Christabel stopped taking birth control.
Not with a ceremony.
With a quiet decision.
And the waiting began.
---
The pill was small. White. Unremarkable.
She had been taking it for years. Every morning. Same time. Same glass of water.
It was habit. Routine. Automatic.
But this morning was different.
She held the pack in her hand.
Looked at the tiny pill.
Then she set it down.
Walked away.
---
Damien found it on the counter.
He picked it up.
Looked at the full pack.
Then at Christabel.
"You stopped."
"I stopped."
"When?"
"Today."
He walked to her.
Took her hands.
"How do you feel?"
"Terrified."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Fear means you're paying attention."
---
The first month was strange.
Every twinge. Every cramp. Every change in her body made her wonder.
Is this it?
Is this the month?
Am I pregnant?
She took tests.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Damien held her when she cried.
"It's okay," he said.
"It's not okay."
"It's early."
"I'm impatient."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
The second month was harder.
Her period came. Late. Heavy. Cruel.
She sat on the bathroom floor.
Crying.
Damien sat beside her.
"It's okay."
"It's not okay."
"We have time."
"What if we don't?"
"What if we do?"
She looked at him.
"I want this so much."
"I know."
"I want to give you another baby."
"I know."
"I want to give Lena a sibling."
He pulled her into his arms.
"You will."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you."
---
The third month, she stopped testing.
Not because she gave up.
Because she couldn't take the disappointment.
She went through the motions.
Work. Home. Lena. Damien.
But something was missing.
The hope was fading.
---
Dr. Reid noticed.
"You're quieter today."
"I'm tired."
"More than tired?"
"I'm sad."
"About the baby?"
"I don't even know if there's a baby to be sad about."
Dr. Reid leaned forward.
"The waiting is the hardest part."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been there."
Christabel looked at her.
"You have?"
"I tried for three years. Every month, a negative test. Every month, a little piece of me died."
"How did you survive?"
"I didn't. I just kept going."
---
That night, Damien made dinner.
Not takeout. Not delivery.
Real dinner.
Pasta. Salad. Wine.
Christabel watched him from the kitchen island.
"You're cooking."
"I'm trying."
"It smells good."
"It smells like love."
She almost smiled.
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm in love."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
They ate in silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Peaceful.
The kind of silence that came from knowing each other completely.
"I'm scared," Christabel said.
"Of what?"
"Of never getting pregnant. Of disappointing you. Of disappointing Lena."
"You could never disappoint me."
"You say that now."
"I'll say it forever."
---
He took her hand.
"We have each other. We have Lena. We have a family. Anything else is a gift."
"I want the gift."
"Then we'll keep trying."
"What if it doesn't happen?"
"Then we'll adopt."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
She stared at him.
"You would adopt?"
"I would do anything for you. For our family. For our future."
---
She started crying.
Not the silent tears.
The kind that came from somewhere deep.
Somewhere that had been hurting for years.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
He touched her face.
"I know. Because I love you the same way."
---
That night, they made love.
Not to make a baby.
To remember why they were trying.
Slow. Deep. Connected.
She held him tight.
He held her closer.
"This is enough," she said.
"What?"
"You. Me. Lena. This."
"It's not enough."
"It's everything."
---
Afterward, they lay tangled together.
The city was dark.
The room was quiet.
"The waiting is hard," Christabel said.
"I know."
"But I'm not alone."
"No."
"I have you."
"You have me."
"I have Lena."
"You have Lena."
"I have a family."
He kissed her forehead.
"Yes. You do."
First Line of Chapter 159 (Teaser):
"The one hundred thirteenth week, Christabel woke up sick. Not the flu. Not a cold. Something else. Something that made her heart race and her hands shake. She took a test. And everything changed."