46. Gabriela
Chapter 46
Gabriela
W hen I get home from the appointment, the house is quiet. It’s almost eerie, the silence that falls over a space when everyone’s been busy all day, caught in their own world. But I know that silence is about to break. I can already hear the soft hum of Mireya’s favorite cartoon coming from her room, and I can feel Joaquín’s presence before I even see him.
He’s in the kitchen when I walk in, chopping vegetables with that focused concentration that always makes me smile. Joaquín asked if there was anything he could do to help with dinner when I was leaving the doctor’s office and here he was doing it. A man that follows through. Swoon. Whether it’s making dinner, working on a project, or just listening to me vent, he’s all in. He really did change, and he continues to better himself every single day. Who knew that the almost twenty-year-old man standing in our kitchen would be who he is right now after all we’ve been through?
“Hey,” I say, slipping off my shoes by the door and leaning against the frame of the kitchen. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he replies, his lips curling into a smile when he looks up at me. “But good. Mireya’s in her room watching her cartoons. I figured I’d get a head start on dinner prep. What are we having tonight?”
“How does caldo de res sound?” I come up behind him, placing a kiss between his covered shoulders and wrapping my hands around his stomach.
“That sounds perfect,” he says, his voice softer than I expected.
I don’t know why, but there’s something about seeing him in the kitchen doing something for me and Mireya that makes me feel a wave of affection. Like I would do and give him anything he asked.
“How was your appointment?” Joaquín asks, turning away from the cutting board and wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the oven door. He seems genuinely interested, and I’m not surprised. He’s been that way lately, asking questions, paying attention. I feel a little vulnerable admitting what’s been on my mind, but I trust him.
“It went well, I guess,” I say, walking over to the counter and leaning against it. I look at him, trying to find the right words. “I talked to Dr. Vargas about my birth control options. She gave me a few choices, but I don’t know... It’s just a lot to think about.”
He gives me a curious look but doesn’t interrupt. But I know he’s been thinking about it too. We’ve had enough conversations to know that a future is coming, and we just want to be prepared. Raising Mireya isn’t a cakewalk and adding another little person doesn’t appeal to us right now. We know the timing will never be "perfect,” but we want to be as close to it as we can.
“So, what are you thinking?” he asks, picking up the knife again and slicing through the meat, his hands moving smoothly through the familiar motions of it.
I love watching him prepare dinner. I can get lost in him doing the mundane things in life. Cooking, cleaning, doing the yard work—all of it.
“I’m leaning toward something long-term,” I say. “Maybe an IUD or an implant. I don’t really want to worry about it constantly. I’m still not sure, though. It feels... permanent, in a way.”
Joaquín pauses and turns his head toward me. His brow furrows just slightly, but it’s a thoughtful expression. I can see he’s been considering all of this, the future, us, everything. He’s always been open about what he wants in life, and I’ve come to admire his certainty and his ability to plan ahead with calm assurance. I know he wants us to have kids. He’s said it since high school, that I was going to be the mother of his babies. But he isn’t rushing into this like I would have expected him to.
“I get it,” he says slowly, his voice steady. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support it. It’s your body. You know it best and what you are and aren’t comfortable with. But... I do think a longer-term method would be better for both of us, especially if we’re waiting until after graduation. No sense in stressing over it every few months. But if that isn’t what you want, I’ll go along with whatever you want. I’ll even wear condoms if you’re worried that it isn’t as effective or if you just want that extra reassurance.”
I can feel the sincerity in his words. He means it. But the thing is, he doesn’t have to say any of this. He could easily just tell me to do what I think is best, let it be my decision, and move on. But instead, he’s engaged, listening, and taking this seriously. The way he looks at me now, it’s the same way he always looks at me now—like I matter. Like my choices matter. Like we’re a team.
I take a deep breath, letting his words settle. “You’re right. I just... I don’t know. I still feel weird about it. I mean, what if I regret it? What if?—”
“ Reina ,” he interrupts gently, setting the knife down on the cutting board and walking over to me. He takes my hand in his, his fingers warm against mine. “Whatever you decide, we’ll figure it out. You’re not in this alone. We’ll make it work, just like we are right now. I just know that if we continue with how things are right now, life will happen. You’ll miss the clinic appointment and with how much you like my cock inside you... we'll end up having a baby. And not that I don’t want children with you—because I would have put a baby in you a long time ago—I want us to be ready.”
I look up at him, a tight knot in my chest loosening just a little. I nod, trying to swallow the uncertainty that’s been sitting in the pit of my stomach. He’s right, I know.
“Okay,” I say, finally letting go of my worry. “I’ll think about it some more. But yeah, I think the IUD will be the way to go. I just need to be sure.”
He smiles and squeezes my hand. “Take all the time you need, amor . You know that I’m going to support you in whatever choice you make.”
* * *
Dinner is almost ready, and I start to set the table, pulling out bowls and utensils. Joaquín works with quiet efficiency, moving around me as we settle into our familiar rhythm. It’s these small moments that make everything feel real. Like we’re building something—something strong, something lasting. But it’s not just about us. It’s about Mireya too.
As I finish setting the table, I hear the soft padding of little feet behind me. Mireya. She comes into the kitchen, her big brown eyes wide and alert, her hair still a little messy from her nap. She reaches up for me, her tiny arms outstretched. I scoop her up immediately, the warmth of her against me grounding me in the moment.
“Dinner’s ready, mi amor ,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s eat.”
She rests her head against my shoulder, and for a brief moment, I can feel the weight of her love, the way she trusts me, the way she’s always been my everything. But there’s something new, something different, in the air tonight.
After dinner, I give Mireya a bath and then start the bedtime routine. She’s already in her pajamas, her favorite green ones with little dinosaurs on them. She climbs into bed eagerly, waiting for us to tuck her in.
“ Papa, Mama , story?” she asks, her voice soft but insistent. My heart skips at the sound of those words— Mama and Papa . Joaquín stands there frozen, hearing her say it hits him hard.
“Did you just call me Papa, Princesa ?” His words come out tight, like he’s choking back his emotions.
She nods.
I can’t help the tears that escape. This is everything. Mireya has a mom and a dad that love her, and even though she is my sister by genetics, she is my daughter. Joaquín acknowledges that she sees him as her father.
It’s like a sudden vision of what could be. Of us together, as a family. Not just a couple, but a family . The idea settles over me, heavy and warm.
I glance at Joaquín, and for a second, our eyes meet in that way that feels like we’re on the same page, even though we haven’t spoken a word. He looks at Mireya, then at me, and I can see his thoughts lining up with mine.
“We’ll read, mijita ,” Joaquín says, his voice steady. “But you’ve got to go to sleep after, okay?”
Mireya nods solemnly, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. I sit on the edge of the bed while Joaquín grabs the book. The three of us are together in that small room, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a peaceful light over us. Joaquín reads the story aloud, his voice deep and calming. Mireya drifts off halfway through, her breathing slow and even as she falls into sleep.
I look at Joaquín, my chest tight with something I can’t quite name. It’s a mix of love, hope, and an overwhelming sense of everything we’ve built together. We’re so close, so good, and the idea of adding more to our little world suddenly doesn’t feel so crazy. The warmth of the moment—the closeness of it, the little family we’ve become—makes me ache for something more.
But not yet. Not yet.
I take a deep breath, pushing the thought to the back of my mind. We’ve got time. I’m not ready. Not yet.
Despite that, as we turn out the light and close her door, I can’t help but wonder if one day we will.