Her lashes flutter, and her free hand comes up to rest on my cheek for a second. Only for a second, but it’s everything.

  She moves the wand thing, tilting it for a better view. “Heartbeat looks strong. Everything’s measuring right on time for seven weeks. You’ve got yourself a little overachiever already.”

  Magnolia gives a laugh. “Just like his dad.”

  I huff out a smile, still trying to get my emotions under control. “Or her mum.”

  The tech clicks a button and the printer whirs. “One copy enough?”

  Magnolia sits up. “Could I have two copies––one for us, and one for the grandparents.”

  “Of course. Do you need a third for other grandparents?”

  Magnolia smiles, but there’s a tightness around it. Polite, practiced. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  The tech nods and slips the prints into a small envelope and hands it over.

  Robin won’t be in this child’s life. Won’t send cards or knit blankets or call every other day to check in. But our baby won’t be missing anything. I’ll make sure of it.

  This child will be loved.

  Deeply. Fiercely. Recklessly.

  And Magnolia? She’ll never have to wonder if she’s enough.

  My heart swells with it—this bone-deep knowing that whatever else happens, whatever curveballs come our way, this child is already surrounded with love. And so is she.

  Always.

  The tech wipes the gel from Magnolia’s belly. “Congratulations on the baby. And best of luck on your return to rugby.”

  Magnolia relaxes against the table, the envelope in her grip. “Is that how you thought this would feel?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s better.”

  Better because it’s ours. Messy, mistimed, but real.

  And the best thing I’ve ever known.

  The house smells of comfort food. Roasted garlic, thyme, a hint of brown sugar in the air from something caramelizing in the oven. Magnolia stands at the stove in tailored linen, her apron crisp and spotless, hair swept back in a sleek twist. Not a speck of flour in sight. She’s composed but humming with quiet energy, the same way she gets when she’s styling a space that matters.

  The table is elegant—subtle luxury that feels effortless. It’s simply Magnolia.

  I move behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, pressing a kiss below her ear.

  “Are you kissing me because you’re in love with me or because dinner smells divine?”

  “Hard to say. You’re both making my mouth water.”

  She glances over her shoulder, arching a brow. “Tell me again later tonight that I make your mouth water.”

  I grin, dropping another kiss just below her ear. “Oh, I plan on showing you just how much.”

  Before I can steer the conversation straight into filthy territory—where it’s clearly headed—the doorbell rings.

  Tinā wraps Magnolia in a warm hug. “Need help in the kitchen, lo’u afafine?”

  Magnolia smiles and waves her off. “Not tonight. It’s your birthday—you’re under strict orders to relax and let us spoil you.”

  Tinā arches a brow. “You know I don’t do well at sitting still.”

  “That’s why you’re overdue,” Magnolia says. “You’re always the one cooking for everyone else. Tonight, we return the favor.”

  Next to arrive are Violet and Elias. Violet speaks to Tinā and Dad for a few minutes, then drifts toward the kitchen to help Magnolia, slipping into the rhythm as if she’s done it a hundred times.

  Then Leilani, Serafina, Nico, and Asa arrive in a pack—bickering the way only siblings can.

  Last through the door are Jack and Laurelyn. Laurelyn holds a wrapped gift and Jack carries a case of wine. That’s the beauty of inviting the McLachlans. They’re always going to bring a great vino and plenty of it.

  This dinner is for Tinā’s birthday—at least, that’s the official reason. There’s a cake with her name piped in delicate cursive. But this night isn’t only about candles and birthday wishes. There’s something else coming. Something big.

  Dinner is flawless. Magnolia’s take on Cajun classics hits every mark—seared shrimp over crispy grit cakes, all smothered in a smoky, spicy Cajun cream sauce loaded with corn, sweet onions and bell peppers.

  It smells of heat and heart and heritage—and somehow, it still looks like it belongs in a magazine spread.

  Magnolia moves through the room with ease, pausing to top off everyone’s wine, throwing an occasional wink at me. And she manages to make sure nothing burns while pretending she isn’t sitting on the biggest secret of her life.

