Chapter 30
thirty
LUCY
Three months have slipped by since that night at my place, and in that time, we’ve established a new dynamic. Things are different now, but better.
Aidan’s opened up to me in ways I never expected.
It’s not always with words, but it’s in the way he looks at me.
The moments when he lets his guard slip, just a little, and I catch a glimpse of the man underneath all that rough exterior.
Like when I make him laugh that deep, husky sound, or when I see that spark in his eyes that only shows up when he’s around people he trusts.
Or the way he showed up a few weeks ago when I was horribly sick, antibiotics hardly keeping me upright.
He and Isla came over multiple times, checking in, making sure I was okay until I finally started to feel human again.
And Isla. She’s become my sunshine. I never thought I’d feel this connected to someone else’s child, but she makes me feel like I matter to her.
Like I’m someone she needs. It’s in the little things, like the way she reaches for my hand when we’re walking, how her giggle bubbles up over something silly I say, or that shy little smile she gives me after I tell her how amazing her drawing is.
Every time she does something like that, it’s like my heart grows a little, stretching just enough to make room for her.
I’m just so…happy. I love the way Aidan holds me, even when he acts like it’s no big deal.
Like it’s just a casual thing, but I can feel the weight of his arms around me, the quiet strength in the way he pulls me close, as if he’s saying everything without saying anything at all.
I love the way he is with Isla and how he makes sure she’s always taken care of.
It’s not casual anymore, which is why the guilt has started to creep up in the quieter moments.
It’s the unspoken thing I keep tucking behind smiles and late-night kisses and stories read aloud from Isla’s favorite picture books.
I haven’t told him I may not be able to have kids, because saying it makes it real again.
And saying it might make him rethink all of this.
Maybe he’ll say it doesn’t matter, and maybe he’ll mean it. There’s also the alternative that he won’t. It’s the unknowns that silence me.
Aidan is so good at being a dad. I know for a fact he’d be amazing again, if he ever wanted to. I can picture him kneeling beside a crib, brushing hair out of the way for some tiny version of him, kissing foreheads and rubbing backs until the crying stops. He was made for that kind of love.
I might not ever be able to give him that.
So I pretend like it’s still new and we’re still figuring things out. But every time I pack an overnight bag or fold one of Isla’s shirts because it slipped into my laundry, I feel us creeping closer to the moment when I can’t not say it anymore.
Tonight might be the night, because he’s looking at me like he sees everything. If I don’t tell him soon, I’ll be lying every time I let him touch me and allow him to think I’m all in.
I help Aidan tuck Isla in, watching as he pulls the covers up to her chin and presses a kiss to her forehead.
She’s already drifting off, eyelids heavy from the busy day we spent at the park.
Her stuffed bunny is close to her, and her breathing has slowed to that peaceful rhythm that comes right before sleep.
“Goodnight, sweet girl,” I whisper, smoothing a hand over her wild curls.
“Night, Lucy,” she mumbles.
Aidan and I slip out of her room, leaving the door cracked just enough to let a sliver of hallway light spill in. He takes my hand as we head downstairs, his thumb tracing absent patterns against my skin. It’s these little touches that undo me, the casual intimacy that’s become our normal.
In the living room, he pulls me down beside him on the couch, his arm sliding around my shoulders. I curl into his side, breathing in his familiar scent—sea salt and something that’s uniquely Aidan.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs.
I nod, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can feel it.
“I need to tell you something, if that’s okay?” I finally ask, pulling away slightly so I can see his face.
His brows knit together, concern immediately darkening his eyes. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, my hands suddenly trembling. I clasp them together in my lap to still them.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I wasn’t sure how.” My voice sounds fragile to my own ears. “I had some health issues a while ago.”
His expression softens, his whole posture easing, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“The doctors explained that I have endometriosis, and it can affect fertility,” I continue, my throat tightening. “Not always, and not in the same way for everyone. They told me that getting pregnant might be more complicated for me. Not necessarily impossible, just…uncertain.”
My fingers curl against each other, a faint tremor running through them. “They couldn’t give me a clear percentage or guarantee either way. It’s more…a middle ground. A lot of unknowns, which has been really upsetting for me. I’ve always wanted to be a mother more than anything.”
I force myself to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of disappointment or regret. He’s quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. My stomach drops, anxiety clawing its way up my throat.
“I know this changes things,” I continue, looking back down to my lap. “And I understand if you need to think about what this means for us. You’re already an amazing father, and I wouldn’t want to take away your chance to have more children if that’s something you want.”
His brows furrow deeper, and he reaches for my hands, stilling their nervous movement.
“Lucy,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Look at me.”
I lift my gaze to his, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over.
“Is that what you’ve been worried about? That I’d walk away because of this?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “It’s why my last relationship ended. And the way you are with Isla… It’s one of the things I…” I catch myself before saying love about you.
“It’s so incredibly special,” I continue. “I wouldn’t want to take away the possibility of you having that again.”
His expression shifts, something between disbelief and tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“Baby,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I already have a daughter. A perfect, beautiful little girl who means everything to me. I’m not with you because I’m looking for someone to give me more children.”
“But you might want that someday,” I whisper. “And I might not be able to give that to you.”
“Might not,” he emphasizes. “Not can’t. Even if it was can’t…” He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m here for you. Not for what your body can or can’t do.”
His words wrap around my heart, squeezing until I can barely breathe.
I’ve been carrying this fear for so long it’s fused to my bones, stitched into every hopeful glance I let myself steal when he’s not looking.
I’ve been bracing for disappointment, for the moment his sympathy turns into pity, or worse, distance.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lucy.”
I sob.
Not a quiet, graceful tear slipping down my cheek, but a whole-body kind of cry. It tears out of me like a dam breaking open.
It’s everything I’ve been holding in—all the fears and doubts and moments of grief when I’d allowed myself to imagine what might never be.
It’s the memory of sitting in that sterile doctor’s office alone, the weight of possibilities shrinking with each clinical word.
It’s every time I watched a mother with her child and felt that hollow ache.
I’m crying because he didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pull away or try to let me down easy. I’ve spent so long preparing for rejection that I never prepared for acceptance.
“I’m sorry,” I hiccup through my tears, embarrassed by how completely I’ve fallen apart. “I just—I thought you’d—”
“That I’d what?” Aidan asks, his voice impossibly gentle. “Leave?”
I nod against him, unable to form words. The thump of his heart grounds me as his fingers thread through my hair.
“I’m not him, love,” he says simply. “And it sounds like he was a fucking idiot.”
His bluntness startles a laugh out of me. “You’re not disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” He looks genuinely confused. “Lucy, if anything, I’m disappointed in myself for ever making you feel like you couldn’t tell me sooner.”
Who says that? Who thinks like that? How can he sit here looking at me like I’ve handed him something precious, not something broken?
“It was never you, Aidan. I just…needed to work through it on my end, I guess.”
I feel like I can finally breathe. The weight that’s been pressing down on me lifts so suddenly I’m dizzy with relief.
I want to look into those steady eyes of his and spill the entire truth I’m holding in, but I don’t. Not because I’m afraid he won’t say it back, but because whatever this is between us already feels real enough to hold me together. This is the kind of love that doesn’t need declarations to exist.
He doesn’t need the words yet. He’s been showing me their shape all along.
So I stay tucked against him, my tears soaking into his shirt, letting my heartbeat speak its own language. When his hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck and his lips brush the top of my head, I know he hears me. He already knows.
I’m in love with him.