ever been worth it?

Ransom leaned forward. “She’s been really looking forward to your visit, too.” He said to your mother, sincerely. “I hope it was a really good day.”

She looked up at him briefly before looking away again. “Yes, it was,” she said very softly. “Thank you.”

You reached under the table and grabbed Ransom’s hand. He didn’t react, but he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Joseph spent most of the dinner only talking to Ransom, which was honestly fine with you. You tried to engage your mom in conversation on your end of the table, but now that the two of you were no longer alone, she didn’t have much to say. Her eyes kept darting nervously to where the men were talking.

You didn’t catch what prompted it, but your attention was caught when Joseph laughed, “You’ll feel differently once your own son is born in a few months!”

Your son your son your son

But this baby isn’t a boy something inside you responded with a certainty you could not have. There was no way to know that. There was no reason to be so sure.

You were too busy spiraling to catch if and how Ransom responded. But then Joseph turned to you and captured all of your attention. “And look at you, Sweetheart,” he said, his tone slick and smug and awful, “you’re glowing. Don’t you feel silly for the scene you made that night? I told you it was just cold feet.”

Your heart lurched at his words. You didn’t have to pause to try to remember what he was talking about. That awful night when you’d gone to the man who’d raised you since you were six years old and begged him to have a shred of humanity and not all but sell you to a stranger. The night your step-father had laughed at you and patronized you and turned you away. The night your entire world had come crashing down and this man who was supposed to be your family hadn’t cared.

You knew you should say something. You knew you should stand up for yourself, but all you could do was choke on the words as you felt yourself going back in time. As you remembered how completely terrified you’d been.

Ransom went completely still next to you, still holding your hand under the table. “Cold feet?” he asked, his head tilting dangerously. “What are you talking about?”

Joseph seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed how tense the atmosphere had gotten. He chuckled. “Oh, she came to me after your first dinner. Fussing about the pregnancy clause. She begged me not to make her go through with the arrangement.” He rolled his eyes. “I told her she was being ridiculous, of course. That there was a lot more riding on this than some silly girl’s nerves over being a mother. And look at her now! I was right. Everything worked out fine.”

Ransom got very, very quiet. The only part of him that moved was a muscle in his jaw that ticked angrily. You squeezed his hand under the table, unsure of what he was going to do. And equally unsure if you wanted to stop him or not.

But before anyone else could say anything, your mom rushed in, her voice panicked and urgent, even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Oh, no, but– But she didn’t mean anything by it! All girls get nervous! It’s normal! It wasn’t anything against you! She just– She– She–“

“My god, Lydia,” Joseph interrupted. “What are you babbling about?”

Your mom went silent, but her eyes stayed on Ransom, desperate, pleading.

You felt Ransom take a deep breath and force his body to relax. He leaned across the table to your mom and said, voice calm and reassuring. “I would never be upset with her for being scared. I promise.” But as he turned from her to Joseph, you watched his face turn to stone. “But I can’t imagine ever turning away my own child if they were that scared of something.”

“It isn’t like she’s my actual child,” Joseph scoffed. “And she was overreacting, being dramatic. Everything turned out fine!”

Ransom’s eyes narrowed as he hummed in thought. “You think you’d be a little more grateful to her, considering the fact that you’ve been trying to get the rights to Harlan’s works for decades without any luck. The only thing that made the deal go through this time was the fact that her addition finally made the pot sweet enough. So it might be a good idea to remember, if I were you, that the one thing holding together the only significant rights deal your flagging studio has had in years is the woman sitting next to me. Just a thought.” And then, just like that, he went back to eating his steak, like nothing had happened. But the hand holding yours shifted so that he could thread your fingers together.

You were quiet on the car ride home. Saying goodbye to your mom had been difficult, even as much as you were ready for your life to go back to normal, whatever that might be. She’d hugged you so tight. You hadn’t wanted to let go.

You were leaning your head against the window, watching the world go by in the dark, when Ransom cleared his throat. “And I thought Linda was a piece of work.” His attempt at humor hung in the air awkwardly. You didn’t say anything or turn to look at him. You were too tired.

“Sorry,” he said after another few long, silent moments. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said into the window. “I’m fine.” You knew he hated that word, but you didn’t know what else to say.

It was quiet as Ransom merged onto the highway, and then he tried again. “How old was your mom when she had you?”

That finally got you to turn your head. “What?”

He glanced over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “She was a lot younger than I expected.”

You gave him a confused look. “You met her before, didn’t you? At the wedding.”

He sighed and looked at you again. “That was a hard day. There was a lot that never really registered,” he answered, somewhat sheepishly. “And so today, I was surprised. I expected someone older.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “She was twenty with me.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “And your dad?” he asked, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.

You shrugged, shrinking in on yourself, just a bit. “I don’t know. I was really little, and– I don’t know. Old enough to have a heart attack, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ransom muttered to himself again.

He didn’t say anything else, but you were finally ready to talk. You had too many words swirling around in your head to be able to stop them from tumbling out of your mouth. “She was really afraid of you. Did you notice that?” You didn’t wait for him to respond. “Really scared. At first, I thought it was so weird. She doesn’t really know you, why would– And then I wondered if maybe she was just afraid of all men. Given her track record– But tonight, during dinner, it clicked. She’s afraid of you because if you got upset about anything, you could take it out on me. That’s what had her terrified. And then I realized, all the advice and the ‘just keep him happy’ and the letting me learn how to cook and how to dance and, and– She thinks she’s protecting me. And she is. I guess. In the only way she knows how. And I want to be grateful for it. I– I do. I am. Maybe. But, god, she still handed me the pen!”

“What pen?” Ransom asked, and you suddenly realized that you weren’t just exorcising your turbulent thoughts into the ether but having a real conversation. With your husband.

You swallowed hard, trying to will yourself to stay in the present instead of hurtling back in time to that awful day that started everything. “When they first showed me the contract for our marriage. When they made me sign it. She’s the one who handed me the pen. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. But he took his right hand off the steering wheel and extended it over the gear shaft to cover both of your hands in your lap. And he maybe didn’t know what to say, but this– It was enough.

A week later, you could tell Ransom was concerned as you walked into the clinic together. You knew why. You’d been quiet all day. Nauseous. Today was the day it could all fall apart.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked as you sat in the waiting room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quietly.

That just seemed to worry him more. “Are you sure? Did you eat today?”

“Yes, Ransom, I did,” you lied. “I said I was fine.”

“Is it the baby? They’re healthy, I’m sure. It’s going to be alright.”

You almost laughed in his face. This appointment was not going to be all right. That, you knew for certain. Instead, you just said, “Yes, I know, Ransom,” unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.

He didn’t say anything else, but you could feel him watching you until your name was finally called.

The appointment was going fine. The baby was healthy, a good size. Everything looked the way it was supposed to. You wished you could take comfort in that.

Ransom was staring at the screen of the ultrasound. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe and a soft smile on his face. “They’re starting to look like an actual baby.” He looked to you, to share in it, and you found it easier than you expected to smile back. He was so happy. You had to savor it. Especially since you were so scared that he’d no longer be looking at you like that in just a few minutes.

Sooner than you were ready for, Dr. Patel said the words you’d been dreading. “So,” she asked with a grin, “are we learning the sex of the baby today?”

Ransom’s smile got even bigger, eager. “Yea–“

“No!” You interrupted, too loud, too fast. This hadn’t been your plan, but the panic had overtaken you, and you were operating purely on instinct now. “No, we don’t want to find out!”

“What?” Ransom’s shock may have gotten to you if your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears.

“We don’t want to find out,” you repeated, urgently, shaking your head too hard.

He was staring at you. They both were. But you couldn’t do anything about it. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

That got a little easier when your husband finally turned his attention away from you. “Could you give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she said with a tight smile. Then everyone but you and Ransom left the room.

At first, Ransom didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, his thumb sweeping across it in soothing arcs. After a few minutes, his voice impossibly soft, he started a steady tide of comforting murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay, honey. You’re alright. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. Just breathe with me, honey. I’m right here with you. You’re okay.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be comforted by it, even if you knew it couldn’t last. After several minutes of that, you’d calmed down enough for him to attempt a real conversation. “I guess we probably should have talked about it first,” he said, keeping that same impossibly soft tone, “but I assumed you’d be excited to find out. I’m really excited to find out.”

At that, you tried to close your eyes even tighter, tears leaking out from the force of it, falling down your cheeks.

His thumb paused, for just a beat, then continued to sweep across your skin. “Honey. Please look at me. It’s okay, I promise. I just want you to look at me.” It took all the strength in you, but after a long moment, you forced your eyes open and finally looked at Ransom. His expression was terribly worried, but he let out a small breath in relief once he could see your eyes. “Okay, can you tell me why that was the wrong thing to say?”

This was the last conversation you wanted to have, but you knew you had no choice, so you powered through as best you could. “You’re excited to find out this baby’s your heir. That’s what you’re excited for.”

“What?” The worry on his face was replaced with sheer confusion. “Honey, I don’t give a shit if this baby’s my heir.”

