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Then he says, “You always come out here when you’re thinking.”

I smile, just a little. “You always know when I need company.”

He nods once, slow. “Not always. But I try.”

His eyes flick down to my hands, still resting on my stomach. I shift slightly, making room, and he accepts the invitation the way he always does—without fuss. He sits beside me, the swing creaking softly beneath his weight, and I lean into him like I always do.

Jonah’s hand settles over mine.

“She kicked this morning,” I say. “Just once. I wasn’t sure it was real, but…” I shrug. “I’m choosing to believe it was.”

His fingers tighten around mine.

“I like that,” he says. “She's already making herself known.”

I turn toward him, searching his face. There’s nothing there but love and acceptance.

“I never thought I’d get this,” I say. “Not really. Even after I ran. I thought the best I could hope for was quiet. A life where I wasn’t owned.”

Jonah doesn’t interrupt. He just waits, the way he always does when I have something important to say.

“But I got more,” I continue. “I got family and love and choices. All the things I was told weren’t mine to want.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips.

“You were always allowed to want them,” he says. “You just needed the right people to remind you.”

I close my eyes and rest against him. The swing shifts with our weight. I let myself relax into the rhythm.

This is my life.

This porch. This flannel. These rings. This child.

This family.