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I’m almost halfway now. And I’ve started to feel it—this tiny, impossible shift inside me. The change is subtle, but everything feels different now.

I press my palm against the swell just below my ribs. This child has already stitched itself into every decision I make, every hour I spend dreaming about the future.

I think about the way Jonah’s mouth trembled slightly when I first told him. The slow smile that spread across Boone’s face. The way Finn cried and laughed in the same breath before asking when we could buy a crib.

The sun has begun to set. The trees along the ridge catch the gold light. Below, the slope stretches into shadows. I can see the garden, the outline of Mae’s swing, the path Boone carved out ofthe brush last spring so Mae could pick berries without getting lost.

On my left hand, three rings glint in the last light of day.

The first is a simple gold band. Classic just like the man it belongs to. The second is braided silver, wide and a little uneven. Boone made it himself, hammering the metal with a determination I could feel in the ridges of every twist. The third is delicate rose gold with a stone the color of a mountain sky. It sparkles even in low light, catching every blue and gray and flicker of sun. Finn picked it out with Mae.

I touch each band in turn, letting my fingers skim the surface. They are not traditional. But nothing about this is traditional. They are not symmetrical or matching or set in order. But they are mine. All of them.

Finn didn’t take long to propose for real. But he didn’t do it alone.

He showed up on the porch in the middle of June, tracking pine needles into the house and smiling so wide. Jonah stood just behind him, his hand resting lightly on Mae’s shoulder. Mae clutched a fistful of wildflowers. Boone stood next to Mae looking so vulnerable.

“Will you be ours?” she asked, her voice high and sure and small. “Forever?”

I didn’t cry. I sobbed.

I dropped to my knees on the porch and held her, and then all of them, arms tangled and laughter catching between kisses.

I said yes.

I would have said yes a hundred times.

Because they saw me through and through. And they still chose me.

Legally, I married Jonah. It made Jonah’s adoption application stronger and allowed me to adopt Mae with him. Hewas already Mae’s anchor. Now, he’s her father. Not by default, not by chance, but by choice.

And I’m her mother.

The ink dried weeks ago, but the moment still lives on inside me—signing the last page with Mae’s hand in mine? It was everything. She grinned so wide it took over her whole face and then she whispered, “We’re a real family now.”

We always were. But now the world has to recognize it too.

I still can’t believe I get to live this life.

It’s not the picture-perfect version my parents tried to sculpt. It’s certainly not the kind of life Davit promised, full of rules and schedules and expectations. This life is messy and loud and full of more love than I ever imagined.

The pine trees sway just slightly at the edge of the field. I tuck my legs closer beneath the flannel and rest my head against the swing’s back post.

The house behind me is humming with life.

I can hear it even from here—the clatter of someone cooking in the kitchen, the unmistakable sound of Finn muttering to himself in escalating frustration. Mae’s voice sings off-key from the living room, high and bright and unbothered by pitch or rhythm.

The baby name book is probably still open on the coffee table, next to Jonah crossing out options in clean, methodical rows. Boone will be outside soon, stacking the last of the wood before dark.

But right now, they’ve let me be still.

They’ve let me have this moment to breathe.

Because they know what it means to me.

The screen door clicks open behind me. I don’t turn right away. I know who it is by the cadence of his steps.

Jonah doesn’t join me on the swing. He leans against the railing instead, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes casttoward the trees. We sit like that for a minute, both of us watching the light change.