“Yes, you do,” you countered, voice firm. “You might not know that you do, but you do. All men do, whether you realize it or not.” He opened his mouth to reply, but you kept going before he was able to get any words out. “And I’m not upset with you for that. I’m not. I understand. And I’m not afraid you’ll do something to me if they aren’t the boy you want. I know you won’t. I trust you. I know you’ll even still try to love this baby, but… I just– I just can’t see the disappointment on your face when you find out. I just can’t. I think it will break my heart completely, and I– Maybe it’ll be better if you find out when they’re born. Maybe it’ll be harder to be disappointed when there’s a real baby in your arms instead of just the idea of one. Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll still be upset. But I just can’t see your disappointment today. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Ransom was very quiet for a long time. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t have anything else to say. You just stared at his hand, still holding yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice surprisingly rough. “You know, there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot of things I’m really worried about. One of the biggest ones is the idea of a little me running around. I was a pretty terrible kid. An awful teenager. A shit twenty-something. I think of a son, and I think of all of the mistakes I’ve ever made. I worry that he won’t be able to escape them. But you know what doesn’t worry me? The thought of a little you. Beautiful. Kind. Funny. Unbelievably brave. That’s who I see when I close my eyes and imagine our child.” He paused, thoughtful, and squeezed your hand. “Either way, the thing I most want for this baby is that they have all the best parts of you and none of the worst parts of me. That’s what’s most important to me. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

You felt another wave of tears fall down your face. Later, maybe you’d be able to tell him all the ways you hoped your child was just like him, all the things of his that you wanted them to inherit, but for now, all you could say was, “You mean it?”

“Yes,” he said, so solemnly, looking you dead in the eyes. “I mean it.”

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered, not able to get any louder.

“Yeah? Okay? Should we let Dr Patel back in? Are you ready to find out?”

You took another deep breath. And then another. And then you nodded. At least now you would know for sure. Either way.

The doctor and the tech came back in. More gel was squeezed onto your stomach. The baby’s placement was found again. The wand maneuvered around. And then, with a careful smile, a little wary of the news she was about to deliver, Dr. Patel said, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”

Your breath stopped again, and your eyes flew to Ransom. He was staring at you. A wide smile on his face. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “It’s okay?” you asked, voice shaking.

“It’s incredible,” he beamed, placing a happy kiss against your forehead. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

Exhaling a breath you felt like you’d been holding for weeks, you finally let yourself let go of some of your worry, just for now, and feel the same joy he felt. You smiled back at him. It was incredible. You were having a girl.

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You stood next to him, much closer than appropriate for complete strangers, but that was the point. You cast a wary eye behind you to see if anyone was looking in your direction, and then jumped right in. “Uh, hi, sir. I am so, so sorry to bother you, but I kind of need a gigantic favor.” He turned to you, his brow furrowed, and you plowed ahead, knowing if you paused at all, you’d just end up running away. “See, uh, my ex is here and he is just the biggest fucking asshole, like so awful, and he’s got some model on his arm, and I just– He hasn’t noticed me yet, but he will. He definitely will. And technically, I’m here for work reasons, so I can’t just leave. So, uh, I was wondering if maybe you could pretend to be my boyfriend? For just a minute! Like, five minutes. Maybe longer. An hour tops!” You finally paused for breath to find him staring at you, and the complete ridiculousness of the whole thing finally caught up to you. “Oh my god. Oh no. I’m so sorry! I should–”

“Sure.”

You stopped in your tracks, your turn to stare now. That smile was back on his face. “What?” 

“Sure,” he said again, his smile getting even bigger. “Sounds like fun.”

“I–” You couldn’t stop staring at him, your mouth hanging open. Why on earth would he agree to this? Stop, you told yourself. Pull yourself together. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You closed your mouth so forcefully that you heard your teeth click. “Uh, okay. Great. Thank you! Um, can I buy you a drink or something?” You gestured to the bar. “For your trouble.”

His eyes sparkled as he chuckled lightly and held up his fairly full drink. “It’s an open bar,” he said, clearly very amused, but not at all unkindly. 

“Oh, uh, right,” you said, deciding to plow right through the embarrassment. “Should we go look at the art then?”

He nodded. “I’d love to. But there is one thing I need to know before we really get started.”

“Yes, of course,” you said seriously, ready to answer any question he might have about this very, very stupid idea.

He grinned. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?” you blinked at him. Then you realized. “Oh! Shit, oh!” You quickly gave him your name, and he grasped your hand where it rested at your side, giving it a subtle shake, that to anyone watching would’ve just been an affectionate squeeze. He was really good at this. You'd lucked out. 

“I’m Steve,” he said, quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.” And then he looked you right in the eyes, and you almost gasped. Oh no, he was so beautiful. How had you not realized? This might have been a fatal miscalculation, but it was too late to back out now.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you breathed and then had to literally shake yourself out of it. “Art?” you asked, starting to walk towards a painting, any painting. His hand still grasped yours as you made your way across the room.

When you came to a stop in front of a large canvas awash with color, Steve settled right next to you, his large hand resting on the small of your back. You were sure that to an outside observer, it looked intimate but respectful. But all you could focus on, somewhat hysterically, was how little he would have to move it to touch your ass. His hand was so warm. Shit, you really should have paid more attention and picked someone who wasn’t so fucking attractive. 

“So you said you’re here for work?” his low voice rumbled next to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you started. “I work for Smith and West, the art brokers.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as he gently guided you to the next piece. “So do you buy or sell?”

“Both and neither, I guess. I help people pick out pieces that will go in their homes. Like a personal shopper for art, basically.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It’s really not, I promise you. Most people just want something that will match their furniture with a name that will impress their friends. They don’t really care about the art.” You stopped and really looked at the piece in front of you, mostly grayscale with pops of blue, swirling through it. It was terribly sad, this jumble of color, but there was something hopeful in it too.

You felt Steve watching you. “But you do,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

You turned to him and could only describe his gaze as searching. You shrugged. “Someone has to.”

The way he looked at you then had your mouth going dry. It was like he could actually see you. You weren't sure you'd ever been looked at like that before. It was too vulnerable. You cleared your throat and asked abruptly, “So, what about you?”

He blinked. “What about me?”

“Are you also here for work? Or because you just like art?”

“Somewhere in between,” he said with a soft smile. “There’s a lot of networking expected at events like this. But… I’m much happier to do it here than somewhere else.”

“So I’m not the only one who cares about the art.”

“No,” he said, his voice low. “Not tonight.” 

“What–” you started, then stopped, caught up in how oddly intimate this all felt. With this stranger. “Will you show me something here that you like?” Oh my god. What was your mouth doing??

But he just looked at you sincerely, and then the hand that had not left the small of your back gently guided you to the other side of the gallery and stopped in front of a large canvas that took up most of the wall. Big, loud brush strokes in bright colors worked together and in contrast to give the impression of birds filling the sky, flying up up up. “Oh,” you said so quietly. 

Steve awkwardly cleared his throat next to you. “Well,” he asked, with a shocking note of self-consciousness in his voice, “does my taste pass muster?”

Without realizing it, your hand had reached towards the painting, yearning to touch what you were sure would feel like feathers, even though the painting itself made no attempts towards realism. Your hand stilled in midair for a moment, and then you pulled it back. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly.

“Yeah? You already have a client in mind for it?”

“Oh no,” you said, so very seriously, turning back to face him. “I’d never doom something like this to be so unappreciated by one of my clients.”

His lips parted, the beginning of words starting to form when you caught sight of the biggest mistake you’d ever made, fucking Bryce, walking toward you with a woman who, yes, had to be an actual goddamn model on his arm. You’d somehow forgotten that he was looming. That the whole reason you had met Steve tonight was to protect you from this exact inevitability. You’d let your guard down, and now you felt wholly unprepared. 

He was still on the other side of the room, and you didn’t think you’d been obvious about clocking him, so you still had a moment to do something. In a moment of sheer panic, you stepped completely into Steve’s space, with a murmured “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I just have to– Sorry!” that was only for him to hear and then you lunged forward and kissed him.

To his immense credit, it only took Steve half a beat to get over any surprise and begin to kiss you back. His lips were soft, plush. If you’d given yourself time to expect anything, you would have expected the kiss to be stiff, awkward. But it wasn’t. It was… nice. It was really nice. His hand on your back held you close, but you knew you’d be able to pull away whenever you needed to. He didn’t try to push anything, press his luck in any way. He let you keep control of what was happening. You didn’t think you’d ever had a kiss that made you feel so safe before. Cared for.

You pulled away, trying to cover up any regret you might feel at the loss of it. You placed a hand on his muscled chest. “Sorry,” you whispered again. Your lips tingled.

“Hey,” he said, softly, and if you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought there was some husk in his voice. “Don’t–”

He was interrupted by someone calling your name, and thankfully, he picked up on who it was right away. The hand that had been on your back now snaked around to rest on your hip, pulling you just a bit closer. 

Bryce said your name again as he stopped in front of you. “Been a while.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed through a tight-lipped smile. “I’m surprised to see you here. Not your usual scene.”

“Yeah, well,” he smirked, “Alaina loves art.”

“Yeah,” the woman next to him, Alaina, apparently, said. You were pretty sure you’d seen her in Vogue. “I love art.”

You thought your jaw might crack from how tense it was. “I bet you do,” you said, trying and probably failing to keep your tone pleasant. Steve’s thumb brushed against your hip in a soothing manner, and you tried to surreptitiously take a deep breath. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. Working hard as always, aren’t you?” Bryce said, with a suggestive glance toward Steve. You weren’t sure you’d ever hated anyone more in your life. He took a step forward with his hand extended for a shake. “Bryce Langley,” he introduced himself. 

Steve took the proffered hand. “Steve Rogers,” he said, clear as day, and you were pretty fucking sure, despite all your best efforts, that you did a full double-take.

Steve Rogers. Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers. The CEO of SHIELD Corp, the giant multi-conglomerate, was pretending to be your fake boyfriend. You had kissed Steve Rogers!  What was happening?? This had to be a fever dream. 

Luckily, Bryce’s own shock seemed to have masked your own. With a low whistle, he turned back to you. “Holy shit,” he said, “no one can ever say you lack ambition, huh?” And then to Steve, he added, “Word of advice, she’s got a type. Might want to hide the checkbook.”

