Chapter 43
forty-three
AIDAN
Lucy’s been in our room all morning, just trying to get some rest. The doctor told us she should hopefully only have a few more weeks of this before it gets better, but there are no signs of it letting up any time soon.
Then I hear it—a thin, cracked sob that slices straight through the quiet house and lodges under my ribs. My heart lurches. I’m moving before I even register it, sprinting down the hall.
I skid into the bathroom, and there Lucy is on the floor, crying. Not the silent tears she sometimes sheds when she’s overwhelmed, but deep, wracking sobs that shake her whole body.
I’m at her side in an instant, kneeling down next to her, the cold tile biting through my jeans as I sink to the floor. My hands hover in the air, unsure where to touch her first. She’s trembling, her chest heaving with every wail, and each one might as well be a knife in my gut.
“Lucy…” My words catch in my throat like gravel. She just looks so small, so fragile in this moment, and I’m completely fucking helpless.
I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close, make the tears stop, but I’m not sure if she wants that or if she’s even able to let me right now.
“Hey…” I try again, my hand finally finding the small of her back, hesitant at first, but then I press a little harder, a silent apology for not noticing sooner. “I’m here, okay? I’ve got you.”
Her crying doesn’t stop, but at least her breathing steadies, just slightly. It’s something.
“I’m…sorry,” she says, her voice cracking. Her hands swipe at her face, but the tears keep coming. “It’s not even that bad. I’m just tired. And these hormones suck. And I’m hungry, but if I eat, I’ll throw up. Did I mention I’m so tired?”
I shift closer, sitting back on my heels.
“You did mention it,” I say softly, trying to catch her eye, even as she ducks her head.
“You’re allowed to be exhausted, baby. You’re allowed to hate every second of this if you want to.
None of this is easy, and it’s not fair, and I know it feels like shit right now. ”
Her shoulders shake, another sob ripping through her as she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. Then suddenly, she freezes, dropping her hands, her eyes wide with panic. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. Did I wake Isla up from her nap?”
I blink, thrown by the shift. She’s sitting on the bathroom floor, depleted and weeping her heart out, and she’s worried about Isla? Typical Lucy.
“No,” I say, my voice low and steady as I shake my head. “She’s still out cold. Don’t worry about Isla. Worry about you for a second, okay?”
Her lip wobbles again, but she bites it hard, trying to hold it together. “I just don’t want to make things harder for her. I—”
“Lucy.” I cut her off gently, reaching out to brush a tear off her cheek with my thumb. “Isla’s fine. Don’t worry about waking the house up. Isla’s not the one on the bathroom floor right now.”
Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her as she leans back against the cabinet. “We’re going to have to tell her soon,” she whispers. “She’s already asked why I’m in bed all the time, and I feel terrible.”
“Soon,” I murmur, rubbing slow circles on her back.
Isla’s smart—too smart sometimes. She’s picked up on Lucy’s exhaustion, the missed dinners, and the quiet days where she can hardly get off the couch.
Telling Isla feels like stepping off a cliff, though.
We’re waiting until after the next appointment, just to be sure everything’s okay.
But we’re keeping this massive secret from her, and she’s too perceptive.
There’s still the question of how she’ll take it. Will she be excited? Confused? Nervous? Probably all of it rolled into one—it’s Isla, after all. Just imagining her as a big sister hits me deep. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see it.
She’s got this soft, inquisitive heart that makes you believe the world isn’t entirely cruel, even when it’s thrown a few hard punches your way.
I can already see her helping Lucy with the baby.
Pulling books off her shelf to read her favorite bedtime stories.
Standing in the yard, hands on her hips, absolutely certain she’s the only one qualified to teach her little brother or sister how to ride a bike. She’ll be so perfect at it.
But for now, we wait. Just a little longer.
Lucy leans against me, her breathing finally starting to even out. I’m about to suggest we get her back to bed when she stiffens.
“Oh god,” she whispers, her hand flying to her mouth. “Emily’s coming for dinner tonight.”
Fuck. I’d completely forgotten. With everything that’s been going on, it had slipped my mind entirely.
“Shit,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Are you up for that? We can reschedule.”
Please tell me to reschedule. Tell me I can tell her to fuck straight off.
Lucy shakes her head, though. “No, we can’t keep putting it off. Isla needs to see that we can all be in the same room together.”
Damn it. She’s right, but the thought of Emily sitting at our dinner table has me grinding my teeth. Especially with Lucy feeling like this.
“We’ll make it work,” I say, though I’m already thinking of ways to make this as easy as possible. “I’ll handle the dinner. You just rest.”
She looks up at me, her eyes still red-rimmed but grateful. “I love you for that, but I can’t just hide upstairs while Emily’s here. That’ll look terrible.”
“Then we’ll keep it simple and quick.” I help her to her feet, steadying her when she sways slightly. “And if you need to step away at any point, you do it. No questions asked.”
She nods, leaning into me as we make our way back to the bedroom. I settle her under the covers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Try to get some more sleep. I’ll wake you in a couple hours.”
As she closes her eyes, I notice the tight line of her shoulders. Tonight is going to test every one of us, and I’m not sure any of us are really ready.
The day slips by too fast. Lucy manages to get a bit of toast and tea down, which is a victory in and of itself. Though, she did shoot me a dirty look when I praised her for it.
By the time Emily knocks, the house smells like roasted chicken and lemon, and Lucy’s dressed in one of my softest flannels, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, her face scrubbed clean. She looks like herself but worn thin. Still, she insists on doing this.
I open the door to find Emily standing on the porch in a belted navy dress and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hi,” she says, her eyes darting past me, scanning the house behind my shoulder.