  I lean in close, voice low. “Is it time yet?”

  Her lips curve. “Settle down, Alex. Let her finish her wine.”

  After dinner, Magnolia brings a small stack of wrapped gifts and places them in front of Tinā. She’s seated at the head of the table, a linen napkin still folded over her lap, cheeks flushed from laughter and red wine. The first few gifts are sweet and thoughtful—spa vouchers, a beautiful woven throw from Laurelyn, a homemade photo book from Leilani that makes her tear up before she’s even halfway through.

  Magnolia waits until all of them have been opened before she presents the last gift.

  “Just one more,” she says, placing the small box into Tinā’s hands.

  It’s perfectly wrapped—soft blush paper, hand-tied satin bow, Magnolia’s style written in every crease. Understated but meaningful, like everything she does.

  Tinā unties the ribbon, lifting the lid. Inside the box is a folded slip of tissue. Tucked beneath it, the ultrasound photo.

  For a second, no one moves.

  Tinā blinks down at the grainy black-and-white image, confusion giving way to something deeper, something catching in her breath. Her eyes lift to mine, then to Magnolia’s, and she gasps. “You’re pregnant?”

  Magnolia nods, tears already brimming. “I am. Seven weeks.”

  And that’s when Tinā gasps—hand to her heart, eyes shining—and pushes away from the table. She’s on her feet in a heartbeat, pulling Magnolia into a tight hug. “A baby,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting my first grandchild.”

  Magnolia’s wrapped in Tinā’s arms, and I swear I’ve never seen two women love each other more fiercely than they do right now.

  “You’ve given me the best birthday gift of my life,” Tinā says.

  My father claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, my boy,” he says in that choked voice he only uses when he’s feeling something big.

  And I just stand there, absorbing the moment, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

  This is the family Magnolia deserves. This is a love that wraps itself around you and never lets go. And our baby’s already in the center of it all.

  Leilani lifts her glass with a grin. “Okay, but can we talk about how insanely cute this baby’s gonna be?”

  Violet rushes over, bypassing me, and throws her arms around Magnolia with enough force to jostle Tinā. “I’m going to be an auntie.”

  Elias claps me on the back and pulls me into a quick, rough hug, then high-fives me like we just won a championship. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

  Sefina throws her arms around Magnolia. “You’re going to be an amazing mum.”

  Nico and Asa bicker from the other side of the table.

  “Obviously, I’m the godfather,” Nico says.

  Asa bursts into laughter. “Doubtful. You can’t even keep a plant alive.”

  Jack and Laurelyn are all smiles.

  Everyone’s talking at once now. Laughter overlaps with sniffles, congratulations fly like confetti, and still—through all the beautiful noise—she finds me.

  Magnolia looks up from the chaos, catching my eyes across the room, and smiles. That soft, world-tilting, heart-pulling smile that unraveled me the first time I saw it.

  She doesn’t know how much I love her or how long I’ve dreamed of giving her a life that feels like home.

  I cross the room and wrap my arms around her, pressing my mouth to the curve of her shoulder. She leans back into me, her fingers lacing with mine over her stomach.

  This is it. The beginning of everything we never knew we needed.

  A heartbeat on a screen. An ultrasound picture in a box. A room full of people already in love with someone who is only a little tadpole.

  And Magnolia—my wife, my home, my whole damn reason—is glowing in the middle of it all.

  I rest my chin on her shoulder, breathe her in.

  Our story just changed forever. And I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

  Chapter 35

  Magnolia Sebring

  The boutique baby store smells of lavender and baby powder. It’s tucked into a sleepy corner of Sydney, a place with hand-painted signage and a tiny brass bell above the door. Inside, everything feels soft—washed wood floors, gauzy canopy tents, antique-style bassinets, and stacks of folded muslin blankets in every shade of cream, gold, and sage.

  It’s exactly the place I’d hoped to find.

