Page 20 of The Firefighter’s Forever

I look down at her. “You’re carrying our baby. You’re dealing with the nausea, the exhaustion, the fact that half your clothes don’t fit anymore. The least I can do is make sure you have whatever makes it easier.”

Her expression changes. Just a little. The fight doesn’t leave her completely, but it eases enough that I see what’s under it. She’s overwhelmed. Grateful. Trying to figure out how much help she’s allowed to accept before it feels like too much.

She huffs out a breath, then slides her wallet back into her purse. “Fine. But I’m buying the next time we have lunch.”

Outside, I carry the bags to her car while she walks beside me. The afternoon light catches in her hair, and for a few seconds I let myself look, really look, at the woman I’ve loved longer than I can admit out loud.

She opens the back door, and I set the bags inside beside the folder of ultrasound pictures. The sight of it all together does something strange to me. Clothes for her. Pictures of the baby. Her purse on the passenger seat. My hand braced on the door of her car. All of it ordinary. All of it more than I ever thought I’d get.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.”

“Okay.”

“For the clothes. And the appointment. And all of it.”

“Harmony.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to thank me for showing up.”

Her eyes hold mine, soft and unreadable. The space between us feels thin enough to tear. Then she looks away, pulling her keys out.

“Drive safe,” I say.

“I will,” she says. “Talk to you later.”

I close her door once she’s inside, then step back as she starts the car. She gives me a small wave through the windshield before pulling out of the parking space. I stand there, watching until her car disappears onto the main road.

Doctor’s appointments. Ultrasound photos. Maternity shopping on a Thursday afternoon. Waiting for texts that tell me she made it home safely.

None of it belongs to me the way I want it to.

Maybe one day she’ll change her mind. Maybe she won’t. I don’t get to decide what Harmony feels for me, and I sure as hell won’t push her when she’s already carrying enough.

But I do get to decide what kind of man I am.

I’ll be there for every appointment, every late-night text, every day she feels scared and doesn’t want to say it. When our kid gets here, I’ll be there for diapers and bottles and scraped knees and school drop-offs and whatever else is needed from me.

As long as Harmony lets me, I’ll keep showing up.

Even if she never loves me back.

8

HARMONY

Iwatch the sunrise creep across the ceiling and wonder if I’m ever going to sleep normally again.

This has been happening more lately. Some nights I wake up because the baby is pressing against something in a way that makes my whole body uncomfortable. Some nights I wake up because I have to pee for the third time. Some nights my brain just decides that four in the morning is the perfect time to review every major life choice I’ve ever made.

Tonight is worse.

I’ve been awake for hours, lying on my side with a pillow tucked beneath my stomach, listening to the quiet hum of the house around me. My parents are still asleep down the hall. The world outside my window is slowly brightening at the edges, and I feel exhausted in that deep, useless way where my whole body aches for rest but my mind refuses to unclench.