Chapter 13 The First Heartbeat
SERAFINA
The walk back to my parents' house takes longer than the walk out. Rafael keeps to the upper track, skirting the flooded low ground, and I follow his lead without arguing. The rain has stopped, but water still drips from every branch, and the ground squelches under our shoes with each step.
Neither of us speaks. I'm grateful for the silence. My body feels loose and strange, still holding the warmth of the cabin even as the night air cools my damp clothes. I don't know what to say to him yet. I don't know what I want him to say to me.
Through the last row of trees, I can see the courtyard light my father promised to leave on. We follow its glow until the track opens onto the paving.
"This is far enough." I stop where the paving begins, turning to face Rafael in the darkness. "I can make it from here."
"I'll wait until I see you go inside." He stands with his hands in his pockets, his face half-lit by the distant glow from the house.
I take a step toward the light, then stop. Turn back.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate for everything that happened tonight. "For finding me."
"I'm glad you called back." He glances toward the dark trees behind us. "I could barely hear anything over that rain."
I don't have an answer for that. So I just turn and walk toward the house, toward the warm lights and my parents and all the complicated reality waiting for me inside.
At the door, I look back. He's still standing there, watching, making sure I get inside safely. I raise my hand in a small wave. He raises his in return.
Then I step inside. By the time my mother has put a towel around my shoulders, I hear Rafael's car start outside.
***
Sunday morning arrives gray and quiet, the sky still heavy with clouds from last night's storm. I lie in my childhood bed and watch the light change on the ceiling, thinking about everything I need to do today.
My mother brought me tea earlier, setting it on the nightstand without asking questions. She hasn't asked about the time I spent alone with Rafael. I don't know what she's guessed, and I'm grateful she hasn't made me explain.
The problem is, I don't know where to start.
I sit up and reach for the tea, wrapping my hands around the cup even though it's gone lukewarm. The nausea hasn't hit yet this morning, which feels like a small mercy. Maybe my body is giving me a break after everything else it put me through yesterday.
I need to tell Rafael about the baby.
The thought has been circling in my head since I woke up, unavoidable and terrifying.
Last night in the cabin, I almost said something.
When he was holding me, when everything felt soft and close and possible, I almost let it slip.
But I didn't want him to hear it like that, tangled up with the intimacy, as though the baby were a reason I'd reached for him instead of a separate truth I'd been carrying alone.
He deserves to hear it clearly. I want to tell him without an argument already underway, without having to fit the words between everything else we need to say.
I finish the tea and get out of bed, moving slowly, testing my stomach's mood. It seems stable for now. I pull on comfortable clothes and go downstairs, following the smell of bread toasting in the kitchen.
My mother is cutting bread at the counter. I take a slice and sit down, grateful that she leaves the butter within reach instead of asking how much I intend to eat.
"I'd like Rafael to come over this afternoon." I tear off a corner of the bread. "Will you tell Papa I'm expecting him? I want to speak to him in the garden."
"Of course." She puts the bread knife down. "Do you want us nearby?"
"In the house, if that's all right." I finish the bite before trying another. "I need to do this myself. I'll talk to you both afterward."
She brushes a few crumbs off the counter, then leaves the kitchen to find my father. I don't have to persuade her that inviting Rafael over is my decision. That small mercy makes the next part easier.
I find my phone and stare at Rafael's name in my contacts. My thumb hovers over the call button. What am I supposed to say? Come over, I need to tell you something? That sounds ominous. Come over, I have news? That sounds like I'm announcing a party.
In the end, I just type: Can you come to my parents' this afternoon? I need to talk to you about something important.
His reply comes within minutes: Of course. What time?
Two o'clock. The garden.
I'll be there.
I put down the phone and press my hands against my stomach. In a few hours, he'll know. Everything will change again.
At least this time, I'm the one doing the telling.
***
Rafael arrives at exactly two o'clock.
I watch him walk through the garden gate from my spot on the stone bench beneath the lemon tree, his stride careful, his expression uncertain. He's wearing a clean shirt, and his hair is combed, and he looks like he spent as much time preparing for this conversation as I did.
"Sera." He stops a few feet away, not presuming to sit beside me. "You said you needed to talk."
