Amiyah
The night before dinner, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand, Calla’s name glowing on the screen beside my pillow. I don’t know when I drifted off, but the moment I did, I knew I wasn’t dreaming in the usual way.
Everything around me was light. Soft, golden, endless light that wasn’t blinding. It felt warm, like standing in front of the sun on a winter morning.
Then I saw them.
My mother, Amelia. My grandmother, Adeline. The A names were a tradition for the women in my family, a thread tying us together across time. Seeing them now, standing side by side, felt like watching that thread glow bright again after being dim for years.
My mother looked exactly as I remembered her before the accident, her smile soft, her eyes full of laughter. My grandmother looked radiant too, dressed in the kind of Sunday-best floral dress she loved, her silver hair wrapped in a scarf that shimmered faintly in the light.
I took a shaky breath. “Mama? Nana?”
My mother reached for me first, her hand warm as she cupped my face. “Hi, baby.”
That voice broke me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sound until I heard it again.
Tears filled my eyes, falling before I could even speak. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
Grandma Adeline smiled. “We know, sugar. But we’ve been with you every step of the way. You just stopped looking for us in the quiet.”
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe through the emotion flooding my chest. “It’s been so long since I felt anything like this. Like home.”
My mother nodded. “Because you built walls to keep yourself safe, baby. You closed the doors to love, thinking that would stop the pain.”
Her words hit me like truth always does, slow and sharp all at once. “I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “After you were gone, after Nana passed too, I didn’t know how to keep going. I’ve been alone for so long. I didn’t think I’d ever belong anywhere again.”
My grandmother stepped closer, placing her hand over my heart. “You’ve never been alone, Amiyah. We’ve walked with you through every shadow, every heartbreak, every night you cried and thought no one heard. You come from a line of women who survive, who love fiercely, who rise again.”
I tried to steady my breathing, but my voice shook. “Then why do I still feel like I’m doing it wrong? Why do I feel guilty for what I want?”
“What is it that you want?” my mother asked gently.
I hesitated, the truth trembling on my tongue. “I want love. I want Calla. I want James. I want all of it. The warmth, the laughter, the family, even if it doesn’t look like what people expect.”
My grandmother smiled, her eyes glistening. “Then take it, baby. Let it wash over you. Love doesn’t have to fit in a box to be real. It just needs to fulfill you and make you happy.”
My mother nodded, her fingers tracing the tears on my cheeks. “We aren’t disappointed in you, Amiyah. The only thing that breaks our hearts is seeing you deny yourself what you deserve. You’ve spent so much time proving your strength that you forgot softness is sacred too.”
The air shimmered around us, the light brightening until it looked like dawn.
I reached for them, my voice cracking. “You really aren’t disappointed?”
My mother shook her head. “Never. You’re everything we dreamed you’d become, bold, brave, brilliant, but most of all, you’re love. You just have to stop running from it.”
Nana smiled through her own tears. “You come from women who knew how to love without fear. Don’t let the world shame you into believing your kind of love is wrong.”
As she spoke, she and my mother both reached out and placed their hands gently over my stomach.
The warmth of their touch spread through me like sunlight, deep and steady, filling me with something I didn’t have words for.
Love sparkled in their eyes, soft and knowing, as if they saw something in me I couldn’t yet see in myself.
Tears streamed down my face, but my heart was calm, my spirit still.
When I blinked, they each placed a hand on my face again, my mother on one cheek, my grandmother on the other. The light around them grew even brighter.
“Go live, baby,” my mother whispered. “Love out loud.”
“Build the family your soul’s been waiting for,” Nana added. “And remember, we’re always with you.”
The light rose higher, flooding everything in gold. I reached for them, but my fingers met only air, soft and warm, fading into morning light.
When I opened my eyes, my pillow was damp with tears, but my heart felt different, lighter, open. The dream clung to me like perfume, sweet and haunting at once. My chest felt heavy, but in a way that wasn’t pain, more like my heart had been scrubbed raw, ready to feel everything again.
The warmth of my mother and grandmother’s touch still lingered, too, deep in my skin, right where they had placed their hands on my stomach.