You tried very hard not to visibly blanche at that or give any indication that part of you had just shriveled up. Of course, Bryce would say that, you tried to tell yourself. Someone who cared so damn much about money that he couldn’t imagine anyone else might feel differently, might value other things. You shouldn’t take anything he said personally. But you did. The part of you that could still feel the humiliation from when he dumped you probably always would.

Steve took a step forward, somehow making himself seem even taller and broader, and in an impossibly low voice said, “Excuse me?”

While you were very grateful that he seemed to be taking his role as your date so seriously, there was a sudden tension in the air that felt unpredictable. It made you nervous. You stilled Steve with a tentative hand on his wrist. 

“Bryce and I met,” you interjected, for the sake of saying anything that might diffuse the situation, “when I was buying art for his grandfather.”

“Mhmm,” Bryce hummed, his eyes raking up and down your body shamelessly. You felt Steve’s grip on you tighten. “And you wasted no time getting your hooks in me, huh?”

You forced a laugh as heat rushed to your face. You would not let Bryce get to you. Not in front of him, at least. “Oh sure,” you said, a labored smile stretching your face so wide that it hurt, “I overpowered you with the one-two punch of not being able to shut up or string together a coherent thought. You always found both so charming.” You laughed again, trying so hard to keep up a ‘just joking around with friends’ tone. But you could feel it slipping. You were hanging on by your fingernails. 

“Mm, yeah.” Bryce matched your jokey smile, but there was a mean glint in his eyes when he continued, “That was never my favorite part. Luckily, your mouth was so good at other things.”

You had hoped, for a moment, after Steve had revealed his identity, that maybe the presence of someone so important and powerful might force Bryce to restrain himself, just a little. But you should have known better. There’d never been a moment since he’d been born that Bryce had ever doubted his own importance, even (especially) compared to others. His life had, unfortunately, taught him that he was invincible. You were reminded, yet again, how awful it was to bear the brunt of his self-belief.

Just as you could feel yourself starting to wilt completely, Steve’s hand on your side was turning you away from the conversation. He cleared his throat, and you could feel how tightly coiled his entire body was. “Well,” he gritted out, “as lovely as this has been, there are some people here we need to talk to, if you’ll excuse us.” Then his hand returned to your back, and he practically pushed you away from Bryce, aiming for a more sparsely populated area of the gallery.

Once he had you somewhere quieter, somewhere out of sight, Steve’s hands were off of you. A stupid part of you immediately missed his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, trying to ignore the way your voice shook. You looked away, embarrassed. You couldn’t tell if you were upset because a stranger had witnessed that awful display, how weak Bryce always made you, or if you were upset that it was Steve. 

But even with your head turned completely away, you could feel the way Steve stared at you. “I should have punched him,” he said, almost growled, and you tried not to revel in having someone’s protective instincts trained on you. But it wasn’t real. None of tonight had been real. You needed to remember that. 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you said, feeling small. “I can’t afford to cause a scene like that while I’m working.” You looked around at all the rich people milling about, drinking free champagne, eyes glossing over at the art. “I need this job. I need these relationships.”

Steve exhaled, and you finally let yourself look back at him. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

In response, you blurted out, “I can't wrap my head around you being so kind to me.” Oh god. Bryce was right.

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Why? Just because I'm rich, that means I can't be kind?”

“And powerful,” you added. “And yeah, in my experience, that's exactly what it means.”

He didn’t say anything to that, just stared at you with his lips pursed and his eyes filled with not the pity you expected, but sympathy. Empathy. 

Finally, he was the one to look away first, focusing on an empty spot in the corner. “Bryce is a piece of shit,” he rumbled. 

A small laugh escaped you, a little manic, very relieved. “Yeah, he is.” You sighed, some of the tension finally releasing from your body. You shook your head and answered the question Steve hadn’t asked, but you knew he was thinking. “It took me too long to realize that the mean streak that peaked out, just a little at first, but more and more as we continued dating, was so baked into who he was as a person. I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. He’d turned back to you, giving you his full attention. “He was the most care-free person I’d ever met. I was so envious of that, hoped maybe it would rub off on me. And he brought me into a world that I’d only ever caught glimpses of from the outside looking in. It was intoxicating. And I just couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, the cost of it all until it was too late.”

Steve nodded and took a step forward, his hands held in front of him, fingers fidgeting together. “I know those feelings,” he said, his voice low, soft. “I–”

But before he could continue, or you could ask how Steve Rogers, of all people, could have ever felt like an outsider, a sharply dressed, petite woman with fire-engine red hair and stilettos that could kill a man, materialized out of thin air right in front of the two of you. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said to Steve, a small tablet in her hand, “but we promised the mayor’s chief of staff five minutes and he’s about to leave.”

Steve sighed. “Right,” he said to her, a look of resigned duty on his face. He turned back to you, lightly touching your hand. “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly. “I promise.” Then he straightened his jacket and followed the woman back towards the bar.

The moment he was gone, it was like whatever spell you’d been under lifted. What were you doing? You were suddenly extremely aware of who he was and, more importantly, who you were. You’d monopolized the attention of one of the most powerful men in the country—in the world—for the entire evening as part of a hare-brained scheme to– to what? Save a little face in front of your ex-boyfriend? You felt pathetic and embarrassed and so very out of place. He was kind enough not only not to tell you to get lost, but to go along with the whole stupid idea, to pretend, to let you kiss him.

In that moment, you hoped the floor might open up and swallow you whole. Well, you could still do him a favor to repay the one he’d done for you. You could remove yourself from his evening. Let him get back to his important business. It was the right thing to do, for his sake.

So you made one last quick lap of the gallery, marked down the information of a few pieces you thought would work for one of your clients, then collected your coat and went outside to hail a cab.

And maybe, a few months from now, Steve would at least speak a little fondly when he told this strange story at cocktail parties.

Don't hate me! I promise there's more coming!

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It couldn’t have come at a better time. You needed a change, a big one. You’d been deeply unhappy, caught in a rut with no one to lean on. So you’d picked up everything and moved to a new place. A completely fresh start. You couldn’t wait to see what this new life held in store for you.

For now, what it held in store were high ceilings and built-in arches. Your old apartment could never. This was the first step to the ideal, happiest you. 

You were celebrating by unpacking boxes, aided by a moderately expensive bottle of wine you’d been saving for a special occasion. You’d made sure to unpack your wireless speaker first and were now blasting a high-energy oldies mix, reveling in the fact that you didn’t share walls with anyone anymore. “I love you, baaaaby,” you shouted along to the music, “and if it’s quite alright, I need you baaaaaby, to warm the lonely night.” Your half-drunk glass of wine sloshing dangerously in one hand while you rifled through a box of knick-knacks with the other. And yes, you were a little drunk, but that didn’t explain the intense chill that ran up your spine. And then– 

BANG

BANG

BANG

The house shook with the force of whatever had just happened. You jumped, wine spilling across the hardwood floor in a gruesome red splash. Your heart was in your throat. Adrenaline rushing through your veins. What the fuck was that? The sounds had come from upstairs. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your body. It’d probably just been a stack of boxes falling or– There was obviously an explanation, and you just needed to go upstairs and look.   

The chills were still crawling through your body, but that was just the adrenaline, just your spiked heart rate. As you approached the staircase off your front hall, you grabbed an umbrella that’d been haphazardly leaned against the door frame until you could find a permanent place for it. With a vice-like grip around the handle, the sharp tip pointed out to stab any would-be intruders (Oh god, please don’t be an animal. You had no idea how you’d get rid of it yourself), you forced yourself up the stairs. The first thing you noticed when you got up to the top was that the doors to what you’d decided would be your bedroom, the guest room, and your office were all closed. You hadn’t done that. Holding the umbrella out in front of you, you cautiously opened the first door, then shrank back in defense. But there was nothing there. It was completely empty. The gentle sounds of the suburban neighborhood at night filtered in through the open window. Oh right. You’d opened all the windows upstairs to let the lingering mustiness of the unoccupied house air out a little bit. A gust of wind must have blown through and shut all the doors. That was all. You let out the tension in your body with a laugh, then closed all the windows. But you didn’t glance outside to see that no wind blew through the trees and the air was completely still.

Your first night, you slept a little weirdly. You couldn’t remember your dreams, beyond the fact that you had some, but whatever they were, they’d left you feeling unsettled. You chalked it up to being in an unfamiliar place and got out of bed, ready to start your day.

You went for a run, excited to explore your new neighborhood. You also hoped that being out and about would give you a chance to meet some of your neighbors. You never really knew anyone in your apartment building. People were always moving in and out, which made it hard to forge any real relationships. Now that you were somewhere permanent, you were hopeful that that would change.

But as you ran, you quickly became discouraged. People were out: working on their yards, getting the mail, bringing in groceries. But anytime you tried to initiate contact, with a friendly wave and a happy “Good morning!”, you were just met with uncomfortable stares. The worst was an elderly couple tending to their flower beds. At your greeting, the woman leaned over to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He looked up at you, making eye contact, and sadly shook his head. Then they both got up and went inside. You didn’t understand what you’d done wrong.

You reassured yourself as you got back to your house that these communities could be insular. Maybe new people didn’t move in very often. You would just strengthen your resolve. Win them all over. You could do it. They’d see. You were gonna be a great neighbor.

Two days later, you were making good progress. You’d unpacked all of the essentials you needed to live, and now you were focusing on the little sprucing-up projects you wanted done before you’d get the furniture all in place and art on the walls. Fresh coats of paint in some of the rooms, updated fixtures here and there. The house didn’t need much work, but you were making it yours. It filled your heart to do it.

Currently, you were on the highest step of your stepladder in your bedroom, taping where the wall met the ceiling before you started painting an accent wall. You weren’t the most comfortable up so high, but you’d checked to make sure the stepladder was perfectly steady before you’d gotten on it.

