20. Sophie
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Sophie
Three weeks of peace.
Three weeks of healing, of learning each other, of building something that feels stronger with every passing day.
Then I wake up alone.
The bed is cold beside me. Dominic’s been gone for a while.
I find a note on the pillow: Had to run out. Back soon. I love you.
Cryptic. Concerning. But I’ve learned to trust him, even when I don’t understand.
I go through my morning routine - feed Anna, change Anna, try to convince Anna that her toys are more interesting than my phone cord - and I’m just settling into some semblance of normalcy when the doorbell rings.
I open it to find Dominic.
He’s standing in the hallway, holding a large wooden crate, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is wild, his clothes rumpled, and there’s sawdust in his eyebrows.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi?” I step back to let him in. “What’s going on? Where have you been?”
“I had to finish something.” He sets the crate down in the middle of the living room. “For Anna.”
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
I crouch down, carefully pry off the lid, and-
It’s a crib.
A beautiful, handmade wooden crib, carved with delicate flowers and butterflies. The craftsmanship is exquisite - every joint perfect, every surface smooth and sanded to silk.
“You made this?” My voice comes out as a whisper.
“I started it the day after you moved in with me.” He crouches beside me, runs his hand along the railing. “I wanted Anna to have something special. Something that was hers. Not borrowed or temporary, but made for her.”
Tears are sliding down my face. I don’t bother wiping them away.
“Dominic…”
“I know it’s silly. She’s almost too big for a crib anyway. But I thought-”
I shut him up with a kiss.
It’s not soft or gentle. It’s fierce and desperate and full of everything I feel but can’t put into words. Love. Gratitude. Wonder. All of it.
“You’re incredible,” I say against his lips. “You know that?”
“I try.”
“You succeed.”
We stay there, kneeling on the floor, foreheads pressed together, while Anna babbles happily in her playpen.
“I have something else,” Dominic says.
“More furniture?”
“Better.” He pulls back, reaches into his pocket, and produces a piece of paper. “Adoption papers. For Anna. If you want.”
I take the paper, stare at it. His name is there, ready to sign. Ready to become Anna’s father in every legal sense.
“You don’t have to decide now,” he’s saying. “I know it’s a big step, and Caleb’s still technically her-”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I want you to adopt her.” I look up at him through my tears. “I want you to be her father. Officially. Permanently.”
His face transforms. The joy there is blinding.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He kisses me again, and this time it’s soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too.”
Anna makes an impatient noise, clearly demanding attention.
“And I love you, little one.” Dominic crosses to the playpen, scoops her up. “What do you think of your new crib?”
Anna grabs his nose and tries to put it in her mouth.
“I’ll take that as approval.”
I watch them - my fiancé and my daughter, our little family - and I let myself feel it. The happiness I thought was gone forever. The love I thought I’d never find again.
It’s here. It’s real. It’s mine.
And I’m never letting it go.