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The quiet hospital waiting room was suddenly filled with a bright, echoing burst of laughter.
Terry was leaning against the wall beside his wife, practically holding his stomach as he laughed.
Janet was sitting next to Emma, snickering into her hand, while Emma was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes.
"Is that really true?" Emma asked, struggling to catch her breath. "He honestly thought that?"
"I swear on my life!" Janet giggled, nodding her head vigorously. "Until he was eight years old, he firmly believed that brown cows produced chocolate milk. We drove past a farm once, and he begged Terry to pull over so he could get it straight from the source!"
Terry wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, his laughter slowly subsiding into a warm, gentle smile.
He looked at Emma, his expression shifting into something deeply respectful and sincere.
"You know," Terry said softly, "we are just... we are so happy that the guy at least took his love life seriously. Honestly, we were starting to worry."
Emma's laughter faded into a soft, curious smile.
She tilted her head, looking up at him. "Why do you say that?"
Terry smiled, exchanging a knowing, fond look with Janet before turning back to Emma.
"Michael has always been a rather peculiar child. When he was young, he struggled terribly. He had severe dyslexia. Nothing was working. We tried tutors, different schools, every method in the book."
Emma's eyes widened slightly.
She had never known this about the brilliant, silver-tongued author.
"But one day," Terry continued, his voice thick with nostalgia, "I brought a novel home with me. Dragon Rider. It was given to me by a colleague at work. I wasn't optimistic at all, given his struggles. But when Michael touched that book... it was like a switch flipped in his brain. He opened it and started reading flawlessly. From that exact point on, novels became his entire life."
"But then he went to college," Janet took over, her smile turning a bit sad. "He was so serious about writing. But then, we watched him sink into this...terrible depression. He told us that every single idea he had in his mind had already been written by someone else, or was already a published novel."
Emma listened intently, her heart sinking.
"My sweet baby became someone I didn't even know," Janet whispered, looking down at her hands. "He has always been so considerate, so incredibly sweet, kind, and cheerful. But during that time... he became someone else. He was still polite, but you could see this permanent, heavy scowl on his face every single day."
"Trust me," Terry chimed in, leaning against the wall. "My boy might have been a bit of a lanky kid back then, but he had some admirers, too. Plenty of girls tried to talk to him. But he pushed them all away. He rejected absolutely everyone who came near him. He was completely closed off."
"And then," Janet said, looking back up, a radiant smile breaking across her face, "suddenly... one day, he just changed. He woke up, and he had this full, caring, lovely glint back in his eyes. The scowl was gone. He sat down and wrote his first book."
"Yeah," Terry nodded proudly. "We finally got our baby boy back."
Janet and Terry looked at each other, sharing a silent, beautiful moment of parental relief.
Emma, who had been laughing just minutes before, was now listening with attention.
She felt a sharp, sudden pang of pain in her chest hearing about Michael's hardships and the dark depression he had fought through.
The man they were describing-the isolated, scowling boy-was so different from her caring, lovable, and fiercely supportive boyfriend.
Janet turned her gaze back to Emma.
Her eyes were filled with immense respect and warmth. "And since he got into a relationship with you, Emma... he has become even more than what my boy was before. He's lighter. He's happier."
"Thank you, Emma," Terry added sincerely. "Thank you for taking such good care of our son."
Emma's face flushed a deep, brilliant shade of crimson.
She was entirely flustered by the profound compliment.
"Oh-no, please," she stammered, a shy smile touching her lips. "He is the one who takes care of me. He does so much... sometimes I feel like I should be doing more for him, but I just don't know how."
Janet reached out and gently took Emma's hands in hers, giving them a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"All you can do is stay right beside him," Janet advised softly. "Just be truthful with him. I know my son, Emma. He loves deeply. He is not the kind of man to ever turn around and leave when there are hardships in the path."
Emma felt a surge of overwhelming emotion.
She opened her mouth, fully prepared to swear to his mother that she would never, ever leave him.
"Mom, Dad."
The deep, familiar voice interrupted the moment.
Emma looked up to see Michael standing a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
"Don't bother her with your ancient history," Michael said, though his eyes were soft and fond as he looked at his parents.
He walked over, gently reaching out and taking Emma's hand in his own, pulling her up from the sofa. "Let's go. I will take you home."
As Michael led her toward the exit of the maternity ward, Janet and Terry watched them go, both of them chuckling quietly at their son's protective, hurried demeanor.
The cool night air felt refreshing as they walked into the hospital parking garage.
Michael led Emma to the passenger side of his SUV and pulled the door open for her.
As she stepped up, Michael hovered his hand over the doorframe. "Careful. Don't hit your head."
Emma paused halfway into the car.
She looked back up at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why did you say that?"
Michael looked back at her with a completely innocent, wide-eyed expression.
"Because I have seen you hit your head getting into cars before. I'm just looking out for your safety."
Emma scowled playfully, lightly swatting his arm before fully sitting down in the leather seat. "I am not that clumsy."
Michael just smirked and shut the door.
The drive through the quiet streets was fast and smooth, wrapped in a comfortable, happy silence.
Within twenty minutes, Michael's car pulled up to the curb right in front of Emma's house.
He put the car in park, leaving the engine running.
Before opening her door to leave, Emma turned in her seat.
She looked at Michael, her bright blue eyes filled with silent, heavy anticipation. She didn't say a word, just waited, looking at him.
Michael looked back at her. He thought for a brief second, trying to read the quiet demand in her eyes, and then, it clicked.
A slow, incredibly soft smile spread across his face.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the center console.
First, he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to her forehead.
Then, he moved down, pressing a warm kiss to her soft cheek.
Finally, he shifted, capturing her lips in a sweet, tender kiss that sent a rush of heat straight to her chest.
When he pulled back, Emma was beaming, her heart fluttering wildly in her ribcage.
"Good night," Emma whispered in a low, happy voice, her broad smile illuminating the dark car.
Michael reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Good night, Emma."