36. Karla
KARLA
Ikept waiting for the last of my embarrassment to fade away, but every time Brayden looked at me with those soft, concerned eyes, the memory of earlier—the foot, the panic, the way we both spiraled—made my cheeks burn.
Pregnancy hormones were evil little gremlins. I was convinced they were running a full circus inside my body. One minute I was furious, the next I was crying at a commercial about paper towels. Paper towels.
But now, with my hair dried and my shoes on, I felt a little more normal. Or at least as normal as someone who had burst into tears over several dresses could feel.
The mall was buzzing with weekend shoppers, music playing overhead, teenagers darting between racks as I waddled—yes, waddled—toward the maternity section with Brayden at my side. His hand never left the small of my back, steady and warm.
“I’m sorry I freaked out,” I muttered under my breath.
He glanced over, smiling like he’d been waiting for me to talk. “You didn’t freak out. You had a moment. People have moments.”
I snorted. “I had five hundred moments. Minimum.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Still doesn’t scare me.”
God, this man.
We stepped into the department store, and the fluorescent lighting hit me like a spotlight on my failures. Everywhere I looked, the clothes seemed to mock me:
Too Tight.
Too Short.
Remember when you had a waist?
“Let’s find you something that makes you feel like the badass you are,” Brayden declared as he steered me toward a row of soft jersey dresses.
“Or a tarp,” I muttered. “A tarp would work too. Maybe they have a camping section.”
He chuckled and just hearing it loosened something in my chest. I wanted tonight to feel normal. I wanted us to be okay. I wanted to stop feeling like an emotional tornado touching down on everything I loved.
A saleswoman—not much older than my mom, with silver streaks in her bun and smile lines deep enough to prove she’d earned them—walked over with a warm, knowing expression.
“Oh honey,” she greeted immediately, reading my soul with one glance, “you’re exhausted, uncomfortable, and nothing fits the way it used to. I’ve been there. Let’s fix that.”
My eyes filled so fast I had to blink hard. “I love you,” I stammered. “I know we just met, but I love you.”
She laughed. “Name’s Amie. And I promise I’ve heard that before. Let’s find you something that makes you feel beautiful.”
Brayden’s hand tightened around mine. “Thank you,” he told her, genuine and heartfelt. “She deserves it.”
Amie winked at him. “You’re a good one. Don’t mess this up.”
“I’m trying my damnedest,” he replied, deadpan.
She pulled a handful of dresses off the rack—stretchy, flattering, soft fabrics that didn’t look like maternity sacks—and guided me toward the fitting rooms.
I changed into the first dress and… nope. Absolutely not. I looked like a sparkly eggplant.
The second made me look like a lampshade someone had given up on.
The third was cute, but it clung to my boobs like they owed it money.
I stepped out, ready to cry again, when Brayden lifted his head from his phone. His eyes softened instantly.
“You look amazing,” he said.
I shot him a look. “I look like a stuffed cinnamon roll.”
“A very sexy cinnamon roll.” His quick retort was flawless.
“Brayden,” I teased, softening.
He grinned. “Fine. A beautiful cinnamon roll.”
Amie popped her head around the corner, carrying another dress—navy blue with flutter sleeves and a wrap waist that looked like it might actually understand my pregnant body better than I did.
“Try this one,” she said, handing it over like it was holy.
I slipped it on. It hugged everything that still felt like me and flowed over everything that had grown. I looked… radiant. Pregnant, yes, but in a goddessy, glowy way.
I stepped out.
Brayden’s mouth actually fell open.
“Oh,” he breathed, standing up straighter. “Oh damn.”
A warm flush crept up my neck. “It’s okay?”
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. And our daughter’s definitely going to inherit your dramatic flair.”
I giggle-snorted. “She kicked me in the rib earlier for opening the wrong yogurt, so yes. Dramatic is accurate.”
He came closer, brushing his fingers against my belly. “She’s got opinions.”
“Wonder where she gets that,” I teased.
He leaned down and kissed my bump tenderly. “Hi, baby girl. Your mom is gorgeous.”
I melted. Fully melted. Puddle-on-the-floor melted.
Amie clasped her hands together like she was officiating a wedding. “Well now I’m emotional. You two make me miss my husband—and he’s in the break room.”
We bought the dress—even though it was more expensive than I’d planned—because in that moment, I needed to feel good. Needed to feel like Karla, not just a body being lived in by hormones and a tiny kickboxer.
By the time we left the store, we were painfully, undeniably late.
“I’m sorry,” I told Brayden for the hundredth time as we hurried toward the Uber pickup area.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he cooed easily. “We’re fine. They’ll be fine. If anything, they’ll start drinking without us, and honestly that feels like a win.”
I laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
We stepped outside, the evening air warm against my new dress. Brayden opened the Uber door for me, steadying my hand as I slid inside with all the grace of a penguin falling over.
Once he was in beside me, he took my hand across the seat. No hesitation. No annoyance. Just steady warmth.
“Thank you,” I whispered, emotion swelling in my throat. “Really. For being so patient. For not making me feel crazy. For… all of this.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles. “You’re my girl. My family. There’s nothing I won’t do for you.”
The car pulled away from the curb, city lights streaking past us.
And for the first time that day, I felt nothing but calm.
We were okay.
We were better than okay.
We were us.
And off we went—on our way to the Hayes estate, late but together.