Chapter 53 – “The Shape of Tomorrow”

Eliza didn't cry when the second line appeared.

She didn't cry when Will kissed her or when he whispered I love you against her temple. She didn't cry that night when they lay in bed, his arms wrapped around her, his hand absently resting over the soft, flat plane of her abdomen.

But she cried the next morning.

Over burnt toast.

Will had tried. Really tried. She walked into the kitchen to find him standing over a blackened slice of sourdough, looking defeated and hilariously domestic in one of her aprons.

He turned, sheepish. "Surprise breakfast?"

She laughed — until she didn't. Until it cracked somewhere behind her ribs and the tears came without warning.

He was by her side instantly. No questions. No confusion. Just steady hands, and that quiet understanding that had always made her fall in love with him a little more.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his chest. "It's stupid."

"It's not," he said. "Your world just shifted on its axis. Toast is as good a trigger as any."

She smiled through the tears. "I don't know how to be a mother."

He leaned back, cupped her face gently. "You didn't know how to love me at first either."

She blinked.

"And look how that turned out," he added with a soft grin.

"Terrifyingly well."

"Exactly."

They didn't tell anyone right away.

Eliza wanted the silence. The sacred, unshared part. Before the world asked questions, gave advice, imposed expectations.

They painted the second bedroom a soft, warm white. Neutral. Peaceful.

They began buying books — on parenting, on psychology, on ridiculous baby names. Will vetoed Zenith. Eliza banned River.

Sometimes she would pause mid-email, hand ghosting over her belly, and forget what she was typing.

Sometimes Will would wake in the middle of the night, rest his ear against her stomach, and whisper stories to someone still the size of a fig.

One evening, three months in, she stood in the mirror and saw it.

Just a slight curve. Barely there.

She ran her fingers over it like a secret.

Then turned to Will, who had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips.

He froze, then smiled — slow and reverent.

"You're showing."

She nodded.

He crossed to her, dropped the towel, and knelt in front of her, bare and completely vulnerable.

Not with lust.

With awe.

He kissed the place just beneath her navel.

"Hi, little one," he whispered.

Eliza's breath caught.

And in that moment, her heart — the one she'd spent years hiding behind ice — cracked open wider than it ever had before.

Because love wasn't just between them anymore.

It was growing inside her.