Epilogue
SELENA
Three Months Later…
Three months after the hospital, we’re already married.
Soren bought us a big house on the quiet edge of the city. Wide rooms, tall windows, a long driveway that keeps the world out. He still runs his company, still makes the big decisions, but we keep our life private. No noise. Just us.
Morning light fills the master bedroom. I stand in front of the mirror and slowly lift my soft shirt.
There it is.
A real curve. Round. Firm. Our baby.
I hear Soren’s footsteps behind me. He stops the second he sees what I’m looking at.
I turn and smile. “Look, Hon. She’s getting big already. And heavier day by day.”
He’s across the room in three steps. Then, he’s on his knees right in front of me, both hands cradling the soft swell like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held. He presses his mouth to my skin. Slow, careful kisses all over the rounded belly. One after another.
“Mine,” he says, voice certain. “Both of you. Mine.”
Warmth spreads through me. My breasts feel heavier than usual. Milk still comes easy. The old imbalance never left, and the pregnancy only made them fuller.
His hands slide up under my shirt. He cups the weight of them, thumbs brushing the already damp tips.
“You’re so beautiful,” I hear him murmur. “And still so full for me. I can't wait to take care of these again.”
I run my fingers through his hair. “You’re going to spoil me.”
He looks up. Those same two-toned eyes that once made me hide now hold nothing but love. “That’s the plan.”
I laugh softly. “You say that now. Wait until I’m huge and cranky and leaking all over the sheets every night.”
“I’ll still want you,” he says without hesitation before standing up. “I’ll want you when you’re leaking. I’ll want you when you’re swollen. I’ll want you when you’re too tired to do anything but let me hold you.”
He lifts me carefully into his arms and starts carrying me back toward the bed.
“I’m gonna take my time with every inch of you, my glowing, milky wife,” he says into my ear. “And when this one’s already here…”
He leans in and whispers, “I’m gonna fill you again.”
I tap his chest. “Hey. One at a time, mister. I’m thinking of finishing my college degree first. Don’t go planning the next baby already.”
He slows his steps a little, looking down at me. “Why? You don’t need to. I’ve got you. You never have to work a day if you don’t want to.”
I rest my forehead against his. “I know. And I’m grateful. But I still want to finish it. I want something that’s mine. Something I earned. Something I can feel proud of. And… I know for sure, Dad would want this for me too.”
Soren is quiet for a second, then nods once. He doesn’t argue. He just kisses the side of my neck, soft and sweet.
“Then I’ll just milk you for now.”
I laugh again, soft against his shoulder, as he carries me through the doorway. The door closes behind us. Everything else fades to soft light and the sound of his voice saying my name like a vow.
Later, he empties both sides and leaves me soft and boneless in the sheets.
We nap through the afternoon. When I wake, the bed is empty. Pregnancy hormones make me clingier than usual. I open the door and call his name.
“Soren? Where are you?”
“Downstairs. Kitchen,” he answers after a beat.
I go carefully down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other supporting the heavy curve of my belly.
The kitchen smells like coffee. Soren is already at the island in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, laptop open, scrolling through reports while the espresso machine finishes.
“You should’ve told me you're going down.”
“No, it’s fine. We’re fine.”
I slide onto the stool across from him in one of his shirts and nothing else. The fabric is soft and still smells like him.
He glances up, eyes dropping automatically to the way the shirt clings to my chest.
“You’re staring,” I say, smiling around the rim of my mug. “Focus on your work.”
“You’re leaking through my shirt.” His voice is calm, but the heat behind it is familiar. “It’s distracting.”
I look down. Two small dark circles are already spreading. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He closes the laptop and pushes it aside. “Come here.”
I walk around the island. He pulls me between his knees and rests both hands on my waist, thumbs stroking the curve of my stomach.
“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly. “Really.”
“Good. Tired sometimes. Hungry all the time. And these—” I glance down at my chest “—are getting ridiculous.”