I lay there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on my belly without thinking. Then the wave of nerves rolled back in, quick and sharp, pulling me out of that dream-soft peace and back into reality.
The truth I had been avoiding was sitting right there under my palm.
It had started as a slight suspicion, a little fatigue, some nausea, cravings that didn’t make sense. At first, I thought it was stress or a bug. But when the smell of coffee made me want to cry, I knew something was off.
A few tests later, the truth stared back at me in bold, pink lines. Positive.
At first, I just sat there on the bathroom floor, staring. My body trembled, my throat closed, and my mind went completely blank. Then, like a dam breaking, everything hit me at once: shock, fear, confusion, and something else so pure and wild it took my breath away.
Joy.
Because underneath all the fear, I was happy. Terrified, yes, but happy.
That was two weeks ago.
Since then, I had been stuck somewhere between disbelief and panic. I hadn’t told anyone. Not Lena, not James, not Calla. I told myself I needed to confirm it with my OB/GYN before I said anything, but deep down, I knew I was stalling.
They had both been so open about not wanting children, about finding fulfillment in each other, in me, in the life we were building without the expectations of family or marriage. I believed in that too, or at least I thought I did.
But now, everything felt different.
The timing, the circumstances, all of it scared me.
Calla was still reeling from everything with her father’s death, and James had thrown himself into work, trying to keep things steady.
They didn’t need this kind of chaos right now.
And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about how their touch made me feel safe, how their love filled every empty place inside me.
That had to mean something.
I got out of bed slowly, every movement deliberate, and showered. By the time I stood in front of the mirror to get dressed, my reflection barely felt like me. My eyes were softer, fuller. My hand drifted to my stomach again. “It’s really happening,” I whispered.
The drive to the doctor’s office was quiet, just me, the hum of the car, and my heartbeat thrumming louder than the radio.
When I finally sat in the waiting room, I tried to steady my breathing. The walls were pale blue, calming, but I still couldn’t shake the tremor in my hands. When the nurse called my name, my legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
The visit moved quickly after that: bloodwork, vitals, and gentle questions about symptoms. And then I was lying back on the exam table, staring at the ceiling as the ultrasound wand pressed lightly against my abdomen.
The screen flickered.
And then, there it was.
A tiny flicker of movement. The steady, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat.
My breath caught.
“There’s your baby,” the technician said softly, smiling. “Looks like you’re further along than you thought, you’re thirteen weeks. You’re entering your second trimester.”
I couldn’t speak. My eyes blurred instantly, tears sliding down my temples. Thirteen weeks. All this time, life had been quietly growing inside me.
I reached for the screen, tracing the faint outline with my fingertip. “You’re real,” I whispered.
The technician printed out a few images and handed them to me with a kind smile. “Congratulations, Mama.”
Those words nearly undid me.
Mama.
I hadn’t heard anyone call me that before.
It felt foreign and sacred at the same time, like something ancient had just been passed down to me.
When I left the office, the ultrasound pictures were clutched tightly in my hand.
I sat in my car for a long time, staring at them, my heart a storm of emotions.
I wanted to be happy. I was happy. But fear crawled up my throat.
How would they react?
Would Calla look at me with love or shock? Would James see this as a burden he never asked for? Would I lose them both?
A tear slipped down my cheek as I wiped at it quickly. “Get it together,” I whispered. “You can’t fall apart now.”
I took a deep breath, the kind that starts in your chest and ends in your bones.
I already knew what I needed to do. I was going to tell Calla first. Not as a way of softening the blow, but because I needed her.
Her calm, her control, her strength. She was my anchor, and if I was going to navigate this storm, I wanted to do it standing beside the woman who made me feel safe in my own skin.
I glanced down at the pictures again, the smallest smile tugging at my lips.
“Guess it’s time to tell your other mama,” I whispered softly.
As the reality of what was happening continued to sink in, I felt less anxious and nervous since seeing those pink lines.
As I was leaving the office, I took a picture of the sonograms and sent them to Lena.
As soon as I saw the timestamp go from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’, I knew my phone was due to ring in five… four… three… two…
Right on cue, my phone lit up, and I had to take a deep breath before answering.