Page 41 of Midnight Between Us (The Timberbridge Brothers #4)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Keir,

I’m thirty-seven weeks now.

That means the baby could arrive in a week or two—or maybe he’ll be stubborn and not arrive until week forty. Have I mentioned he’s a boy? I can’t remember. I’m going to name him Lyndon.

Some days, that feels exciting. Other days, it feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, holding my breath, waiting for the ground to give way.

I’ve been nesting. That’s what they call it—this urge to clean, organize, prepare.

But to me, it looks more like sitting on the floor of my room, folding tiny onesies I got from the thrift store downstairs.

I’m trying hard not to cry over the size of them.

Trying not to think about the fact that you’ll never see them. That you don’t even want to.

There’s a checklist taped to the wall across from my bed: birth plan, overnight bag, insurance forms. The shelter provided me with a list of tasks to complete and contacts to call when labor begins. They’re good people. They care. But they also keep asking me about what I’m going to do after.

I still like medicine. I still love the idea of becoming someone who helps.

I’ve been shadowing a nurse who works at the community clinic.

It’s not med school, but when I’m there, handing her gauze or watching her speak gently to patients who’ve had the world rough them up, I feel like I belong.

I feel like maybe that version of my life isn’t totally gone—it just changed shape.

But no matter what I want for myself, it all keeps circling back to one thing. This baby. Our baby.

I thought about adoption. For a while, it felt like the most logical path. Give them a stable home, two loving parents, and a chance to grow up without carrying everything I’ve been through like a second skin.

There’s this couple I like. Jacob and Pria.

He’s a musician. She’s a publicist. They have five children.

Two boys and three girls. At first, I wasn’t sure if they could be part of my short list. They already have five children.

But when I saw how much they love them—one of them is adopted—I wanted that for our baby.

It’s something I never experienced. Honestly, I’m afraid I don’t have that much love to give him.

It’s so difficult to choose what I want to do for the future of our baby.

And even if I wanted to give him up for adoption, I’d still need your permission: legal stuff, paperwork, consent forms. And I already know that’s not happening. I’m not approaching you again.

I’m scared. Not of giving birth, not even of being alone in that hospital room. I’m scared of what comes after the long nights and the unknowns and this love that already feels too big to survive.

It’s both funny and tragic that I’m not even an adult yet, and I’ve already learned how to love and how love can break you.

Some days, I wonder if Nina went through this. Is that why she gave up on me?

Maybe she loved my father the way I loved you. And the little one she got from that big love turned into a scar instead of a joy.

That’s one of my fears, you know?

What if the baby doesn’t love me?

What if I can’t be the mother he deserves?

I don’t know what kind of future I’m building, but I hope I don’t make a fatal mistake and ruin his life.

I hope I don’t end up full of regret the way you might regret not getting to know this little bean.

Sincerely,

Simone