Too much joy and terror and wonder to compress into language. "Say something," Norah whispered, her smile starting to falter. "Please say something." I'm going to be a father, he finally managed. We're going to be parents.
Yes, a baby. Our baby. Someone who will be part you and part me and entirely themselves. He was crying now, tears streaming down his face in a way he couldn't control and didn't want to. Nora, that's that's everything.
That's more than I ever thought I'd have. She was crying, too. Relief and joy mixing with her own fears. I was scared to tell you, she admitted. Scared you'd think it was too soon or that we weren't ready or that bringing a child into our mess of a situation was irresponsible.
Are you joking? Silas pulled her down. She had to bend significantly and kissed her with all the love and gratitude and absolute certainty he felt. You're giving me a family, a real family, a future. How could that be anything but perfect?
They held each other on the porch as twilight deepened. Two people who'd started as strangers bound by lies and desperation, who'd become partners through honesty and courage, and who were now becoming parents. The weight of it was enormous and terrifying and absolutely right. Our child, Norah said softly, her hand on her belly, will know that love doesn't come in one shape, that strength isn't about size, that courage is facing your fears instead of running from them. They'll know they're wanted, Silas added.
That they're loved before they're even born. That they have parents who chose each other fully, scars and all. Do you think, Norah hesitated, "Do you think we can do this? Raise a child? Be good parents?"
"I think," Silas said carefully, "that we've already proven we can do impossible things. We turned a paper marriage into a real one. We fought off rustlers. We built a life out of nothing but determination and honesty. If we can do all that, surely we can figure out how to love a child.
Surely, Norah echoed. But he heard the doubt underneath. He understood it. They were both carrying the weight of damaged childhoods. His marked by early loss and crushing guilt, hers by constant rejection for being too much of everything good girls weren't supposed to be.
How did people with their histories raise children who felt loved and secure? We'll make mistakes, Silas said. Probably a lot of them. But we'll make them together and we'll learn. And our child will know they're loved even when we mess up.