Amelia
The sound of giggling pulled me from sleep.
I kept my eyes closed, smiling as I listened to Brook and Noah in the bathroom down the hall, bickering over whose turn it was to use the sink.
“You always take forever brushing your teeth!”
“Do not! You’re just impatient!”
More giggling. The sound of running water. The familiar chaos of a school morning.
From downstairs, the smell of something delicious wafted up—cinnamon, butter, maybe pancakes?
“Kids! Breakfast is ready!” Mark’s voice called from the kitchen. “Come eat so you’re not late for school!”
Thunder of footsteps on the stairs. Then, predictably, they detoured into my bedroom.
“Mommy!” Noah launched himself onto the bed, nearly knocking the wind out of me. “Dad’s making chocolate chip pancakes!”
Brook was more careful, settling beside me and kissing my cheek. “You were out late last night. How was the party?”
I pulled them both close, breathing in their shampoo-scented hair. “It was good, sweetheart. Lots of important people talking about important things.”
“Did you wear the sparkly dress?” Noah asked.
“I did.”
“I bet you looked like a princess,” he said matter-of-factly.
The party had been for the launch of my new campaign with a major fashion house—my third big contract since the Femme Fatale ads had made me, as my agent liked to say, “the face of real women everywhere.”
I was selective now about which jobs I took. I didn’t want modeling to consume my life. But the opportunities that came my way were extraordinary, and I’d learned to embrace this unexpected chapter.
“Come on,” I said, kissing both their foreheads. “Let’s go get those pancakes before Dad eats them all.”
Downstairs, Mark stood at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing the “World’s Best Dad” apron Noah had got him for Father’s Day. He turned as we entered, and his whole face lit up.
“There’s my beautiful wife.”
He set down the spatula and crossed to me, pulling me into a kiss that made Brook groan.
“Gross, Dad!”
“So gross,” Noah agreed, already climbing onto his chair.
Mark’s hand slid down and pinched my ass—just like he used to.
“Still gross!” Brook called out.
We laughed, and Mark kissed me again before returning to the stove.
I sat at the table in our new kitchen—spacious, bright, nothing like the cramped apartment in Paris or even our old house. This was the mansion Mark had insisted on buying when we’d returned from France. “You deserve space,” he’d said. “Space for your studio, for the kids, for us.”
The kids devoured their pancakes with the single-minded focus only children possess, then grabbed their backpacks.
“Love you, Mom!” Brook hugged me tight.
“Love you too, baby.”
“Love you, Mommy! Love you, Dad!” Noah was already halfway out the door.
“Love you both! Have a great day!” Mark called after them.
The door slammed. Sudden, blessed quiet.
Mark turned to me with that look in his eyes—the one that still made my stomach flip after all these years.
He crossed the kitchen, pulled me up from my chair, and lifted me onto the counter.
“Now, where were we?” he murmured, his lips finding mine.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him back, running my fingers through his hair. We made out like teenagers, all hands and heat and breathless laughter.
Then I glanced at the clock and pushed him back gently. “Don’t you have work?”
Mark grinned. “My office is in the other room. I have exactly three steps to commute.”
Mark had taken a position that allowed him to work from home, to be present for the kids, to give me the freedom to pursue my career without guilt.
He’d kept every promise.
I pulled him close for another kiss, softer this time. When we broke apart, I looked into his eyes.
“Do you know what today is?”
Mark thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Six months. The contract.”
“Six months,” I confirmed.
His expression turned anxious. “How did I do?”
I cupped his face in my hands. “Better than I could have imagined, Mark. So much better.”
The relief that flooded his features was almost painful to watch. “So... what does that mean? For us?”
I took a breath. “Actually, I’ve been waiting for today to tell you something.”
Mark went very still.
I reached into the pocket of my sweatpants and pulled out the pregnancy test I’d taken three days ago.
I held it up.
Mark stared at it, not comprehending. Then his eyes went huge.
“You’re—are you—is that—”
“I’m pregnant,” I said, unable to stop smiling. “I know. I was surprised too. I didn’t think I could get pregnant again at my age, but apparently—”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence.
Mark was kissing me—my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my neck, everywhere he could reach. He was laughing and crying at the same time, joy radiating from every inch of him.
“We’re having another baby,” he kept saying. “We’re having another baby.”
“We’re having another baby,” I confirmed.
He gathered me into his arms, holding me so tight I could barely breathe. And I held him back, this man who’d broken me and then spent six months proving he could be trusted with the pieces.
I looked around our kitchen—at the morning light streaming through the windows, at the photos of our family on the walls, at the life we’d rebuilt together.
Mark. My children. And now, this new life growing inside me—proof of our love, our commitment, our second chance.
What else could I possibly ask for?
“I love you,” Mark whispered against my hair. “I love you so much, Amelia.”
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
And this time, I meant it without reservation. Without fear. Without the shadow of betrayal hanging over us.
We’d been to Paris and back. We’d been broken and mended. We’d learned the hard way what it meant to truly value what you have.
Now we were home.
And home had never felt more perfect.
THANK YOU FOR READING!