chapter 115: A soft place to land

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Chapter 115 – Arya's POV

"A Soft Place to Land"

The blanket Damon tucked around me was still warm. It smelled like him — faint cologne, clean cotton, and something comfortingly masculine. I should've been asleep by now, but my mind wouldn't stop racing.

I was full, tired, and completely loved… but wide awake.

Carefully, I sat up in bed, cradling my belly as I shifted. The baby gave a soft nudge against my ribs, as if to say, "You're not sleeping either?"

I smiled and rubbed the spot. "We're in this together, huh?"

Reaching over to the nightstand, I pulled out my little leather-bound journal. The pages were already filled with months of late-night thoughts, scattered sketches, craving logs, and emotional ramblings that I would never let anyone read.

Well—maybe one day, she could.

I flipped to a fresh page, the baby monitor for Liam softly humming on the dresser, and I started to write.

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Dear Little One,

You don't know this yet, but you've changed everything.

I didn't think I could do this again. After Liam, after everything… I had closed the door on this chapter of life. But then you happened. Tiny, unseen, and already taking up more space in my heart than I thought possible.

At first, I was terrified.

Terrified I'd mess you up.

Terrified I'd bring you into a world that was too messy, too complicated, too broken.

But then your daddy held me that night after the first ultrasound — and I swear, something shifted. Like I didn't have to be strong all the time. Like maybe this time, I wasn't doing it alone.

You see, your father… he's not perfect.

He's stubborn. He gets on my nerves. He sometimes buys five different types of snacks just because I cried once at the store.

But he stayed.

He didn't run when I pushed him away. He didn't flinch when I got moody, didn't complain when I woke him up at 3 a.m. needing watermelon and peanut butter.

He stayed through all of it.

And maybe that's what love looks like now.

Not fire and heartbreak and silence.

But consistency.

Soft hands. Warm words. A man who makes grocery runs in his pajamas and rubs your swollen feet without being asked.

I hope you find someone like that one day. Or better yet — I hope you become someone like that.

Because the world already has enough pain. Enough noise.

What it needs is more softness. More kindness. More of the quiet kind of love that doesn't beg to be seen, but leaves you feeling safe.

That's what your father gave me.

That's what I want to give you.

Love,

Mom

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I stared at the words for a long time, blinking away the tears blurring my vision.

I hadn't planned to be emotional tonight. But that's what pregnancy did to me — turned me into a sentimental mess who cried at diaper ads and hoarded baby socks like precious treasure.

A flutter rolled through my belly again, this time firmer, more insistent.

"I know, I know," I murmured, placing my hand over the swell. "I'm supposed to be resting."

She always kicked hardest when I stayed up late. It was like she already knew how to mother me back.

Just like Liam used to.

I thought of him sleeping peacefully in his room, curled up with the stuffed bear Ethan bought him last Christmas.

God, how far we'd come.

How far I'd come.

From that scared girl married to the wrong man… to this version of me. Bold enough to leave. Brave enough to start again. Strong enough to choose love — not the desperate kind, but the slow, healing one.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, soft and familiar.

Damon.

I quickly wiped my face and called out, "Come in."

He poked his head inside, eyebrows raised. "You're journaling again?"

"Couldn't sleep."

He came in with a smile, closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Just… thinking."

He looked at the journal in my lap but didn't ask questions. That's another thing I loved about him — he respected the things I held close.

"I wrote a letter to the baby," I said softly. "It just came out."

"Do I get to read it?"

"Maybe one day," I teased.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my belly. "You're writing to our little princess, huh?"

"She's not confirmed to be a princess yet," I argued playfully, "but she's definitely dramatic enough."

"She gets that from you."

"Liam was chill," I said. "He liked fruit and jazz music. This one? Cries over cereal and kicks when I don't eat fast enough."

Damon laughed and climbed in beside me, pulling me into his chest. "She's going to be something else."

"She already is."

We stayed like that — his arms around me, our daughter kicking between us, the silence filled with comfort and unspoken dreams.

Eventually, he fell asleep, but I stayed up a little longer.

One hand on my belly. One on the journal.

Smiling.

Because even with my swollen feet, my constant need to pee, and my body feeling like a bloated balloon — I'd never felt more at peace.

More loved.