  I glide my hand over the edge of a white oak crib, the finish buttery smooth beneath my fingers. It’s carved with enough detail to be special but not so much it resembles a dollhouse prop. Perfectly in-between.

  Violet studies the ivory linen swatch in her hand. “So, we’re doing vintage charm and neutral tones?”

  I love how she says we.

  I nod. “Yup. No pastels. No circus animals. Only soft colors and old-soul energy.”

  Violet grins. “How very Magnolia of you—charming, minimal, and just bougie enough.”

  I shrug. “It’s a skill.”

  Violet holds up a looped wooden ring threaded with soft, clacking beads. “How about this one? Minimal enough for you, or should I go find something carved by woodland fairies and blessed under a full moon?”

  I roll my eyes and walk toward a crib mobile hanging above a vintage rocking chair. It’s soft, hand-stitched white wool lambs. One of them has a crooked ear.

  I stop, and my chest goes tight.

  “Oh boy,” Violet says, coming up beside me.

  “I’m fine,” I say. But I’m blinking a little too fast, my voice a little too thin.

  Violet slips a tissue into my hand without looking at me.

  I swallow and press the tissue to the corner of one eye. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to do this.”

  “Well,” she says, bumping my shoulder, “now you are. So pick a mobile. Or don’t. But I’m not letting you cry in a boutique filled with gender-neutral sheep.”

  I laugh. “Fair enough.”

  What a difference a year can make. Here we are shopping for a tiny little someone I haven’t met yet but already love more than anything I’ve ever known.

  Violet toys with a breast pump, pressing one of the flanges to her chest. “This thing looks like it could suck the soul right out of your body.”

  “It does. And then it stores it in four-ounce portions for midnight feedings.”

  Violet shudders. “Hard pass.”

  She puts the pump back on the shelf and turns to me. “Have you told your mom you’ve created life?”

  I pause. Not because I don’t have an answer but because the answer makes my stomach twist.

  “I tried,” I say, adjusting a swaddle blanket on a display table. “I called her the day after we got the first ultrasound photo. Left a voicemail. And another one the next day.”

  Violet’s brows lift, eyes softening. “She didn’t call back?”

  I shake my head. “I assume she’s still furious I wouldn’t give her any money. So no, I don’t think she’s planning to knit booties.”

  Violet wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Her loss. This baby’s going to have more love than it knows what to do with.”

  I nudge her side with my elbow and keep walking. “It’s fine. I only wanted to tell her because not telling her seems weird. She’s Robin, so I don’t expect a parade. Or even a text.”

  We turn into the next aisle, and that’s when I nearly walk straight into Celeste.

  She’s holding a small, gift-wrapped box with a satin bow. For a beat, she stares at me like her brain is buffering.

  “Magnolia,” she says at last, blinking. “Wow. Hi.”

  “Hi, Celeste.” I offer a polite smile. Because what else do I do?

  Her eyes drop to my small bump. “You look well. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” I say, one hand resting on my stomach. “We’re excited for this little one.”

  The awkward quiet stretches between us.

  Celeste shifts her weight. “I heard Alex is playing again and is doing really well?”

  I nod. “He is. Better than before, from what everyone is saying.”

  “I’m glad. I know how much he loves the game.”

  Another pause.

  “And I also know how much he wants to be a dad.”

  My fingers tighten against the swell of my stomach, but I nod. “He does. And now… here we are.”

  Celeste smiles—not jealous, not bitter.

  “Has Tyson left you alone?”

  “He actually has. It’s been peaceful. I think he finally figured out how to be a decent person. Or maybe he just got bigger things on his plate.”

  Let’s be honest—if he’s learned how to be decent, it’s only because life forced his hand. He would never leave us alone willingly.

  “I’ve been meaning to call Alex. To apologize. But I haven’t found the words yet.”

  “You don’t need to. We understand what happened.”

  Honestly, we want to move on from this. Alex isn’t interested in an apology.

  She breathes out a small laugh, quick and rueful. “Still, it’s something I owe him.”

  Then her expression shifts—something unexpected blooming in her eyes. “It’s strange, but part of me wants to thank him.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “For…?”

