Epilogue #2
"And I love you, Maeve Callahan," he replies, his voice low and certain. "My True Mate."
With one last shared look, we part ways, Lorian to his clinic and me to my office. But it's not really a goodbye, just a brief separation.
Tonight, we'll be together again. And tomorrow. And all the days after that.
Maeve
One year later
The crisp autumn breeze drifts through the partially open kitchen window, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and the promise of changing leaves.
I inhale deeply, savoring the moment of quiet before the busy day begins.
My hands work with practiced ease as I slice fresh bread for toast, the knife making a satisfying sound against the cutting board.
First day of the new school year. The familiar flutter of anticipation tickles my stomach, a mixture of excitement and nerves that never quite goes away no matter how many years I've done this. But today, that flutter means something entirely different.
I arrange sliced strawberries on a plate in a fan pattern, something I'd never bother with just for myself, but Lorian appreciates these small aesthetic touches.
The ritual of preparing breakfast for two still feels like a gift.
I hear the shower running upstairs, water pipes humming through the walls of our cottage.
Our cottage. The thought still brings a smile to my face.
I hang the kettle over the stove for tea, chamomile for me, green for Lorian.
The flame catches with a soft whoosh, and I move to the window while the water heats.
The garden is still in full bloom, but the signs of the oncoming fall are there in subtle ways, from the dying tomato plants to the blooming marigolds.
The air feels crisp and slightly damp in that giddy way of the early fall, promising cooler days and nights ahead.
The Eternal White Lily sits in its crystal vase on the windowsill, catching the early morning light. Its petals glow with a soft luminescence that has never dimmed since the night Lorian gave it to me. I touch one petal gently with my fingertip, still amazed by its cool, almost glass-like texture.
My hand drifts unconsciously to my abdomen. Still flat, with no outward sign of the life growing inside. Will our baby have Lorian's pointed ears? His ice-blue eyes? My unruly red hair? The possibilities make my heart race with both excitement and fear.
"Good morning."
I turn to find Lorian in the kitchen doorway, impeccable as always in his perfectly pressed shirt and slacks. His silver-blond hair is tied back in its usual neat style, not a strand out of place. Only I know how wild it looks spread across our pillows in the early morning light.
"You're up early," he says, crossing to me and pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"Couldn't sleep. First day jitters."
His ice-blue eyes crinkle at the corners. "After all these years? I find that hard to believe."
"Oh, please. Like you weren't reorganizing your medical supplies last night."
He has the grace to look slightly abashed. "Mrs. Beckham rearranged my vaccination drawer. It was unsettling."
I laugh and reach up to straighten his already straight tie. "Heaven forbid anyone disturb the sacred order of Dr. Reizenhart's clinic."
The kettle whistles, and I move to prepare our tea. Lorian takes his place at the table, immediately noticing the extra effort I've put into breakfast.
"Wow, this is some extra work you put in," he observes.
I bring the teapot to the table and sit across from him. "It's a special day. First day of school."
And the day I tell you we're going to be parents, I add silently. My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it. I've rehearsed this moment in my mind a dozen times since the test showed positive yesterday, but now that it's here, words fail me.
"Indeed," Lorian says, spreading honey on his toast with precise movements. "But you seem more anxious than usual. Is everything alright?"
I take a deep breath. "Everything's perfect. I'm just excited about the year ahead."
Lorian consults his watch. "I should be home by five today. I have a light schedule, but Millie Primrose is coming in after school with what Rylan describes as suspicious sneezing."
"Sprite Sniffles?"
"Most likely. It's that season again." He takes a careful bite of toast. "She specifically requested that Nurse Maeve be informed of her condition."
I smile at that. Millie has remained our most enthusiastic supporter since the Pixie-Pox incident. "Tell her I'll check on her tomorrow at school."
"I will." Lorian hesitates, then adds, "I was thinking, perhaps this weekend we could visit the nursery in Portland. There's a rare variety of moonflower I've been researching that might thrive in the north corner of the garden."
I open my mouth to respond when a sudden wave of nausea washes over me. The smell of the strawberries, which had seemed so appealing moments ago, now turns my stomach. I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
"Maeve?"
I don't answer. I can't answer as I clap my hand over my mouth and rush from the kitchen to the bathroom down the hall. I barely make it in time, dropping to my knees on the cool tile floor as my stomach heaves.
Lorian appears behind me instantly, gathering my hair back from my face with one hand while the other supports my forehead. His touch is gentle, steadying.