You were about halfway done when a chill went up your spine, and you swore that you felt something behind you, and then, as you instinctively turned your head to look, the step stool just tipped over, the right two feet coming fully off the ground and you tumbled off of it with a shout, landing in a jumbled heap on the ground. 

You breathed heavily as your brain tried to catch up with what had happened. Without thinking, you were already cradling one hand against your chest. It’d taken most of your weight when you’d hit the ground. It hurt, but the pain wasn’t blinding. You tentatively touched your wrist and then carefully rotated it. You could move it. It wasn’t broken. With a sigh of relief, your heart still pounding in your ears, you picked yourself up and turned back to deal with the stepladder. But– That wasn’t right. It was just sitting there, perfectly upright, like nothing had happened. No. It’d fallen over. Hadn’t it? Maybe– Maybe when you’d felt something behind you, you’d turned around more sharply than you’d realized and lost your balance. That was what happened. It was the only explanation.

As you went to wrap your wrist, just to be safe, you ignored the loud voice in your head insisting that you’d been shoved. 

You loved this kitchen. You loved it so much. Marble countertops, a gas stovetop with six burners and a built-in griddle, an honest-to-god breakfast nook. It was like the whole thing had been plucked right out of your dreams. You still had no idea how you’d been able to afford a kitchen like this, how this whole house hadn’t been snatched right up above asking the moment it’d been put on the market, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You just let yourself be happy with it. 

Your music was blasting, and you danced around the built-in island as you made yourself dinner. Your first real meal in your incredible kitchen, all of your cookware finally unpacked, put exactly where it all needed to go in the ample cabinet space. 

You were sauteeing vegetables when your favorite part of the song hit, and you did a little shimmy as you sang along. But you were cut off when, right up against your ear, you heard a warm, low chuckle. You jumped and whirled around, your spatula held out at the ready. But there was no one there. Of course, there wasn’t. You were alone. 

You shook your head at yourself. It must have been something in the song, or the sound had traveled in from outside, or– Or any number of things. You were just scaring yourself. It was fine. You took a deep breath to settle yourself and went back to making dinner. 

You were in your bedroom. Well, except you weren’t. Not exactly. The shape was right, and you knew it was your room, but none of your things were there. None of your decorations. None of your furniture. Still, it felt familiar to you. You were on the bed, lying on top of the covers in a short, gauzy nightgown. The bed was a little softer than you preferred, the comforter a little downier. There was an armchair set across from the bed, with a man sitting in it. You’d never seen him before, but he was familiar too. He was tall, you could tell, even sitting down. Broad. He had soft-looking dark brown hair and a thick beard. He was staring at you.

He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he wanted. You placed one hand on the inside of your knee, slowly moving it up your thigh. With your other hand, you grasped your breast through the nightie, tweaking the nipple with one finger. You let out a little gasp and he visibly swallowed. The hand on your leg rose higher, but you didn’t rush it. You were taking your time, letting yourself feel. That was what he wanted.

Your hand finally reached your core, and you moaned softly. Oh. You weren’t wearing any underwear. You brushed your fingers across your lower lips, slowly, gently, moving your way between them. Over on the chair, the man leaned forward, and you spread and lifted your knees so he could see.

As you brushed your thumb against your clit, you wanted to close your eyes, sink into it. But you kept your eyes open. He wanted you to look at him, see him. He wanted your eyes on him as you came apart. 

You didn’t try to stifle your gasps and moans as you moved one finger inside of yourself and increased the pressure on your clit with your thumb, moving it in small, fast circles now. With your other hand, you pinched your nipple hard. His icy blue eyes were on you. He licked his lips. The wave was rising inside of you, higher, higher, but you needed more. You slipped another finger inside yourself, spreading them slowly. You moaned at the stretch, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enou–

You woke up with a throbbing between your legs, and your breath caught in your throat. Memories of your dream slammed into you. That was– What? What was that? You rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow, muffling your embarrassed laughter. Then you reached over to your nightstand to grab your vibrator so you could finish yourself off before you moved on with your day.

You checked the thermostat for the third time in just a few hours. It’d been chilly all morning, but the readout still said 70℉, exactly what you’d set it at. You must just be running cold today. You grabbed a sweatshirt and hoped you weren’t getting sick. Maybe you’d pick up some zinc at the store.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. You were alone in your house. You knew this for sure because, as silly as you felt, you’d checked all the rooms. You’d checked the windows too, but of course, there was no one there. You closed all of the curtains anyway. 

Now you were standing in your bedroom, trying to talk yourself into getting dressed. You were being so ridiculous. You knew it, but something you couldn’t put your finger on had you so completely unsettled. You took a few deep breaths. Come on come on come on. And then, finally, you changed as quickly as you could.

And you were fine. Of course, you were fine. Even though your heart thumped. Even though your skin crawled. You were fine. Another deep breath, and you left your room, turning off the light as you went. 

But once in the hall, you realized you’d left your phone on the bed. You turned around to go get it and stopped abruptly. The light was still on. You’d turned it off. You knew you’d turned it off. You forced yourself forward and then paused in the doorway. You flipped the light switch. The lights turned off. Then you flipped it again. The lights turned on. Flipped it again. They turned off. Everything was working exactly like it was supposed to. You must not have actually flipped the switch all the way when you’d left the room. There. Simple explanation. Everything was fine.

You moved forward to grab your phone, sitting at the foot of the bed, exactly where you’d thought it was. As you started to turn back around, but before you were fully facing the doorway— you only caught it out of the corner of your eye—something rushed past the door, through the hallway. A flurry of movement alone. You saw heard felt it. What the fuck? What the fuck? 

Your whole body was frozen, a chorus of nope nope nope running through your head. What was going on? You coaxed yourself forward enough so you could look through the hall. Nothing was there. But you had seen something. You knew you had. You had to get out of here.

You sat in the corner of the coffee shop, both hands wrapped tightly around the large, warm mug of herbal tea. Something calming. You’d settled down. Your breathing was back to normal. It was time to think about this rationally.

Ghosts, the supernatural, none of that was real. It was just things people made up for movies and books. Whatever you saw was because you were already on edge this morning, your brain in overdrive, looking for things to be afraid of.

Still. You took out your phone and googled “what to do if my new house has a weird feeling,” and were met with pages upon pages of results telling you it was perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable in your new home. Unsettled even. It could even send your brain into fight or flight, checking for threats everywhere in a new environment.

You breathed a sigh of relief. This was perfectly normal. Nothing was wrong with you. You just needed to keep working to make the space your own, and everything would settle out.

Later, when you were getting out of your car in your driveway, you noticed your next-door neighbor at her mailbox. Perfect. Forging connections would definitely help you feel more settled. But as you started to walk over, she turned around and quickly walked into her house, slamming the door behind her. You were sure she’d seen you. Why was everyone in this neighborhood so cold?

  You were back on the bed in the room that was and wasn’t yours. The man stood over you now, his fingertips hovering over your naked body. You couldn’t move, but that didn’t worry you. He didn’t want you to move, and you wanted to do what he wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, his voice sonorous, hitting you deep in your gut. “And here you are, just for me. I’m so lucky.”

There was deep tenderness in his eyes, but something else too. Possession. It sent a thrill through you. No one had ever looked at you like that before. 

He hummed to himself as his fingers ghosted over your thigh. “But now that I have you, what should I do with you?”

When you opened your mouth, you found that you couldn’t speak. But once again, it didn’t worry or scare you. You were his; you'd do what he wanted. 

He tentatively pressed his fingers to your skin, like he was testing something. He closed his eyes when he made contact and exhaled. His touch sent a shock up your spine. “It’s been such a long time since I've been able to touch anyone,” he rumbled, full of awe. “You really are perfect.”

He dragged his fingertips up your thighs, but then skipped over your core, landing his hand on your soft stomach. You whined in displeasure, trying to tilt your pelvis up at him. He ignored it.

“I don’t even know where to start. I want all of it. All of you. All of you, forever.”

You whined again. Your wetness was pooling between your legs, starting to soak into the sheets. You needed more of his touch, anywhere. Everywhere.

“Patience, sweetheart. We have all the time in the world. All we have is time.”

You opened your eyes, suddenly thrust into full wakefulness. You were soaking wet, with only fragments of memories of what got you that way. But you barely had any time to focus on that. You were freezing. Your entire bedroom was absolutely freezing. 

You stepped back from the door to let the HVAC technician in, wrapped in a thick blanket over your sweatshirt and thick leggings. He paused over the threshold, rubbing his hands together and exhaling. “Oh shit,” he exclaimed with a whistle. “You weren’t kidding. It’s freezing in here. Must be at least a twenty-degree difference from outside.” 

“Yeah,” you said a little helplessly. “It’s been a little chilly the last week, but it feels like it got much colder in the night.” 

You led him to the thermostat, and he examined it. It still read 70°. “Hmm,” he hummed, opening the cover and giving it a once-over. “Seems like it’s probably just not communicating properly. Maybe triggering your AC when it shouldn’t. I’ll take a look downstairs and see what’s going on.”

You were trying to force yourself to focus on reading a book when the tech came back upstairs. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. You set your book down, not trying to be quiet, and he looked up, like he was surprised to see you there. “Everything okay?” you asked nervously.

“Huh?” he blinked at you. Then he shook his head, like he was trying to rid it of something. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He paused, then looked at you very carefully. “You been in this house long?” 

You shook your head. “Just a couple weeks.”

His gaze narrowed. “Has everything been okay?”

“What do you mean? Besides the thermostat?”

His eyes focused on you, like he was surprised by your presence again. “No, I– I don’t know. Sorry. Don’t mind me, I just must be feeling a little off today.” He shook his head one more time, then returned to business. “Furnace and AC both seem to be working fine. So it must be the thermostat. I’ll just replace it with a new one real quick, and you should be right as rain in a few hours.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, feeling even better once you heard warm air being forced through the vents. It made it easy to ignore the way it seemed like he couldn’t get out of your house fast enough.

