Page 95 of Finding Peace
I stare out the tinted window of the limousine as the dark Montana highway rolls past, one hand resting protectively over my stomach.
Ten weeks.
Ten weeks since Christmas Eve.
When they did the ultrasound to confirm viability and to make sure everything looked viable and normal, I’d expected a blob.
A shadow.
Something abstract.
And instead… There it was.
Tiny. Butreal.
So, so real.
The tech had pointed gently at the screen. “That’s the baby. Measuring right on track."
I’d barely heard her after that. Because my chest had filled so fast and so tight, I thought I might float right off the table.
My baby.
Ourbaby.
When the tech pointed to the screen where our baby wiggled around, Lincoln had gone utterly still. I could tell he was trying not to feel too much at once. And still, he had wrapped his hand around mine and squeezed, hard, like he needed me to be his anchor as much as I’d needed them.
Lawson had stepped closer to the monitor without even realizing it. His protective instincts practically radiated off him in waves. His jaw had tightened—but his eyes… his eyes had softened in a way I’ve never seen before. Not even when he looks at me.
Beau had blinked rapidly and cleared his throat three separate times, like that would stop the tears that were streaming down his face.
And Jasper… he looked wrecked. In awe. Terrified. Overwhelmed. And so damn proud it stole my breath straight from my chest. His fingers had brushed my hair back from my forehead as he stared at the screen, like he couldn’t believe something so small was already ours.
I fell in love with them all over again in that darkened room.
And then again, when the doctor asked how I would like to proceed. Because, despite the guys’ reactions, not one of them answered for me or made me feel pressured. They’d simply looked at me with all the love in their hearts and told me the choice was mine and mine alone, and they’d support me with whateverIchose. I didn’t know it,but it was what I think I needed in that moment.
And they knew it without me even having to ask for it.
So with all the confidence in the world, and the love of four of the most amazing men I could have ever asked for, I looked at the doctor and told him that I wanted to keep it.
The nurse later went over concussion protocol for the third time. Signs of worsening headache. Repeated vomiting. Blurred vision. Disorientation. “And if she becomes increasingly lethargic or difficult to rouse, bring her back immediately.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Beau snorted at the words, “difficult to rouse.”
Lawson promptly backhanded him. “She said rouse. Notarouseyou idiot.”
They scheduled my next OB appointment before we left—a twelve-week visit to go over genetic screening options and to receive another ultrasound if we wanted.
But maybe the moment that will stick with me for forever happened right before we left. The nurse—younger, with kind eyes and a messy bun that was sheer perfection—had been reviewing discharge paperwork and paused. “So,” she’d said lightly, glancing between the four men standing around my bed, “which one of you is Dad? I need to note it for the chart.”
I’d thought about lying.
Just picking one.
Making it simple.
But that felt wrong.
