Chapter 20 Jami
Twenty
Jami
Dr. Hart says hope and fear are twins, born of the same heartbeat.
At first, I didn’t believe her. I thought fear came from pain and hope came from healing. But now I get it. They live together inside me. They take turns driving.
When I sit in her office, the walls lined with soft colors and old books, I can feel both, the tremor of worry and the hum of something good trying to grow.
She watches me the way good therapists do, not judging, not interrupting. Just giving space.
“So,” she says gently, tapping her pen against her notebook. “You’re about twenty weeks now?”
“Twenty-one,” I say with a small smile. “We had the ultrasound last week. Baby’s healthy.”
Her eyes soften. “That’s wonderful, Jami.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, nervous and quiet. “Wonderful and terrifying.”
“Both can be true,” she says.
That’s her favorite phrase, opposites happen and sometimes both can be true at the same time.
She leans forward. “What feels the most real right now?”
I stare at my hands, fingers steepled together in my lap. “Honestly? The fear. That something’s going to go wrong. That I’ll mess this up. That the baby will look at me one day and see all the things I used to be instead of who I’m trying to become.”
The dates didn’t align. I know what I did and when I did it.
I know the biology of things. Tommy and I have talked about it at length and he still stands firm that this baby is his.
I’m thankful for his support. I’m thankful for the encouragement of his entire family.
They all rally around me and embrace me in love.
I’m thankful that scan after scan, everything looks healthy for our baby girl.
The drugs in my system didn’t impact her that we know of yet.
I can only pray I have a miracle and it was so early that I detoxed before too much of the junk was coursing through her tiny system.
Dr. Hart nods. “You’re afraid the past will define you.”
“Yes.”
“And what does the future look like when you let yourself imagine it?”
I swallow hard. “Safe. Quiet. Full of laughter. A house where no one yells, no one hides. Tommy reading bedtime stories in that low rumble voice of his. A kitchen that always smells like coffee bacon, and sometimes burned pancakes.”
She smiles. “That sounds like peace.”
“It does.” I glance up. “Is it okay that I want that?”
“It’s more than okay,” she encourages. “It’s proof you’re healing.”
Her words sink into me slowly. Healing. Not fixed. Not perfect. Just growing into better.
For the rest of the session, we talk about grounding, breathing, routine, writing in my journal when the doubts come. She asks me to write a letter to my future self before our next appointment. “Tell her what you want her to remember,” she instructs. “Hope needs somewhere to live.”
When I leave, the sky is soft gray, spring pushing through the last of winter’s chill. I drive home with the windows cracked to let the fresh air in, wind tangling my hair.
Tommy’s truck is in the driveway when I pull in, but he’s not inside. I find a note on the counter in his familiar handwriting:
Clubhouse tonight. Come when you’re ready. No rush. I love you.
I smile, tracing the words. He’s always giving me room to choose.
I take a shower, pull on a simple dress one that doesn’t hide my growing belly but doesn’t cling to it either. When I catch my reflection, I pause. There’s something in my eyes I haven’t seen in years, peace and softness.
For the first time, I look like a woman who belongs in her own life.
The clubhouse parking lot is full when I arrive. Bikes gleam under the setting sun, chrome catching the light. The sound of laughter spills out from inside — high and familiar, the kind that only happens when people are happy and unguarded.
When I step through the door, it hits me like a wave.
“Surprise!”
For a second, I just stand there blinking, because it takes my brain a moment to catch up with my heart.
Streamers in gold and pink hang from the rafters. Balloons tied to chairs. A long table covered in flowers and wrapped gifts. In the center, a cake that reads Welcome future Mrs. Oleander and baby O.
I cover my mouth, tears instantly blurring my vision.
Doll grins from across the room, her blonde hair in a bun on top of her head, wearing a glittery shirt. “Told ya she’d cry!”
Sass, Tommy’s mom, wearing her own bedazzled shirt, a soft strength in her eyes, steps forward with open arms. “Oh, sweetheart,” she greets, hugging me tight. “You didn’t think we’d let you have a baby or get married to my boy without a proper shower, did you?”
Jenni approaches, “got ya, sis.” She beams with pride. “Love you and so excited to celebrate you today.”
I can barely speak. “You did all this?”
“All of us,” Jenni shares, waving toward the crowd of women. “You’re family, honey. We take care of our own.”
Behind them, I spot familiar faces wives, girlfriends, daughters of the club. Some I’ve met, others I’ve only seen in passing. Every single one of them is smiling.