In the room that wasn’t quite yours, you stood in front of a free-standing full-length mirror. You were wearing a short black dress that hugged your curves, a silver necklace around your neck, matching bracelets on both wrists, like cuffs. The man was behind you, pressed against you, his head hooked over your shoulder, making eye contact with you in the mirror, one possessive hand on your stomach, the other coming up to gently wrap around your neck. 

“I’ve been waiting for something for so long,” he whispered into your ear. “Now I know I was waiting for you.” Both hands moved away from you, briefly, coming back together behind your head. Gently, carefully, reverently removing your necklace. He moved slowly, a look in his eye like he was unwrapping a gift he’d been staring at for ages. The necklace disappeared, and he moved on to the zipper of your dress. He lowered it achingly slowly. You didn’t move. He didn’t want you to. You knew that.

He moved the dress down your body at a glacial pace, revealing you inch by inch. His gaze flicking back and forth between your back and the mirror. Taking all of you in. Once it was down to your hips, he let it drop. You weren’t wearing anything underneath, fully exposed to him. For him. It didn’t occur to you to try to cover yourself. Why would you? 

One hand came back around to touch your stomach. It drifted lower, and then he dragged it, oh so slowly, up to your chest. You felt his cold breath on your neck as he sighed–

You were lying on the bed, and he was on top of you. Finally. Your bracelets were still on, and now they were hooked together, keeping your arms above your head. You didn’t try to move them. You stayed where he put you. Of course you did. Your breath felt trapped in your chest. You were waiting. For him. You needed it. He was touching you, your whole body, like he couldn’t get enough. Like it would never be enough–

You were on your side. He was pressed up behind you. The mirror was next to the bed now. So you could see yourself. See him behind you, as he kissed up your neck. Behind your ear. His fingers danced along the cut of you. Between your lips. One, two, three fingers briefly slipped inside. You didn’t need it. You were ready.

You were ready you were ready you were ready you were ready.

You whined. Low and loud and needy. He hushed you. Then. Finally. Finally finally finally he thrust himself inside you. Forcing a grunt a whine a moan out of you. You kept your eyes open, locked on the mirror so you could see your face and his as he was finally inside of you, where he belonged. So you could see the ecstasy on both your faces. 

He kept his eyes on yours as he thrust. As he set a punishing pace. As the pressure inside of you built and built and built. As one arm held you so tight to him, arm over your pelvis, hand between your breasts. His fingers pressing bruises into your skin. The other was between your legs, pressing pressing pressing against your clit, tight circles too much too much too much not enough just right. The hand on your chest pressed even harder, pushing you into his broad chest like he was trying to meld with you. 

As you climbed up up up and finally crested over, the air between his mouth and your neck, in all of the spaces where your bodies made contact, went blurry, squiggly, like he was literally breathing you in. You felt something inside of you go, but it wasn’t a loss. It was right. It was perfect.

You came with a scream. “Andy!” A name on your lips you hadn’t realized you’d known. 

“Mine mine mine,” he chanted as he chased his own release. “Forever. Eternity.”

You woke with a start. Your chest heaving. You were exhausted, like you hadn’t slept at all. And you were sore, stiff, all over. Between your legs. Inside of you. Almost like you’d–

Before you had time to wrap your head around that, you realized something else. You were absolutely freezing. The whole room was freezing. So much colder than it was before. No! You’d fixed it! No!

You didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with this. You were too cold, too worn out. Too fucked out, your traitorous brain supplied. You didn’t want to deal with that either.

You went into your bathroom and turned on your shower as hot as it could go. You didn’t turn on the exhaust fan. You needed all the steam you could get. Once the small room had warmed up a little, you quickly stripped and stepped into the glass shower stall. You stepped directly under the stream of hot water, pushing everything else, all of the very not right, out of your head. Focusing on just getting warm. You weren’t sure how long exactly you stood there for. Awhile. Long enough for the chill to finally leave your bones. Once you stopped shivering, you started cleaning yourself. Trying to let yourself go through your normal routine on autopilot. But that wasn’t possible when you found so many tender spots. On your legs, your hips, your stomach, your chest. New bruises. Like fingerprints. Like someone had gripped you too tight. Like your drea– 

You pushed that thought away before you could even fully think it. Not real. Not real. Not real. You were losing it. Starting to come apart at the seams. Maybe you’d been too isolated. Maybe that was it. That had to be it. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Then, as you started to get back to washing yourself–

Something brushed against the back of your neck. Like someone’s hand. Like someone had touched your neck. You weren’t making it up. It wasn’t just in your head. It’d happened. You’d felt it. 

With your heart in your throat, you whirled around on instinct. And right there, over where your shoulder had been, in the steam, was the shape of a man’s face. You saw it. You saw it. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. 

You crashed out of the shower, barely keeping your feet under you. You were soaking wet, but you didn’t stop to dry off. You couldn’t. You had to get out of there. You tore into your bedroom, grabbing the first leggings and sweater you could find, throwing them on as you continued to move. You grabbed your phone off your nightstand as you rushed past it. You had to get out of there. You couldn’t get out fast enough.

You didn’t feel safe until you were standing in the street in front of your house, trying to catch your breath, water dripping down your back.  You bent over like you’d just run a marathon, adrenaline coursing through you. You needed to get your head on straight. You needed to think about this rationally. It was just a house. It was just a house. If you thought it enough times, maybe you’d believe it.

You slowly straightened up, trying to force yourself to breathe normally. And that’s when you saw your next-door neighbor, sitting on her front porch with a friend, staring at you. And maybe it was just the adrenaline that hadn’t dissipated yet, but– No. Absolutely not. Not today.

You stormed across her lawn, your best ‘fuck you’ smile on your face, not caring that you were still dripping. Not caring that you looked like a crazy person. “Hi!” you greeted when you’d gotten to the porch, too loud, too aggressive. “We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m your new next-door neighbor. I moved in a few weeks ago,” you gestured at your house, like they hadn’t just seen you run out of it like a bat out of hell.

“Oh my god,” your neighbor’s friend exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“I know,” your neighbor, whose goddamn name you still didn’t know, said to her, shaking her head. 

“I can’t believe you moved into the Barber house,” her friend said to you, her voice tinged with horror. “Why would you do that?”

“What?” you asked, confused, some of your righteous anger leaving you.

She shook her head instead of answering your question, no longer able to look at you. “It was so awful, so awful, and then you just moved in like–” She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Without another word, she got up and fled into the house. You and your neighbor both stared after her. What was going on?

After a minute of silence, your neighbor turned her steely gaze onto you. “You know,” she said, her voice cold, “maybe it seems like a lot of time has passed since it happened, but it’s still very fresh for this whole neighborhood. We’re still trying to recover. We don’t need someone coming in here and trying to dredge it all up again.”

“What–” you stuttered, “what happened? I don’t–”

“It isn’t easy for anyone here to talk about. They were our friends. I’m sure you can understand that.” Then, without another word, she got up and followed her friend into her house. And you were left standing on her porch alone, trying to catch up.

All you could do for several moments was just stand there, gaping. Your hands were shaking. Your mind was racing. But then, suddenly, you realized how creepy you were being. Oh god, she’d probably call the cops. So, with dread building in your chest, you forced yourself back to your own property.

You stopped at the end of your driveway. You couldn’t make yourself go further. Something was happening. You were missing something big. But you knew now, for sure, that there was something very wrong with your house. So, finally, you did the thing you should have done when things first started getting weird. When you first moved in. Before you even bought it. You took out your phone and you googled your address. Now with the added knowledge of adding Barber to the end of it.

Barely breathing, you clicked on the first result. Three Dead in Gruesome Apparent Murder Suicide.  And there right at the top, a picture of your house surrounded by police. Oh god oh god oh god. You wanted to puke. But you made yourself keep reading.

The Barbers were a family of three: Andrew, Laurie, and their teenage son Jacob. Andrew was an assistant district attorney. Laurie ran a children’s community group. They were well-liked. Pillars of the community. And five years ago, all three bodies had been found in what was now your basement, a shotgun laying next to Laurie. It had rocked the entire community, leaving everyone desperately searching for answers. 

You kept scrolling until you stopped dead in the middle of the page. A picture of the Barbers, happy and alive. Laurie was beautiful, picture perfect, smiling adoringly at her family. Jacob looked like any normal teenage boy, hair in his eyes, annoyed to be there. But that wasn’t what had your heart going still in your chest. No, that was the man looking straight at the camera. Looking at you. Andrew. Andy. Without a fucking doubt, the man from your dreams.

Your phone slipped from your fingers, landing hard on your driveway. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. What was happening? What– How– The fear was louder than anything else. You’d never been so scared in your life. You had– You had to go.

You ran into your house for the last time. You raced up the stairs, not looking around you. In your bedroom, you pulled a duffel bag from your closet, then just started shoving clothes into it indiscriminately. You didn’t know where you were going to go or what you were going to do. You just had to leave now now now.

When the bag was full, you tore back down the stairs, grabbing your purse and your car keys, heading right for the door. You were going to be okay. You were going to get out. But when you tried to open the door, it was locked. You didn’t remember doing that. You hadn’t done that. With trembling fingers, you flipped the deadbolt and then watched with horror as it flipped right back. No no no no no no no no.

You rushed to the nearest window in desperation, but it wouldn’t budge either. You cried out in frustration and panic. You moved to grab your phone then remembered that you’d left it on your driveway. No. 

As you were about to run to your back door to see if you could get out that way, all of the lights in the house began flickering. On and off on and off on and off. And your bluetooth speaker suddenly buzzed to life, filling the house with music.