“Hey.” I step aside, and she moves past me just as Lucy appears at my side.
“Emily,” she says, voice calm. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course, thanks for having me,” Emily replies, taking her in.
Before anyone can say another word, Isla comes barreling into the room, full of energy.
“Why don’t we go sit down?” Lucy suggests, gesturing toward the dining table.
Emily follows Isla, and Lucy watches them go with a tight jaw. I touch her back, just gently.
“We’ve got this,” I say under my breath.
She nods once.
Dinner is fine for the first few minutes. Emily even makes a few decent attempts at small talk, but then the atmosphere shifts.
“You look tired, Lucy,” Emily says casually. “Everything okay?”
Lucy doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Daddy’s been taking extra good care of Lucy,” Isla pipes up, completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. “He makes her special tea.”
My gut churns as I watch Emily’s expression shift, her eyes sharpening with interest.
“Special tea?” she asks, her voice light but probing. “That’s very thoughtful, Aidan.”
Lucy’s hand finds my thigh under the table. The anxiety is practically radiating from her, and I want nothing more than to end this conversation before it goes any further.
“Lucy’s been working too hard,” I say evenly, cutting off whatever Emily’s fishing for.
“Ah. I see,” Emily murmurs, but her gaze doesn’t leave Lucy’s face. “Playing house takes a toll, I’m sure.”
The barb lands exactly where Emily intends. Lucy goes rigid beside me and my temper flares, but before I can respond, Lucy sets down her fork with deliberate care.
“I think it’s admirable, really,” Emily continues. “That Lucy’s stepped into these responsibilities so eagerly.”
Isla looks up with wide, earnest eyes, her fork paused halfway to her mouth. “What ‘sponsibilities?”
I swear to god, if she doesn’t back off—
Lucy straightens beside me, totally composed. Her hand finds Isla’s under the table—I can see the slight movement—and squeezes.
And just like that, Emily loses her power. Lucy isn’t some delicate thing you get to handle with polite cruelty. She’s a woman who holds her ground and the hands of the people she loves.
“Adult things, sweetheart,” Lucy says quickly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Isla doesn’t let it go. Her brows pinch as she turns her big, curious eyes on Lucy. “Like taking care of me?”
The room stills.
Emily blinks, clearly not expecting that. What did she think? That she could throw these kinds of accusations in front of a child and it would go unnoticed? Isla’s too clever for that.
Lucy hesitates, just for a second. Then she nods, tucking a strand of Isla’s hair behind her ear. “Aye. A bit like that.”
Isla tilts her head, considering this with all the seriousness a five-year-old can muster. “I like when you take care of me,” she finally says. “You make better pancakes than Daddy, and you always know which bandage to use when I get all scraped up, which happens a lot.”
That’s my girl. This is what Emily doesn’t understand—love isn’t about blood or obligation. It’s about showing up, day after day, in all the small ways that matter.
Emily’s fork clatters against her plate. “Well,” she says, her voice strained, “that’s very sweet, Isla. But Lucy isn’t—”
Oh hell no.
“Lucy isn’t what?” The words come out rough, cutting through whatever poison Emily was about to spill.
Emily’s eyes flash, her mask slipping for just a moment. “She’s not Isla’s mother, Aidan. I am.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Isla’s gaze darts between the adults as she tries to make sense of what’s happening.
“Emily,” I warn. “Enough.”
It doesn’t matter what I say, because the damage is already done. Isla’s lower lip trembles, and I watch her small, happy world tilt on its axis. She looks at Lucy with wounded eyes.
“But Lucy takes care of me,” Isla whispers. “She reads to me and makes my lunch and—”
“And she always will,” I say firmly.
Fucking hell, this couldn’t be worse. I shouldn’t be speaking for Lucy like that. What in the hell does Emily think she’s doing?
Emily clears her throat. “Aidan, we need to be honest with her about—”
“About what?” I cut her off again.
Before she can respond, Lucy turns to Isla. “Sweetheart, Emily is your mother. That’s true. That doesn’t change how I feel about you, or how much I love being part of your life and doing all those fun things with you.”
“So, you’re both my mums?” Isla asks, her child’s logic trying to make sense of this adult complexity.
“It’s complicated, love,” I say gently before turning my gaze back to Emily. “What matters is that you’re loved by all of us.”
Emily’s expression softens slightly at that, but there’s still something scheming behind her eyes that I don’t trust. Changed woman, my ass.
“Can I have two mums then?” Isla asks, looking between Lucy and Emily with the kind of innocent hope that only breaks your heart.
The silence stretches. Emily doesn’t answer. I don’t either, because this isn’t a discussion that should be happening right now.
Lucy doesn’t hesitate. “I’m someone who loves you very, very much. I always will,” she says, brushing Isla’s hair back. “That’s the part that counts most.”
That’s the moment I fall in love with her all over again. Right here, between roasted chicken and tension so thick I could carve it with a steak knife.
She’s perfect. Honest without being complicated, loving without overstepping. This is why I fell for her. This is why Isla adores her.
Emily’s lips press into a thin line. “I think it’s important that Isla understands the difference between—”
“Emily,” I interrupt, my patience finally snapping. “This is a conversation that does not belong at this table.”
She blinks, taken aback.
I lean forward slightly, just enough to make my point.
“You wanted to be here. So be here. But don’t try to make this something it’s not.
Lucy’s not playing house. She’s loving our daughter and doing it well.
And let me make this clear in case I didn’t before—these conversations do not happen in front of children. ”
There’s a long pause. Emily picks up her wine again and takes a sip but says nothing else.
Isla’s already gone back to picking peas off her plate—thank god.
Lucy meets my eyes. She mouths a silent thank you, and I give her the truth back.
I love you.