"Breathe slowly," he instructs. "Through your nose if you can."
I follow his direction, the worst of the nausea passing after a few moments. He reaches above me to dampen a washcloth in the sink, then hands it to me.
"Thank you," I murmur, wiping my mouth and leaning back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. “But don’t worry. I’ve been throwing up every morning for a while now.”
Lorian kneels beside me, his clinical gaze assessing. "How long exactly?"
"A few mornings now."
His brow furrows. "And you didn't mention this because…?"
"Because I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dealing with this for quite a few mornings in the coming months," I say, unable to keep a small smile from forming despite feeling queasy.
Lorian's expression turns concerned. "A viral infection with that duration would be concerning. I should take a blood sample."
I start to laugh, which isn't the best idea given my unsettled stomach, but I can't help it.
"What?" Lorian asks, clearly confused by my reaction to potential illness.
"For someone so intelligent, you can be remarkably dense sometimes," I tease, reaching for his hand. "Think about it. Morning nausea that lasts for months?"
He stares at me blankly for a moment, then his eyes widen as understanding dawns. "Are you…"
“Yes.” I nod, my eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I wanted to be sure before I told you.”
"A child," he whispers, the word falling from his lips with reverence. “We’re going to have a baby.”
"Yes."
Lorian goes absolutely still, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. For a moment, I worry he's not happy, but then I see it, the faint blue glow beginning to emanate from his eyes, the elven response to intense emotion he can't quite control.
"It’s wonderful," he says, his voice thick. "Our baby."
His hand reaches out, trembling slightly, to rest against my still-flat stomach. The touch is so gentle, so full of wonder that fresh tears spring to my eyes.
"How far along?" he asks, medical training asserting itself through the emotion.
"About eight weeks, I think."
Lorian leans forward and kisses me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache. When he pulls back, a single tear tracks down his cheek.
"You're crying," I whisper, touching his face.
"I never thought…" He pauses, struggling to find words, which is so unlike him that it makes my throat tight. "I never thought I would have this. A home. A family. You."
I lean my forehead against his. "Well, get used to it, because in about eight months, there's going to be a tiny half-elf running around driving us both crazy."
This startles a laugh from him, bright and genuine. "How are you feeling now? Should you stay home today? The first trimester can be difficult, and—"
"Lorian," I interrupt. "I'm pregnant, not sick. As a doctor, you should know that."
He has the grace to look embarrassed. Granted, not by a lot. "Well, I do know that. I still want you to be as comfortable as possible."
"I'm fine," I assure him, accepting his help to stand up. "Just a little queasy in the mornings. Nothing I can't handle."
We return to the kitchen hand in hand, breakfast forgotten on the table.
Lorian pulls out my chair for me, then pours fresh tea, his movements more tender than usual, if that's even possible.
He can't seem to stop touching me, a hand on my shoulder as he passes, fingers brushing mine as he hands me my cup.
"What do you think they'll be like?" I ask, resting my hand on my stomach. "Our baby?"
Lorian considers this with a dreamy smile.
“If we are to believe my mother, I was a rather poised child, but I had a stubborn streak as well.” His smile widens, and it transforms his entire face. “If our child is as stubborn as I was and as spirited as you are, we’re in for quite a ride.”
"So our child will be both stubborn and wild. Got it."
He chuckles. "I’m sure they'll also have your compassion. Your warmth."
"And your eyes, I hope. And those ears," I add, reaching up to trace the elegant point of his ear.
"Elven children are usually gifted their beds by their grandparents." His smile falters. “I will have to call my mother to see if she wishes to continue the tradition.”
The vulnerability in his voice when he mentions his mother, something he rarely does, makes my heart swell.
Lorian has been estranged from his family since his self-imposed exile, their loyalties divided between him and the High Court.
Perhaps this baby will be a bridge to healing those wounds, too.
The clock on the wall catches my eye. "We should get going or we'll both be late."
Lorian nods but makes no move to stand. "Everything is going to change," he says quietly.
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified," he admits. "And also absolutely happy."
I understand exactly what he means.
We prepare to leave for work, Lorian helping me with my jacket, his hands lingering on my shoulders. The morning sun fills the kitchen with golden light, catching on our wedding photo on the shelf and the Eternal Lily on the windowsill.
A year ago, I never could have imagined this life. Now, I can't imagine any other.
THE END
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