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

You’d be like heaven to touch

I want to hold you so much

And there he was, standing in the middle of your living room. Andy. He was there and not there. You could see through him. But it was him. It was unmistakable.

“Shhh, calm down, honey,” he cooed. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” 

“A– Andy,” you could barely get it out, your voice was shaking so badly. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, couldn’t get control of your fear. You were talking to a dead man. “Please let me go.”

“Honey,” he started, his tone placating, “you know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” It came out as a sob, helplessness crashing down on you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, his brow furrowing at your distress. “Because we belong together.”

That’s when your tears started. This was another dream, right? It had to be. Maybe you’d never actually woken up. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real. 

The music got louder, and Andy crouched down in front of you. “This is our song,” he said softly, “remember? From your first night here. I’m sorry I scared you that night. I was– I was very upset. You were barging into my house and– Then you started changing things, changing my house and– you understand that’s why I had to push you right? Why I tried to make you go. But then. Then you stayed, and I started to get to know you. And I realized all the ways we fit. I realized the truth. That you were brought here for me. So that we could be together forever.”

You took a deep breath, forcing it. You wanted to tell him he was insane, but it was even worse. He was dead. A ghost. How could you reason with that? “Andy, no,” you started slowly. “All I did was buy a house. I’m so sorry that something awful happened to you, but this is my house now–”

“THIS IS MY HOUSE!” he roared, suddenly floating above you. The lights flickered even more intensely, and all of your shelves shook, books toppling over. And just for a moment, just for a flash, Andy’s face changed. Half of it disappeared, blood and viscera and bone and emptiness where his skin should have been. But then it was gone, back to normal, and he was once again on the ground in front of you. “This is still my house, that I had built for my family. The people who are meant to be my family are just a little different than I thought.”

You swallowed hard, trying to stop shaking. You had to find a way out. You had to get out of here. Andy was moving, floating, pacing, back and forth, mumbling to himself now. “That fucking bitch. Destroying everything I’d worked so hard for, everything I’d earned.” He was distracted by his own anger. You took the opportunity to start to crawl backward, see if there was something you could do to force the door open. “And then after all that, they left me alone here on top of it,” he continued, before his eyes locked on you, halfway to the entryway. “But you understand that better than most, don’t you, sweetheart? Being alone.”

You stopped in your tracks, collapsing back onto the floor. “What? No, I’m not alone!”

He shook his head sadly at you, like you were being ridiculous. “Honey, come on. I know you. I see you. All I do is watch you. You never go anywhere. You never see anyone. You never talk to anyone. You’re just as lonely as I am. But it’s okay. We have each other now. Forever.”

It was that word, forever, that made the bottom drop out of what you were feeling. Oh no oh god. It was only pure terror now. What was he going to do? What could he do?

He was crouching down in front of you again, so close to you that you could put a hand through him. But it wouldn’t do any good. You knew that. “Andy, I–” you didn’t know what to say, but you had to make him understand. Make him see sense. At the very least, to buy you some time. Get you out of this house. Burn it down, maybe. Destroy every part of it so that you could start over. Again. “You’re right. I see that now,” you lied, trying so hard to keep your voice even. “We fit. But– But we just can’t be together. I’m alive. I need– I need to live my life. We– We aren’t on the same plane.”

Andy shook his head, gliding closer to you as you tried to back up. He was practically on top of you now. It was a horrifically unsettling feeling. It made all the hair on your body stand up straight. “No,” he said, “no, we don’t need to worry about that. You’ve made me so much stronger. Since you came here, I can do so many more things. Things I never dreamt of when I was all alone. And after last night, I made you feel so good, and in return, you gave so much of yourself to me, my love.” The dream, you realized with a start. When it looked like he was actually breathing you in– And the exhaustion you’d woken up with. Like he’d taken part of your lifeforce. “Now I’m strong enough to do what I need to do. To make sure you never leave me.”

Your eyes got wide, and the panic that’d been ebbing and flowing this entire conversation spiked to a degree it somehow hadn’t reached yet. “Andy, Andy, wait, no! What does that mean? What are you going to do?” 

He didn’t respond, just brushed his translucent fingers down your cheek, leaving an awful chill in their wake. And that’s when you heard it, the barely there hiss coming from the kitchen, accompanied by a sulfuric smell that you’d been too afraid, too heightened to notice until this point. Oh god, your beloved gas cooktop. You started sobbing. You couldn’t stop. Doubled over on the floor of this house you thought you’d been so lucky to find.

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re alright,” Andy consoled you. You could feel the whisper of his fingers over you’re hair. “It won’t hurt at all. You’re going to fall asleep, and then when you wake up, you’ll be here with me. Forever, in our beautiful home. It’ll be perfect.” 

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You forced yourself to let it go, gently setting it on the counter. “My mom called,” you conceded.

His hand immediately moved from Lola to your back, not moving. Just a steady presence there. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded again. “They’re—uh, she and Joseph—they’re coming here next week. Want to see us.”

“Oh. They aren’t going to stay with us, are they?” He sounded a little alarmed at the prospect, which made you smile.

“No, definitely not. Joseph will find the nicest suite in Boston, I’m sure.”

Ransom gave you a small smile. “A man after my own heart,” he joked.

You couldn’t quite join him. “Sure,” you shrugged.

His hand on your back became firmer. “Will it be nice,” he asked softly, “to see your mom?”

You took a deep breath. “Is it stupid if I say I miss her?” you asked quietly instead of answering him.

“No,” he said immediately. Firmly. “I can’t relate. But it’s definitely not stupid.”

You finally turned your body to him. “She’s really excited about the baby. That she gets to be a grandma.”

“That’s good,” he said, his hand on your back moving to your stomach, seemingly involuntarily. Like a magnet. That’s how it’d been for the last couple of weeks. Since you’d kissed. Since you’d talked. Otherwise, not much had changed in how he acted. Kisses when he left in the morning and usually when he got home. Or before he and you parted ways to go to your own bedrooms at night. He was taking things slowly. Presumably following your lead. But his hands. His hands always found you.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“How long will they be here?”

“Really just a day, I think. They want to have dinner with us. And Joseph wants to set up at least eighteen holes with you.”

Ransom’s hand shrank back from you, a look of horror on his face. “He wants to golf?!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because technically you’re his son-in-law. And I’m sure he’ll have some deal or something he’ll want to talk over with you too.”

He rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate golf.”

“That’s fine,” you shrugged. “He’ll expect to win anyway.”

He looked affronted at that. “I didn’t say I was bad at it! Just that it’s a stupid way to waste your time.”

You sighed. “Well, can you do it for one afternoon? Just to make my life easier?”

He gave you a considering look. “You hate him?” he asked.

“I do,” you said, very quietly.

“Alright,” he said with a decisive nod. “I’ll play a fucking round of golf. And I’ll demolish him.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on your face. “Sure, Ransom,” you said fondly. You doubted it. Joseph golfed more than he worked. But the sentiment was really nice.

He took a step back into your space. The arm that wasn’t holding Lola wrapped around your waist. “You okay with them coming here? Really?”

And you knew, in that moment, that if you said “No,” he would figure out a way to keep them as far away from you as he could. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that he cared. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’ll be good to see my mom.”

“Okay,” he said, with a shockingly gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then I guess I can tolerate golf with Joseph for an afternoon.”

You woke up early the morning your mother was visiting. You had too much nervous energy to sleep. So you got up, took care of Lola, and started making breakfast for yourself and Ransom.

Your mom was going to come spend the day with you at the house, and then you’d go to the country club together to meet Joseph and Ransom for dinner after they were done golfing. Spending the entire day with her would be good. It would.

Ransom didn’t comment when he got up and found you already in the kitchen. He just kept you company as you cooked. He seemed to understand that you needed the silence filled, so he told you about what he expected his work day to include. A new author coming in, a probable fight with Walt, paperwork he’d been putting off. He didn’t make any mention of the time he’d be spending with Joseph this afternoon, and you were grateful. You were anxious enough already.

Too soon, you were both done with breakfast, and Ransom had gone back upstairs to finish getting ready. The doorbell sounded, and you took a deep breath before answering it.

Your mother stood on the front step, looking put together but maybe as nervous as you were. And frail. She looked very frail. She smiled at the sight of you, as big as she had ever managed. Despite all of the feelings that always swirled around inside of you when you thought of her, you smiled too. And then you threw your arms around her in a big hug.

You hugged her as tightly as you thought she could handle, as you breathed in the familiar floral notes of the perfume Joseph always got her for her birthday. And she hugged you back, her face pressed close.

“Oh honey, I’ve missed you so much,” she said softly.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” you replied. And you meant it. Eventually, you pulled away. “Did you have breakfast at your hotel? Can I make you something?” you asked as you ushered her into the house.

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that. We had a nice spread at the hotel. But if you wanted to share a pot of tea, I wouldn’t say n-“

The sound of footsteps hit the stairs, and your mom stopped talking immediately. You watched as her eyes tracked Ransom as he came down. Her body curled inward, just a bit, somehow making herself look even smaller than normal. “Ransom,” you called to him once he was in the room, wanting to break the strange tension that had suddenly filled the space. “You remember my mom, Lydia.”

Ransom stopped short, right next to you. A vague look of surprise on his face. He quickly schooled his expression into something much more neutral, and you made a mental note to ask him about it later. “Yes, of course,” he said, taking a step forward but stopping when she took a small step back. “It’s lovely to see you. I hope you got here alright.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

She didn’t say anything else. An uneasy silence settled over all three of you. You tried to catch your mom’s eye, see if she was okay, but she couldn't keep her wary gaze off of Ransom.

“Well,” Ransom finally spoke, as awkward as you’d ever heard him, “I should get going.” He turned to you, one hand immediately going to your bump. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, lowly, just for you.

