Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
HARLEY
It’s been a year since Quinn came into the world too soon. A year since I thought I would lose her before I ever really had her. And now? Now she’s one. Strong, too loud, and stubborn in ways that already remind me of her father.
Her dark hair has started to curl at the ends, soft wisps framing her round cheeks.
Her eyes, Easton’s eyes, ocean blue and endless, light up when he walks into a room.
She’s already learned how to say “Dada,” and the way Easton melts every single time she babbles it makes me fall in love with him all over again.
She’s a total daddy’s girl.
We celebrate quietly. Just us, Kennedy, and our parents at our new house. Nothing big, no fuss. A cake, too sweet and messy for Quinn to eat more than a handful of, with balloons tied to the back of her highchair that she tries to pull down.
We bought our first house a few days ago.
It’s not huge, not the kind of place with white pillars and marble countertops, but it’s ours.
A little two-story with a yard, peeling paint on the porch railing, and hardwood floors that creak when you walk through the hall.
It needs a lot of work, but thankfully, Easton and his dad have lots of ideas.
It’s weird, handing the keys of our old apartment to Kennedy.
That place was where Quinn came home for the first time, where Easton and I nearly broke under the weight of postpartum nights and prison shadows.
It held so much of our fight, but it wasn’t where we belonged anymore.
Kennedy can have it, clutter it with ring lights and iced coffee cups. We’re building something else now.
Later that night, when the house is quiet and Quinn is asleep, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. For the first time in years, I don’t flinch.
I trace the faint silver lines across my stomach, the way my hips curve more softly now than before, and the way my arms have grown stronger from carrying Quinn. For so long, those things felt like proof that I wasn’t enough, proof that I was ruined, stretched too thin, too soft, too much. But now?
Now they feel like evidence. Evidence that I survived. That Quinn survived. That my body has done something miraculous and terrifying and left its mark to prove it.
I actually smile at my reflection. Not because I think I’m perfect, but because I finally believe I’m allowed to exist in this body without apology.
I glance down the hall to where Quinn sleeps, and happiness swells so hard it hurts. Her laughter, her messy curls, her chubby fists tugging at my shirt … it’s all worth it . Every scar, every sleepless night.
Three months ago, I lost a pregnancy. It was early, barely more than a whisper of life, but it shook me anyway. And it forced me to realize something I’ve been avoiding: if I want more children, if I want Quinn to have a sibling someday, I have to take care of myself. My mind. My body.
So I signed up for a gym membership with Easton, per recommendation from my therapist. It wasn’t a punishment, but rather a place for us to work on ourselves and spend time together as a couple, without Quinn.
At first, it was hard; my body ached, and getting there with a fussy baby was even harder.
But Easton was supportive. Together, we made it work. Slowly but surely.
I want to be here, for my daughter, for Easton. But most importantly, for myself.
And tonight, on her first birthday, looking at myself in the mirror without shame, I know I’ve finally taken the first step.
Easton steps into the bedroom and immediately stands behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my neck. I lean back against him, peace surrounding us.
“You’re glowing,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my hip bone.
“I’m tired,” I laugh.
“You’re happy,” he corrects gently, eyes searching mine in the reflection. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at yourself the way you just did tonight. Like you finally see what I’ve been seeing all along.”
My throat tightens. He’s right. For so long, I’ve hated the stretch marks, the softness, the proof of survival etched into my skin. But tonight, watching Quinn laugh until she hiccupped … none of it mattered. My body gave her to me.
And I’m proud.
I lean my forehead against his. “You’re not so bad yourself, Diggs.”
He chuckles, kissing me slow and steady. “Marry me already.”
I smile into his lips. “Name the day. I’ve never been more ready.”