"Sit down." I gesture to the other end of the bench. "Please."
He sits, leaving space between us, his hands resting on his knees. The afternoon light falls through the lemon leaves, dappling his face with shifting shadows. He looks tired, but alert. Ready for whatever I'm about to say.
I've rehearsed this conversation a dozen times in my head. None of my scripts feel right now that he's actually here.
"I'm pregnant." I make myself keep looking at him. "I took a test on Tuesday, after you left. I've been trying to work out how to tell you."
Rafael goes very still. His hands tighten on his knees, but his face is hard to read, caught between expressions I can't identify.
"Tuesday." His fingers loosen on his knees, then tighten again. "After I saw you at the gate?"
"Yes." I watch his face, trying to understand what's happening behind his eyes. "I'd bought the test earlier that day. I hadn't taken it yet when we spoke."
"And you were alone." He looks toward the house, then back at me. "When you found out."
"I was." My thumb rubs a rough patch in the stone beneath me. "I needed a little time. I wanted to understand what I felt before I had to answer anyone else's questions."
"What does it mean?" He turns toward me on the bench, and I can see it now, the emotion breaking through his careful control. His eyes are bright, his jaw tight. "Sera, what does it mean to you?"
"It means I'm having a baby." I keep my voice steady. "Our baby. Whatever happens with us, whatever we decide about the marriage, I'm going to have this child."
"Whatever happens with us." He repeats it slowly, like he's tasting the words. "You're still not sure about us."
"No." I pull my cardigan tighter around myself. "I'm not. Last night didn't change that. Finding out I'm pregnant doesn't change that. I'm still hurt, and I'm still angry, and I still don't know if I can trust you."
"You don't have to decide about us today." He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "I don't want you thinking I'll ask you to come home because of this."
"Good." I meet his eyes, relieved that I don't have to argue that point before we can talk about the baby. "I want you involved. I need us to be able to do that while we work out the rest."
Rafael is quiet for a long moment. He looks down at his hands, opens them, then looks back at me. I wait, letting him have a moment to take it in.
Then he lets out a startled laugh, almost disbelieving, and wipes at one eye. The joy in it catches me off guard.
"We're having a baby." He says it like he's testing whether it's real. "Sera, we're having a baby."
"Yes." I feel something loosen in my chest at his reaction. I didn't know what I was expecting, but this warmth wasn't quite it. "We are."
"I don't know what to say." He runs his hands through his hair, disrupting the careful combing he must have done before coming here. "I want to say a hundred things and none of them feel big enough."
"You don't have to say anything big." I pull my knees up on the bench, wrapping my arms around them. "I just needed you to know."
"I know you said last night doesn't change anything." He turns to face me fully, his eyes searching my face. "And I understand that. I do. But can I just... can I tell you something?"
I nod, wary.
"I'm terrified." His voice cracks slightly on the word.
"I'm absolutely terrified, and I'm happier than I've been in months.
I know that doesn't make sense. I know we're in the middle of something awful and I've hurt you and you're not sure if you can forgive me.
But I'm going to be a father, and you're going to be a mother, and I want so badly to do this right. "
I don't know what to say. I expected defensiveness, or questions about why I waited to tell him, or some kind of claim on me because of the baby. This raw, honest joy is disarming.
"I need to make an appointment." I smooth a crease in my cardigan, thinking ahead to the call I need to make. "I'll call the clinic tomorrow. I've only done the home test so far."
"Can I come?" He asks it carefully, like he knows he might be overstepping. "I'd like to be there. If you want me to be."
I think about it. Part of me wants to say no, to keep this separate, to maintain the boundaries I've been building since I left. But another part of me, the part that reached for him last night in the cabin, wants him there.
"I'll let you know when it's scheduled." I don't say yes, but I don't say no either. "We can talk about it then."
"Okay." He nods, accepting my non-answer. "Whatever you're comfortable with."
We sit in silence for a moment, the afternoon light shifting around us. A bird calls somewhere in the lemon tree above us, and the sound is so ordinary, so peaceful, that I almost forget how strange this conversation is.
"I should go." Rafael stands, but he doesn't move away from the bench. "Unless there's something else you want to talk about."