You ducked your head with a shy smile at his care and nodded. His other hand came up to briefly caress your cheek as he gave you a small peck on the lips. Then he grabbed his work bag and headed out the door, calling out behind him, “I hope you have a good day together. I’ll see you both at dinner.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, you could feel your mom’s relief. You took a step towards her. “Mom, are you–“

“This is such a lovely home,” she said, stepping past you to look into the living room.

You blinked after her, trying to track what was happening. “Oh, um, thank you. We’re actually moving soon, though. Before the baby comes. We found a house we both really like.”

She looked at you, surprised. “He let you help decide?”

There was something about the question that made your heart crack, just a little. You weren’t sure yet who for. “Yeah, Mom. We discussed what we wanted. We’ll both be living there, after all.”

She opened her mouth to respond before she was distracted by Lola running into the room and jumping up onto the couch. “Oh!” your mom exclaimed. “I didn’t know you still had your little dog!”

You did your best to ignore the implication of that—that she’d assumed Ransom would make you give her up—and went to Lola to scratch behind her ears. “Of course, I do. Lola goes wherever I go, don’t you, baby?”

You looked up to find your mom staring at you, her expression tricky to read. There was relief there, first and foremost, but something else you couldn't quite decipher. After a very long pause, she said very quietly, “He must be very fond of you.”

All you could do was blink at her for a moment. Then, “Yes, I think so. I think– We’re fond of each other. We get along well.” It felt strange to talk about your relationship this way. It felt so new and– and delicate. And yours. You didn’t know how to talk about it with someone who hadn’t been there for the whole thing.

“He really isn’t so bad?” she asked with a hopeful tinge to her voice.

“No,” you said, “he’s not so bad at all. Now that I’ve gotten to know him.”

And at that, her body sagged. Like she’d finally released a breath she’d been holding for the last eight months. Her eyes were watery when she looked you in the eyes and said, her voice shaking a little, “That’s good. That’s so good.”

You took a step towards her and held out one hand. “Mom,” you asked, “are you alright?”

“Of course,” she said, too quickly, with a wobbly smile. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

“Yeah,” you said, but kept a careful eye on her. “Me too, Mom.”

You were able to busy yourself for a few minutes by preparing a few mugs of herbal tea for both of you before you settled on the couch in the living room with her.

Once you were seated, she put a hesitant hand on your stomach with a soft smile. “You’re glowing,” she said. “Is everything going well with the baby so far?”

“Yeah, I think so. The doctor doesn’t have any concerns right now. And they’ve started moving. It’s wild to think that there’s an actual person growing in there. I’m really looking forward to meeting them. And I think Ransom’s getting excited too.”

Her smile shifted a little. “Men are always excited to meet their sons.” And at that, you couldn’t help the way your smile dropped. Your mom noticed, of course. “Have you found out the baby’s sex yet?”

You turned away some as you shook your head. “No,” you said very quietly. “That appointment’s next week.”

“Do you have a feeling either way?” your mother asked urgently.

“No,” you lied. Of course, you had an inkling. One that had been growing stronger every day. But you hadn’t dared voice that feeling yet. It was too terrifying. “I have no idea. I just want them to be safe and healthy.”

“Sweetheart,” she placed a hand on yours, demanding your attention. “That– No, you can’t afford to think that way. You need to be prepared in case the worst happens.”

“The worst?” you asked, voice small, unable to look at her.

“There’s no greater heartbreak than having a daughter.”

You almost gasped, the words hitting you right in your chest, deep and sharp. You couldn’t help the way your hands came up to cradle your stomach, wanting to protect the person inside if you couldn't protect yourself. “Mom,” you whispered, torn apart.

“Honey, I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. But– But men want sons. Especially for the first one. They need heirs. And you and your children won’t be truly safe until you give Ransom an heir. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You must remember what it was like when your father died without an heir.”

“I–“ you started, but came up short. Your earliest memories were all a blur. You remembered feelings. Fear of your father. And then panic after he died. But nothing specific.

“It was the scariest time of my life. Even scarier than when I first married him. Because he died without an heir, because I hadn’t given him one, everything reverted back to his family. And my family wouldn’t take us back. You and I, we had nothing. Honey, I didn’t know where we were going to sleep or how I was going to feed you. I was so terrified. If I’d had a son, none of that would have happened. And I tried, after you were born, I tried so hard to give your father what he wanted. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give him another child, a son, so when he died, I had to do everything I could to find someone else to take care of us. We’re so lucky that Joseph was willing to take us in, that he already had an heir, and that he didn’t need that from me. He saved us.

“I don’t want any of that for you. Ransom is fond of you. That’s good. He’ll forgive you if this baby isn’t a boy. But if it isn’t, you need to try to have a son again as soon as you can. You can’t hesitate. You never know what might happen.”

“Mom, please–“

She gripped your hands tightly, “I know this is difficult to hear, but you need to listen to me. This is so important. I don’t want you to go through what I went through. I want a better life for you. Do you understand?”

You swallowed harshly. She was looking at you with such desperation that for a long moment all you could do was nod. You believed Ransom when he said he cared about you, cared about this baby. But you’d also seen previously doting husbands turn cold when their hope of an heir, their legacy, came unfulfilled. As painful as it was, your mother was right. You couldn’t afford to ignore everything that was at stake here.

“Yes, Mom,” you finally answered, voice rough. “I understand.”

She exhaled in relief as her grip on your hands lessened but didn’t disappear. “Honey, even though you weren’t the heir your father wanted, I was so happy when I finally got to meet you. I didn’t have to be alone anymore. You’ve always been the greatest joy of my life. And no matter what happens, this baby will be that for you too. You’re going to be such a wonderful mother. I just know it.”

You blinked back the tears threatening to spill over your lashes. Your heart was breaking for numerous reasons you couldn’t even name. You moved one hand from her grasp and used it to gently cradle your stomach. “I hope so,” you said, too quietly. “I want to be good for them.”

“You will be,” she said, with one final, loving pat to your hand. Then she reached for her tea and began to ask you about your new house. And you tried to pretend like everything was fine.

You got to the restaurant at the country club feeling raw and anxious. You’d wanted to enjoy your day with your mom, but her words from this morning were hanging over your head.

Ransom and Joseph were already at the table. Ransom with a shit-eating grin on his face while Joseph looked thunderous. Ransom stood to greet you as soon as you were at the table, with a gentle kiss on your cheek. With a wary eye towards Joseph, you asked, “How was the golf?”

Ransom’s grin got even bigger. “I think it went pretty well!” he said, surprisingly brightly, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Especially for my very first time. I won by three strokes!”

“Goddamn beginner’s luck,” Joseph grumbled under his breath from his side of the table, where your mom was already sitting stiffly next to him. He barely acknowledged her.

You looked back at Ransom, slightly confused. Just last week he’d told you he was an experienced golfer. At his subtle wink, you had to work hard to stifle your laughter. You couldn’t think of anything that would piss off Joseph more than being beaten by a supposed beginner.

“How was your day together?” Ransom asked as he pulled out your chair for you.

“It was nice,” you said. And parts of it were. The little girl inside you would always be happy to see your mom. Even if every flinch, every sigh, every piece of advice felt like a dire warning for the life you could have, the person you could become if you weren’t very, very careful. You smiled over at her, and she smiled back, even if it was a little fragile.

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Lydia’s been very excited to see you. Hopefully she got all that chattering out of her system.”

And just like that, your mom shrank back down, like she was trying to take up as little space at this table as possible. Joseph saved us. Your mother’s words from that morning echoed in your head. Had the cost been worth it? Had any of this ever been worth it?

Ransom leaned forward. “She’s been really looking forward to your visit, too.” He said to your mother, sincerely. “I hope it was a really good day.”

She looked up at him briefly before looking away again. “Yes, it was,” she said very softly. “Thank you.”

You reached under the table and grabbed Ransom’s hand. He didn’t react, but he gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Joseph spent most of the dinner only talking to Ransom, which was honestly fine with you. You tried to engage your mom in conversation on your end of the table, but now that the two of you were no longer alone, she didn’t have much to say. Her eyes kept darting nervously to where the men were talking.

You didn’t catch what prompted it, but your attention was caught when Joseph laughed, “You’ll feel differently once your own son is born in a few months!”

Your son your son your son

But this baby isn’t a boy something inside you responded with a certainty you could not have. There was no way to know that. There was no reason to be so sure.

You were too busy spiraling to catch if and how Ransom responded. But then Joseph turned to you and captured all of your attention. “And look at you, Sweetheart,” he said, his tone slick and smug and awful, “you’re glowing. Don’t you feel silly for the scene you made that night? I told you it was just cold feet.”

Your heart lurched at his words. You didn’t have to pause to try to remember what he was talking about. That awful night when you’d gone to the man who’d raised you since you were six years old and begged him to have a shred of humanity and not all but sell you to a stranger. The night your step-father had laughed at you and patronized you and turned you away. The night your entire world had come crashing down and this man who was supposed to be your family hadn’t cared.

You knew you should say something. You knew you should stand up for yourself, but all you could do was choke on the words as you felt yourself going back in time. As you remembered how completely terrified you’d been.

Ransom went completely still next to you, still holding your hand under the table. “Cold feet?” he asked, his head tilting dangerously. “What are you talking about?”

Joseph seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed how tense the atmosphere had gotten. He chuckled. “Oh, she came to me after your first dinner. Fussing about the pregnancy clause. She begged me not to make her go through with the arrangement.” He rolled his eyes. “I told her she was being ridiculous, of course. That there was a lot more riding on this than some silly girl’s nerves over being a mother. And look at her now! I was right. Everything worked out fine.”