“Come sit, honey,” Sass says, guiding me to a chair decorated with ribbons. “You look pale. Bet you haven’t eaten enough.”
Before I can protest, a plate appears in front of me sandwiches, fruit, cake. Doll presses a glass of ginger ale into my hand. “No alcohol, promise. Just the fancy bubbles.”
I laugh through my tears. “You guys are too much.”
“That’s the point,” Doll says. “You deserve it all.”
The next two hours feel like something out of a dream I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
They ask about baby names. Doll swears if it really is a girl, she’s teaching her how to throw a punch before preschool.
Doll isn’t convinced it’s a girl. Since Sass had four boys, she swears it’s in the Oleander water to only have boys.
Since I’ve been sharing water with Tommy, it must be a boy.
Sass jokes she’ll teach her how to charm her way out of chore and speeding tickets instead.
They give me gifts, tiny onesies, handmade blankets, a stuffed bear wearing a mini leather cut that says Hellion.
“This one’s from Tommy,” Sass says softly, handing me a small box.
Inside is a silver locket. I open it, expecting a picture. Instead, there’s a small piece of folded paper.
I unfold it slowly.
You saved me too. —T.
That’s all it says, and that’s all it needs to.
My tears start again, unstoppable. Doll laughs and hands me a tissue. “Hormones, honey. Get used to it.”
But it’s more than hormones. It’s gratitude. It’s love. It’s the realization that I’m not alone anymore. I’m not trapped in my past.
Later, when the laughter quiets and the music turns low, Sass sits beside me. Her presence feels like calm air after a storm.
“You okay, sweetheart?” she asks.
“I don’t even know how to explain it,” I share. “I’ve never had something like this before. People… showing up. Not because they have to, but because they want to.”
She smiles. “That’s the beauty of family. The one you’re born into, and the one you build.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever have that.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Sometimes it just takes walking through hell to see who’s waiting on the other side.”
Her words hit deep. I think of my sister, of Tommy, of these women who’ve taken me in without hesitation.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to thank us. You just have to keep standing.”
Music plays as the men begin to trickle in. A few of the women dance on the open floor with the jukebox playing old rock songs. Someone starts passing around a scrapbook — photos from weddings, babies, club barbecues. They add my name to a blank page near the back.
“Your story’s just starting,” Doll shares, scribbling Jami & Baby Oleander in looping letters.
The words make my heart ache in the best way.
When Tommy finally arrives near the end of the night, the women part like a tide to let him through. He looks around, eyebrows raised.
“What’d you do to the clubhouse?” he jokes, grinning.
“Decorated,” Doll remarks proudly. “And we didn’t break a thing, thank you very much.”
He finds me in the crowd, and the look in his eyes steals the air right out of me — soft, steady, home.
He crouches beside my chair, taking my hand. “You have fun?”
I nod, still overwhelmed. “You knew?”
“Maybe,” he replies with a grin. “Might’ve been some planning behind my ‘club meeting’ excuse.”
I laugh, swatting at him. “You’re impossible.”
He leans close, voice low. “Worth it?”
I glance around at the room full of women laughing, hugging, living proof that second chances are real. Then back at him — the man who fought through every storm to stand by me.
“More than worth it,” I whisper.
He smiles, presses a kiss to my hand, and stands. “Alright, ladies,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “You spoil her too much, she won’t come home.”
Doll winks. “That’s the plan, handsome.”
By the time the party winds down, the gifts are packed neatly in the truck, and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Sass hugs me goodbye, whispering, “Welcome to the family, sweetheart. Officially.”
I blink back tears. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me,” she whispers. “Just live happy with my boy and my granddaughter.”
On the drive home, the highway lights streak by, reflections of a life I almost didn’t get to see. Tommy reaches over, resting his hand on my leg.
“Good night?” he asks.
“The best,” I say softly. “You did all this, didn’t you?”
He chuckles. “Maybe had some help.”
I smile, tracing the silver locket at my throat. “You really think I saved you?”
“I know you did,” he says simply.
I stare out the window, the moon catching the edge of my ring, the steady thrum of the engine humming through me.
For so long, I thought I was defined by what broke me. But sitting here now with a baby growing inside me, love wrapped around me like a promise, laughter still echoing in my ears, I realize something else.
Life can be brutal.
But it can also be beautiful.
And for once, mine finally is out of the darkness and into the light.