Jora’s smile softened as she leaned into him, her forehead still resting against his. The warmth of his excitement—the way it lit his whole face—made her chest ache in the best way. For a long moment she just breathed him in, letting the steadiness of his heartbeat sink into her, grounding her against the rush of emotions stirring inside her.

“I can’t believe it either,” she admitted quietly, her voice carrying that tremor between laughter and disbelief. “Feels almost too good to be true.” Her hand slid up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there as she looked up at him. “We’ve wanted this for so long, and now that it’s happening…” She gave a soft, breathy laugh. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”

At his wondering about whether it would be a boy or a girl, she smiled wider, a faint sparkle in her eyes. “Part of me thinks it’ll be another girl,” she mused, glancing again toward Lyra, who had moved on to humming some tuneless little song as she sorted fruit. “But honestly, whatever they are… they’ll be ours. That’s what matters.”

Her free hand moved unconsciously to her stomach again, fingers tracing slow, thoughtful circles. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “I thought I’d be more scared, but I just feel… peaceful. Like it’s supposed to happen now.”

She looked back up at him, her expression soft but full of quiet certainty. “You’re right—we have time. And we’ll make it work, just like we always do.” Then, with a small, teasing grin tugging at her lips, she added, “Though you might want to get used to less sleep again.”

Jora let out a soft laugh, her smile widening as his lips brushed over her hand. “It really is,” she agreed, her tone gentle but full of that quiet awe that hadn’t yet worn off. “Every time I think life can’t surprise me anymore, it does something like this.” Her eyes flicked toward Lyra again, her heart swelling at how completely oblivious and happy their daughter looked—how safe she looked. “It almost feels like we’ve come full circle.”

When Sage promised he’d be there this time, though, Jora’s expression softened even further. The memory of what had happened before still lingered somewhere deep inside her—the fear, the chaos, the ache of his absence—but she didn’t let it darken the moment. Instead, she reached up to rest her hand against his jaw, thumb tracing lightly along his skin. “I know you will,” she whispered, her voice steady. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

She laughed quietly when he groaned about losing sleep, leaning into him with a playful nudge. “You’ll live. You always do,” she teased, eyes bright with affection. “Besides, you say that now—but once they’re here, you’ll be the one who can’t sleep anyway. You’ll be hovering over the crib every five minutes to make sure they’re breathing.”

At his suggestion about writing to her mother and Selene, she nodded, though her expression grew thoughtful. “Yeah… I will. They’ll both want to know.” Her lips curved into a fond smile. “Mom will probably cry. Selene will start lecturing me about proper nutrition within the first two minutes.” She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “But it’ll be good. It’ll make it feel more real—telling people.”

Her gaze drifted down toward her stomach again, fingers brushing lightly over it. “This time, I want everything to go right,” she murmured. Then she looked back up at him, eyes shining with quiet hope. “And I think it finally will.”

Jora snorted softly at his “someone else will have to pull it out” comment, shaking her head as she leaned her forehead briefly against his.

“Don’t worry,” she replied dryly, amusement tugging at her lips. “I have no intention of you elbow-deep in anything. Your job is holding my hand, not playing surgeon.” She brushed her thumb along his cheek again, eyes warm. “Just being there is more than enough. More than I had before. That’s what matters.”

His dramatic protest about not being that hovery earned a raised brow and a slow, knowing smirk.

“No, of course not,” she said, voice thick with teasing. “You only followed Lyra around like a mother wolf the second you could walk without passing out. Totally normal. Not hovering at all.” She bumped his shoulder with hers lightly, laughter soft and affectionate. She didn’t mind him being protective—if anything, it made her feel safer, like they finally had something stable beneath their feet.

At the mention of her family, her expression gentled again, though there was a distant sort of thoughtfulness behind her eyes.

“They will,” she agreed softly. “Mom will want to meet us somewhere with proper doctors, and Selene will make sure I don’t try to be stubborn about it.” Her tone carried a subtle self-aware grin—she knew she had a habit of pushing herself too far, and they both knew she’d need the reminders.

Her hand slipped back to her stomach, fingers splaying lightly over it. It still didn’t feel real, not in the way that settled in the bones. But it was beginning to.

She leaned into Sage again, voice low and sure as she spoke:

“We’ll do it right this time. We’ll take the trip when we have to, and we’ll come back home afterward. Together.” She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes with steadfast conviction. “Nothing’s tearing this family apart again. Not ever.”

There was fear beneath her ribs still—but for once, it was overshadowed by hope.

Sage’s insistence that he’d “do much better” at hand-holding earned a quiet laugh from Jora—low, warm, the kind that loosened the tightness in her chest. She brushed her thumb along his cheek, amusement softening her expression.

“Then that’s exactly where I’ll want you,” she murmured. “By my head. Not anywhere near whatever heroic battlefield is happening below.”

When he started whining—actually whining—about hovering, her eyebrows lifted, and a laugh slipped out before she could stop it. She leaned forward, bumping her forehead gently against his in mock sympathy.

“Oh, Sage,” she sighed dramatically. “You hovered so much I thought you were trying to orbit me. You’d vanish for ten years and come back as a comet at that rate.” Her grin widened at his eye roll. “And yes, I did need the break. But you also needed to stare at Lyra for twenty minutes straight like she was going to fly away if you blinked.”

The teasing was light, but the warmth behind it was unmistakable. It had been different then. And he hadn’t been wrong—he’d been terrified of missing even a heartbeat of their daughter’s life.

At the mention of her mother and Selene, Jora’s features softened. “They’ll be thrilled,” she said, her voice quieter. “And more prepared than either of us. My mother’s going to cry. Selene’s going to pretend she’s not crying.”

But when Sage’s gaze flicked briefly toward the horizon, something in Jora’s instincts prickled. It was only a fraction of a moment, barely a shift in his posture, but she knew him—too well to ignore it. Fear didn’t strike her, but awareness settled beneath her ribs. The memory of how quickly life could twist.

He said nothing, so she didn’t press—not yet. Instead, she reached out, guiding his face back toward her with a gentle sweep of her fingers. She kissed him once, slow and steady, grounding both of them.

“Everything will go well,” she whispered against his lips. It wasn’t a hope—it was a quiet vow.

Lyra shrieked an exaggerated complaint about Sage ignoring her—because of course she did—and Jora laughed as he pulled away to help their daughter. Her heart swelled at the sight: Sage grinning sheepishly, Lyra bossing him around with the authority of a miniature tyrant.

Jora’s hand drifted to her stomach, resting there lightly.

Let it stay good this time, she thought.

And for now… it was.