Ransom got very, very quiet. The only part of him that moved was a muscle in his jaw that ticked angrily. You squeezed his hand under the table, unsure of what he was going to do. And equally unsure if you wanted to stop him or not.

But before anyone else could say anything, your mom rushed in, her voice panicked and urgent, even as she tried to keep her tone light. “Oh, no, but– But she didn’t mean anything by it! All girls get nervous! It’s normal! It wasn’t anything against you! She just– She– She–“

“My god, Lydia,” Joseph interrupted. “What are you babbling about?”

Your mom went silent, but her eyes stayed on Ransom, desperate, pleading.

You felt Ransom take a deep breath and force his body to relax. He leaned across the table to your mom and said, voice calm and reassuring. “I would never be upset with her for being scared. I promise.” But as he turned from her to Joseph, you watched his face turn to stone. “But I can’t imagine ever turning away my own child if they were that scared of something.”

“It isn’t like she’s my actual child,” Joseph scoffed. “And she was overreacting, being dramatic. Everything turned out fine!”

Ransom’s eyes narrowed as he hummed in thought. “You think you’d be a little more grateful to her, considering the fact that you’ve been trying to get the rights to Harlan’s works for decades without any luck. The only thing that made the deal go through this time was the fact that her addition finally made the pot sweet enough. So it might be a good idea to remember, if I were you, that the one thing holding together the only significant rights deal your flagging studio has had in years is the woman sitting next to me. Just a thought.” And then, just like that, he went back to eating his steak, like nothing had happened. But the hand holding yours shifted so that he could thread your fingers together.

You were quiet on the car ride home. Saying goodbye to your mom had been difficult, even as much as you were ready for your life to go back to normal, whatever that might be. She’d hugged you so tight. You hadn’t wanted to let go.

You were leaning your head against the window, watching the world go by in the dark, when Ransom cleared his throat. “And I thought Linda was a piece of work.” His attempt at humor hung in the air awkwardly. You didn’t say anything or turn to look at him. You were too tired.

“Sorry,” he said after another few long, silent moments. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said into the window. “I’m fine.” You knew he hated that word, but you didn’t know what else to say.

It was quiet as Ransom merged onto the highway, and then he tried again. “How old was your mom when she had you?”

That finally got you to turn your head. “What?”

He glanced over at you before returning his eyes to the road. “She was a lot younger than I expected.”

You gave him a confused look. “You met her before, didn’t you? At the wedding.”

He sighed and looked at you again. “That was a hard day. There was a lot that never really registered,” he answered, somewhat sheepishly. “And so today, I was surprised. I expected someone older.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “She was twenty with me.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “And your dad?” he asked, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.

You shrugged, shrinking in on yourself, just a bit. “I don’t know. I was really little, and– I don’t know. Old enough to have a heart attack, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ransom muttered to himself again.

He didn’t say anything else, but you were finally ready to talk. You had too many words swirling around in your head to be able to stop them from tumbling out of your mouth. “She was really afraid of you. Did you notice that?” You didn’t wait for him to respond. “Really scared. At first, I thought it was so weird. She doesn’t really know you, why would– And then I wondered if maybe she was just afraid of all men. Given her track record– But tonight, during dinner, it clicked. She’s afraid of you because if you got upset about anything, you could take it out on me. That’s what had her terrified. And then I realized, all the advice and the ‘just keep him happy’ and the letting me learn how to cook and how to dance and, and– She thinks she’s protecting me. And she is. I guess. In the only way she knows how. And I want to be grateful for it. I– I do. I am. Maybe. But, god, she still handed me the pen!”

“What pen?” Ransom asked, and you suddenly realized that you weren’t just exorcising your turbulent thoughts into the ether but having a real conversation. With your husband.

You swallowed hard, trying to will yourself to stay in the present instead of hurtling back in time to that awful day that started everything. “When they first showed me the contract for our marriage. When they made me sign it. She’s the one who handed me the pen. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Ransom didn’t say anything. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. But he took his right hand off the steering wheel and extended it over the gear shaft to cover both of your hands in your lap. And he maybe didn’t know what to say, but this– It was enough.

A week later, you could tell Ransom was concerned as you walked into the clinic together. You knew why. You’d been quiet all day. Nauseous. Today was the day it could all fall apart.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked as you sat in the waiting room.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quietly.

That just seemed to worry him more. “Are you sure? Did you eat today?”

“Yes, Ransom, I did,” you lied. “I said I was fine.”

“Is it the baby? They’re healthy, I’m sure. It’s going to be alright.”

You almost laughed in his face. This appointment was not going to be all right. That, you knew for certain. Instead, you just said, “Yes, I know, Ransom,” unable to keep the irritation out of your tone.

He didn’t say anything else, but you could feel him watching you until your name was finally called.

The appointment was going fine. The baby was healthy, a good size. Everything looked the way it was supposed to. You wished you could take comfort in that.

Ransom was staring at the screen of the ultrasound. “Wow,” he said, his voice full of awe and a soft smile on his face. “They’re starting to look like an actual baby.” He looked to you, to share in it, and you found it easier than you expected to smile back. He was so happy. You had to savor it. Especially since you were so scared that he’d no longer be looking at you like that in just a few minutes.

Sooner than you were ready for, Dr. Patel said the words you’d been dreading. “So,” she asked with a grin, “are we learning the sex of the baby today?”

Ransom’s smile got even bigger, eager. “Yea–“

“No!” You interrupted, too loud, too fast. This hadn’t been your plan, but the panic had overtaken you, and you were operating purely on instinct now. “No, we don’t want to find out!”

“What?” Ransom’s shock may have gotten to you if your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears.

“We don’t want to find out,” you repeated, urgently, shaking your head too hard.

He was staring at you. They both were. But you couldn’t do anything about it. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

That got a little easier when your husband finally turned his attention away from you. “Could you give us a minute?”

“Of course,” she said with a tight smile. Then everyone but you and Ransom left the room.

At first, Ransom didn’t say anything. He just held your hand, his thumb sweeping across it in soothing arcs. After a few minutes, his voice impossibly soft, he started a steady tide of comforting murmurs. “Hey, it’s okay, honey. You’re alright. You’re safe. Everything’s okay. Just breathe with me, honey. I’m right here with you. You’re okay.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be comforted by it, even if you knew it couldn’t last. After several minutes of that, you’d calmed down enough for him to attempt a real conversation. “I guess we probably should have talked about it first,” he said, keeping that same impossibly soft tone, “but I assumed you’d be excited to find out. I’m really excited to find out.”

At that, you tried to close your eyes even tighter, tears leaking out from the force of it, falling down your cheeks.

His thumb paused, for just a beat, then continued to sweep across your skin. “Honey. Please look at me. It’s okay, I promise. I just want you to look at me.” It took all the strength in you, but after a long moment, you forced your eyes open and finally looked at Ransom. His expression was terribly worried, but he let out a small breath in relief once he could see your eyes. “Okay, can you tell me why that was the wrong thing to say?”

This was the last conversation you wanted to have, but you knew you had no choice, so you powered through as best you could. “You’re excited to find out this baby’s your heir. That’s what you’re excited for.”

“What?” The worry on his face was replaced with sheer confusion. “Honey, I don’t give a shit if this baby’s my heir.”

“Yes, you do,” you countered, voice firm. “You might not know that you do, but you do. All men do, whether you realize it or not.” He opened his mouth to reply, but you kept going before he was able to get any words out. “And I’m not upset with you for that. I’m not. I understand. And I’m not afraid you’ll do something to me if they aren’t the boy you want. I know you won’t. I trust you. I know you’ll even still try to love this baby, but… I just– I just can’t see the disappointment on your face when you find out. I just can’t. I think it will break my heart completely, and I– Maybe it’ll be better if you find out when they’re born. Maybe it’ll be harder to be disappointed when there’s a real baby in your arms instead of just the idea of one. Maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll still be upset. But I just can’t see your disappointment today. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Ransom was very quiet for a long time. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t have anything else to say. You just stared at his hand, still holding yours. Finally, he spoke, his voice surprisingly rough. “You know, there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot of things I’m really worried about. One of the biggest ones is the idea of a little me running around. I was a pretty terrible kid. An awful teenager. A shit twenty-something. I think of a son, and I think of all of the mistakes I’ve ever made. I worry that he won’t be able to escape them. But you know what doesn’t worry me? The thought of a little you. Beautiful. Kind. Funny. Unbelievably brave. That’s who I see when I close my eyes and imagine our child.” He paused, thoughtful, and squeezed your hand. “Either way, the thing I most want for this baby is that they have all the best parts of you and none of the worst parts of me. That’s what’s most important to me. I don’t give a shit about the rest of it.”

You felt another wave of tears fall down your face. Later, maybe you’d be able to tell him all the ways you hoped your child was just like him, all the things of his that you wanted them to inherit, but for now, all you could say was, “You mean it?”

“Yes,” he said, so solemnly, looking you dead in the eyes. “I mean it.”

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered, not able to get any louder.

“Yeah? Okay? Should we let Dr Patel back in? Are you ready to find out?”

You took another deep breath. And then another. And then you nodded. At least now you would know for sure. Either way.

The doctor and the tech came back in. More gel was squeezed onto your stomach. The baby’s placement was found again. The wand maneuvered around. And then, with a careful smile, a little wary of the news she was about to deliver, Dr. Patel said, “Congratulations. You’re having a girl.”

Your breath stopped again, and your eyes flew to Ransom. He was staring at you. A wide smile on his face. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “It’s okay?” you asked, voice shaking.

“It’s incredible,” he beamed, placing a happy kiss against your forehead. “It’s absolutely incredible.”

Exhaling a breath you felt like you’d been holding for weeks, you finally let yourself let go of some of your worry, just for now, and feel the same joy he felt. You smiled back at him. It was incredible. You were having a girl.

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