After everything that had happened, I felt like I could finally breathe again. The nightmare with Matilda was over, and while a sense of unease still lingered, I tried to focus on what truly mattered—my baby's arrival.
Dante had been more present than ever, constantly checking in on me, making sure I was comfortable and had everything I needed. It was endearing, even if I could tell he was overcompensating for the danger I had faced. I didn't blame him, though. His concern was genuine, and I couldn't help but feel grateful for it.
The morning of my check-up, I was greeted by the soft light streaming through the curtains. I stretched carefully, mindful of my growing belly, and couldn't help but smile when I walked into the kitchen and saw Dante. He was flipping pancakes with a practiced ease, humming softly to himself.
"Are you planning to make breakfast or open a restaurant?" I teased, walking in.
He turned around, spatula in hand, and gave me a playful smirk. "Just making sure you're well-fed before your appointment."
I glanced at the perfectly golden-brown pancakes stacked on the plate and bit back a smile. "They look amazing."
He set the spatula down and walked over to me, brushing a stray hair from my face. "You've got that glow today."
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the 'I just survived a psychopath trying to kill me' glow?"
He chuckled, but I could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. "I'm just glad you're okay."
I squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Me too."
Dante insisted on going to the private hospital even after the esteemed care I received at the government hospital. Even my mom working there didn't give him the assurance that I was in good hands.
At the hospital, the doctor greeted us warmly. He had been monitoring my pregnancy closely since the accident, making sure everything was on track. I was grateful for his calm presence. As he conducted the ultrasound, I couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions seeing my baby on the screen again.
"Everything looks good," the doctor said, his tone encouraging. "The baby's development is right on schedule. We'll just need to do some routine blood tests to make sure everything's fine."
I breathed a sigh of relief, but my mind was still spinning with worries. "And... the delivery?"
He glanced between me and Dante, his expression serious but not alarming. "Given the trauma from the accident and the slight complications we noted last week, we'll be opting for a scheduled C-section. It's safer for both you and the baby."
Dante's hand tightened around mine. "Is that risky?"
The doctor gave a reassuring smile. "Not at all. We're just being cautious. I'll go ahead and schedule the surgery, but we'll continue to monitor you until then."
As we left the hospital, I couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. A C-section wasn't what I had imagined, but knowing it was the safest option gave me some comfort. Dante must have sensed my unease because he pulled me closer as we walked to the car.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
I nodded, even though my mind was racing. "Just... it's all becoming real now. I thought I'd have more time to prepare."
He patted the top of my head. "We'll do this together. You're not alone."
Back home, I found myself reorganizing the nursery for the hundredth time. Dante had insisted on helping, but his idea of "help" was making sure the stuffed animals were arranged in what he called "perfect positions for cuteness."
"Are you sure the giraffe should be in the corner?" he asked, moving the plush toy back and forth.
I laughed. "Yes, it's fine. You're overthinking this."
He huffed, placing it down. "I just want everything to be perfect."
I softened, walking over to wrap my arms around him. "It will be. We've done everything we can."
He turned to face me, his eyes searching mine. "You're brave, you know that?"
I gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I don't feel brave. I'm scared."
"That's why you're brave. You're scared, but you're still moving forward."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just leaned into him, savoring the warmth and comfort his embrace provided.
He patted my shoulder softly, "We make a really good team."
That night, Dante made dinner—perfectly seared steak with roasted vegetables. We sat at the table, talking about anything but the surgery. We reminisced about the awkward first few weeks of our arrangement, laughing at how tense and formal we used to be. I could feel the shift between us, the underlying tension giving way to something more natural and comfortable.
Just as we finished eating, Dante cleared his throat. "I've been thinking... about after the baby comes."
I looked up, curious. "What about it?"
He hesitated, and for a moment, I saw vulnerability in his eyes. "I want to be there—for both of you. Not just because of the contract, but because I want to be. I don't know what that looks like yet, but I don't want you to feel like you have to do this alone."
My heart swelled with an emotion I couldn't quite name. Instead of responding, I reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn't pull away, and that felt like enough.
Later, lying in bed, I traced patterns on my stomach, wondering what life would look like after the baby arrived. Dante was still awake beside me, his arm draped over my tummy.
"What are you thinking about?" he whispered.
I smiled softly. "Just... wondering what kind of mom I'll be."
"What kind of parents we'll be," he corrected.
He pulled closer, resting his arm over my shoulder. "You'll be amazing. I'm sure of it."
His words settled the storm in my mind, and as I finally drifted off to sleep, I felt more at peace than I had in a long time.