Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I cup his face and press a gentle kiss to his lips, hoping to soothe him even a little.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I’m more than fine. I’m perfect. I just…” I falter, tripping on the words I desperately need to say.
“You’re scaring me,” he whispers as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
“I’m in love with you,” I blurt. “I didn’t say it before, and it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I just never expected to love you… not at all. The fact that I love you so much, so fast, it’s…”
“I know.” He nods, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “It’s a lot.”
“It is,” I agree. “But it also feels exactly right. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m exactly where I belong. I can’t wait to raise this baby with you, Isaac. I can’t wait to spend every stupid, ordinary moment of the rest of my life with you.”
He doesn’t answer, but the way he kisses me tells the story. He loves me, too. He’s excited to raise this baby with me and to spend his life with me.
22
KATYA
Seven months later
Istare into a narrow mirror, amazed by the sheer size of my belly. I just had my thirty-six-week appointment, and the doctor says our baby is thriving. It’s still hard to believe my body can grow another human. I cup the top of my bump and study my reflection, as though I could will our little one to arrive today.
Evie lifts a tiny bear onesie and turns in a slow circle.
“Okay, this one or the one with the stars on the feet?”
I lean against a display shelf, one hand cradling my round stomach, the other fanning my flushed face.
“You’re cruel, making me choose between baby bear and cosmic cuteness.”
Evie grins and shrugs. “Then we get both,” she says, draping them over her arm. “They’re gender-neutral, so they’ll work whether you have a boy or a girl!”
“That’s how you end up with a closet full of baby clothes they’ll outgrow in a week,” I tease.
Truthfully, we’ve gotten so many clothes from Isaac’s soldiers’ wives and his extended family that our kid is probably dressed through kindergarten.
“It’s totally worth it to see your baby looking that stylish!” She sighs, still clutching both outfits. “Although I wish you’d have found out the sex so I can decide between tiny dresses and miniature suits.”
“Yeah, I’m sure all the other babies in the hospital will mock ours for wearing the wrong outfit home,” I joke.
We laugh, and for a moment everything feels light and simple. With only a few weeks left before Baby Kozlov makes an entrance, I know these carefree afternoons are numbered. My back aches constantly, and the baby has very strong opinions about when I should be awake, usually around three in the morning. I crave bizarre food pairings that would otherwise make me gag. In spite of all that, this pregnancy has been almost easy, and that ease terrifies me because I feel wholly unprepared for what comes next.
Evie catches my gaze. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I nod with a soft smile. “I’m just thinking about what it’ll be like when I’m a mom. This pregnancy has been so easy I almost feel lucky.”
She smirks. “Lucky, huh? Like when you decided to eat banana peppers in your ice cream?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
I groan. “Don’t remind me. I still have heartburn from that night.” I shudder. “And poor Isaac thinks I’ve lost my mind. He caught me in the kitchen last week, trying to toast marshmallows on the stove at two a.m.”
Evie bursts out laughing. “Did he toast a marshmallow with you or offer to commit you?”
He never said a word. He simply poured me a glass of water and walked away as if he hadn’t seen a thing.
She laughs. “He’s a smart man.” She tilts her head. “How’s he handling everything?”
I rest a gentle hand on my belly as the baby kicks, and I smile. “He’s honestly amazing,” I admit. “When this started, I thought I was walking into a prison sentence, but he’s become the best husband I could have asked for.”
I think back over the past few months, cataloging the big and small moments that prove how much he cares. One afternoon I sat on the nursery floor, sobbing because I was terrified I’d choose the wrong wall color and our baby would hate us forever.
“Katya, we have enough money to repaint if our kid doesn’t like the color,” he’d said gently, as though my meltdown weren’t completely insane.
“I know,” I’d wept. “But what if there are psychological effects we don’t even understand until they’re adults and they resent us forever because I picked olive green for the nursery?”
He grabbed the paint samples, tore out every green swatch, and handed the rest back to me.