He hums in agreement, then asks the question he’s been careful with for weeks.
“Have you heard from them?”
I shake my head. “Nope, nothing.”
Soren’s jaw tightens for a second, then relaxes. He presses a kiss to the top of my stomach.
“They’ll come around or they won’t,” he says. “Either way, we’re okay.”
I thread my fingers through his hair. “I know. I just… I still wish they could be happy for us.”
“I know, baby.” He looks up at me. “But I’m happy enough for all of them. And so is she.” He nods at my belly. “That’s enough.”
I believe him.
“By the way,” I say, “I have a follow-up appointment with my OB this afternoon.”
“I’ll come with you. I’ll drive.”
Later that afternoon, Soren drives me to the clinic. He waits in the lobby while the doctor examines me and goes over the latest bloodwork.
My OB-gyne sits down across from me, her expression is calm but serious.
“Your prolactin levels are still very high,” she says. “That’s what’s driving the continued milk production. We also found a very small growth on your pituitary gland — a benign pituitary adenoma, specifically a prolactinoma. It’s noncancerous and extremely tiny, so it’s not dangerous right now.”
I sit up a little straighter. “A tumor? Is it… serious?”
“It’s benign,” she reassures me. “Noncancerous. At this size it’s very manageable. In most cases we treat prolactinomas with medication that both lowers the hormone levels and can shrink the tumor over time. But since you’re pregnant, we can’t start any of those treatments yet.”
I swallow. “Will it get bigger while I’m pregnant?”
“It’s possible for it to grow a little because of the natural rise in hormones during pregnancy, but we’ll monitor you closely.
At its current size the risk is very low.
The good news is that the condition itself isn’t harmful to you or the baby right now.
But expect double milk production, especially once you’re breastfeeding. ”
“And after I give birth?” I ask. “Will the milk just… stop?”
She shakes her head gently. “The less good news is that it probably won’t resolve on its own after the pregnancy.
Once the baby is born and you’re no longer breastfeeding, we can reassess and start medication if the levels are still elevated.
For now… this is just something you’ll have to live with. ”
I nod slowly, absorbing it. Part of me had still been hoping it would fade once the hormones of pregnancy settled.
“Is there anything I can do in the meantime?” I ask quietly. “Besides just… dealing with it?”
“Keep your appointments, report any sudden headaches or vision changes immediately, and continue relieving the pressure regularly so you don’t risk clogged ducts or infection. That’s the most important thing for now.”
I thank her and stand. When I walk back out to the waiting area, Soren is already on his feet, reading my face the second he sees me.
In the car I tell him everything.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on my thigh.
“So it might not go away,” he says.
“Yeah.”
He glances at me, eyes dark with something that isn’t worry.
“Good. As long as you’re still safe and healthy.”
I blink. “Good?”
“Means I get to keep taking care of it.” His voice drops into that low, certain tone that still makes my stomach flip. “No medication. No pump. Just me. Every time those tits get full, I’ll be the one who empties them. For as long as it lasts.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m practical,” he corrects, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And very motivated.”
That night, after the house is quiet and I’m already in bed, he comes in and finds the door unlocked again.
He pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame, looking at me with that same faint amusement.
“You still leave it open,” he says.
I glance up from my book. “Habit.”
He steps inside, closes it deliberately behind him, and walks over to the bed.
“Or maybe,” he murmurs, leaning down so his mouth is close to my ear, “you’re still hoping I’ll walk in on you the way I did the first time.”
I feel my face heat. “That’s not?—”
“It is.” He kisses the side of my neck, slow and knowing. “You’ve been leaving doors unlocked for me since the beginning. I’m just the only one who ever took the invitation.”
“I don’t have a good answer for that.”
He pulls the covers back, climbs in behind me, and slides one hand under my sleep shirt to cup a heavy breast.
“Doctor’s orders,” he says against my hair, voice warm with quiet satisfaction. “I’m in charge of these now. Permanently.”
I lean back into him and let him start.