Page 42

Alex Sebring

Magnolia’s lying on the exam table, the paper liner beneath her crackling every time she shifts.

Her shoes are off, the tips of her toenails painted in glossy white polish.

Her leggings still sit high on her hips, her shirt knotted at her ribs.

The curve of her belly is still flat but somehow already different.

I’m sitting beside her, close enough to hold her hand, not that she’s asked me to. She’s casual as ever, but I can sense it—the nerves, the energy, the buzz beneath the surface.

The silence is thick, and my gaze drifts to the wall in front of us.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?”

She glances up. “What?”

“That photo on the wall.”

Magnolia leans up a little, squinting. The frame holds a close-up of a pink orchid, petals soft and veined and… suggestive.

“Oh,” she says, trying and failing to hide a grin. “That flower looks like a vagina.”

I chuckle. “A very artistic one. I’m afraid William Bloom missed his calling.”

She laughs, tipping her head toward my shoulder. “Do you think they chose that on purpose? Like, subtle labia-themed ambience?”

“Maybe it’s subliminal. Comfort through floral innuendo.”

“Calming vaginal art. A timeless classic.”

I squint at it, deadpan. “That flower is staring into my soul.”

Magnolia laughs. “That flower is judging your pull-out game.”

I smirk. “That irresistible flower is the reason we’re here.”

Magnolia grins. “Well, that flower wasn’t too worried about being pollinated. Can’t really blame her—the bee was irresistible.”

I glance at another frame—this one showing a very intense cross-section of a pregnant woman, her insides on full display in medical-grade detail. I point with a grimace. “That one, though? It’s too much. I did not need a visual on where the placenta goes this early in the morning.”

Magnolia squeezes my hand, still grinning. “Welcome to obstetrics, babe.”

“And here I thought rugby was graphic.”

She laughs again, and I swear the sound settles something in my chest. She’s not trying to be brave—she just is.

I lean over and kiss her temple. “You ready to see our kid?”

“Our kid.” She blows a slow breath through pursed lips. “I am. But it’s still so weird hearing you say that.”

The door opens, and a cheerful woman in scrubs steps inside. “Good morning, I’m Cass, and I’ll be your ultrasound tech. I hear we’ve got a little someone making their debut today?”

Magnolia smiles, nervous but trying to look unruffled. “Guess we do.”

She closes the door behind her and moves with practiced ease—but pauses when her eyes settle on me. Recognition flashes, followed by a careful smile. “You’re Alex Sebring.”

I nod once, unsure if we’re about to be asked for a selfie.

“It’s an honor to be the one showing you your first glimpse of your baby.”

Magnolia smiles and squeezes my hand. “This is it.”

“Let’s look at Baby Sebring, shall we?” The tech wheels over the ultrasound machine and sets it up beside the bed. “Mind if I lower your waistband?”

“Oh, sure,” Magnolia says, lifting her hips.

She grabs a bottle from the side tray. “The jelly everyone loves to hate,” she says, giving it a shake before squirting the gel onto Magnolia’s stomach. “Sorry. It’s always cold.”

Magnolia flinches and lets out a soft yelp. “You weren’t kidding.”

I reach for her hand on instinct. My fingers wrap around hers, and she grips mine back.

The tech grabs the belly scanner thing, eyes focused on the screen now. “All right, let’s have a peek.”

The screen lights up in a haze of static. Gray and white and black smudges. I squint, trying to make sense of it.

And then, there.

A flicker, small and rhythmic. A heartbeat.

“There’s your baby,” she says.

Magnolia inhales, and her fingers clutch mine harder.

I blink, not trusting what I’m seeing. That little flash of motion on the screen, that blur of shadows and light—it’s real. It’s alive. And it’s ours.

That’s our baby.

Not hypothetical. Not abstract. Not some theoretical timeline we’ve been dancing around for months.

It’s here, and already stealing my breath. I don’t realize I’m crying until Magnolia looks over, eyes glassy. “It’s okay, big guy.”

She squeezes my hand again. Reassuring.

I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I love you,” I whisper. “Thank you for giving me this.”

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.