  “For breaking Tyson’s hip. Because that led to the cancer diagnosis. And that led to everything else—his mindset shift, the letting go, the freedom. It saved me in the long run.”

  “Life’s funny that way. Sometimes karma shows up wearing cleats.”

  Celeste laughs, and the tension between us melts.

  “I’ve been seeing someone. Only for a couple of months, but he’s kind. Easy to talk to. It’s early, but it feels good.”

  I offer a small smile. “I’m happy for you. Hope it works out.”

  “Thank you, Magnolia. Early congratulations on the baby.”

  Then she nods, gives me a goodbye, and walks away. Graceful. Quiet. It feels like she walked out of my life for good. And I’m okay with that.

  I find Violet near a display of impractical chic baby toys. Her basket is loaded with a teething giraffe that costs more than my wedding shoes, two bamboo swaddles embroidered with constellations, and a stack of onesies that read I Drink Until I Pass Out, I Only Cry When Ugly People Hold Me, Future CEO of Poop Corp., and No Hair, Don’t Care.

  She holds up a stuffed rabbit. “I dare you to look at this and not cry.”

  I just shake my head, smiling as I join her. “Is there anything not in your cart?”

  “No. And you’re welcome.”

  Violet moves on to the next display, pretending she’s not misty-eyed as she smooths the ears of the rabbit. She tosses it and nudges me with her hip. “If I see you buy one more thing in cream or ivory, I’m calling the police.”

  I pause, and my hand settles on my belly.

  Some things unravel slowly. Quietly. Not with a bang but a breath.

  I used to think Violet wasn’t wired for softness—at least not the kind that showed. But lately, I’ve seen it in the way she lingers a little longer over the tiniest clothes, or how she keeps asking about baby names, acting as though she doesn’t care when I know she does.

  She’s changing. Not in the most obvious way. And not all at once. But piece by piece, something is blooming in her.

  Something tender.

  Chapter 36

  Magnolia Sebring

  The fabric swatches in front of me are a mix of dove gray and pale champagne, with a soft sheen that would catch light beautifully beneath the new chandeliers. I’m trying to decide between two finishes for the ballroom moldings—brushed brass or antique bronze—when the phone on my desk buzzes.

  I press the button, still distracted by the sample board. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Magnolia. I apologize for the interruption, but there’s a man here to see you. Tyson McRae.”

  My body reacts before my mind does with a quick spike of adrenaline. My hand moves to the curve of my belly as if to protect it.

  “He’s here?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Yes, downstairs. I can tell him you’re unavailable if you wish.”

  “No.” I exhale. Sharp. Sure.

  There was a time when I would’ve hidden. But that time is over.

  If this is closure, I’ll take it on my feet. Not hiding behind a door.

  “It’s fine, Anne. I’ll come down.”

  By the time I reach the lounge off the main lobby, he’s standing there, fidgeting. Tyson McRae, once so polished, is now frayed at the edges. He turns when he hears me coming and freezes.

  His eyes fall to my stomach.

  “Fuck, Mags,” he says.

  I stop inside the doorway. “Hello, Tyson.”

  He blinks. “You’re––”

  “Pregnant,” I finish for him. “Yes. Alex and I are having a baby.”

  He nods, but it’s shaky. “I see that.”

  “You wanted to talk to me?” I prompt, arms crossed.

  He clears his throat, finding his footing. “Yeah. I do.”

  He stands before me, eyes still wide in surprise. “I don’t expect you to believe this, but I’m trying to do better.”

  His voice isn’t slick as it once was. There’s no charm in it—only gravel. Worn down. Worn out.

  And he looks it.

  He’s thinner with hollows beneath his cheekbones, shirt hanging looser on shoulders that used to stretch every seam. The bulk of his muscle is gone, replaced with something softer and sunken. As if life carved him out and didn’t bother filling him back in. Even the way he stands is different. Less sure. Like the confidence that once dripped off him in waves has dried up and left nothing but dust.