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“She’s perfect.”

“You’ve said that five times over the past couple of minutes.”

“Because she is.”

He’s teary-eyed, totally mesmerized by this tiny human who somehow carries pieces of both of us. I don’t judge him for it, I feel exactly the same.

“She really is.”

I’m holding Soleil, our first child. It’s always been a dream of mine to become a mother, and having Marcus by my side for it…

it made everything more real. More bearable.

I glance down at the scratches on his forearms, marks I left when I was clinging to him during labor, he never even flinched.

I’m not exactly eager to go through that again anytime soon, but I know we will.

We’ve always talked about having at least two.

I like the idea of them being there for each other for the rest of their lives. Perhaps because, as single children ourselves, we never had that.

I’ve gotten used to life in Pepys Island now.

It’s very difficult to get my favorite brand of chips, one I craved most of my pregnancy but other than that, I feel incredibly lucky to have moved here.

The staff at my school have been amazing and in August, we all got to experience the lake and its dangers on a sunny Saturday.

It was an amazing day and they’ve actually come to understand that Marcus didn’t refuse the kids access for no reason.

They still like to call themselves the best matchmakers of all time, and they make sure I keep them well-supplied with muffins as a thank-you for introducing me to ‘the love of my life’.

And living with Marcus? It’s honestly been the best. I moved in after what, a week? Which sounds totally insane—but when you know, you know. We were just so happy to have found each other.

Every day, Marcus picks me up from school, and the drive home has become one of my favorite parts of the day.

We trade stories, me sharing about what the kids did, him filling me in on the latest drama from the guys, like how Damon apparently has a runaway bride living in his cabin.

Who knew Marcus would turn out to be such a gossip? Certainly not me.

Marcus interrupts my reminiscing.

“She’s like you, sunshine. She’s already smiling. She doesn’t know what life will be like for her but she’s already smiling,” Marcus says proudly. “It fits her name perfectly.”

After we learned that Soleil meant sun in French we both knew exactly what would be the name of our baby.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a reflex. You know babies don’t smile until they’re eight weeks old.”

“Who’s the grump now? Just let me say my daughter came into the world smiling.”

Laughter erupts out of me and our child cries out in response.

“Oops.”

“Guess she doesn’t like your laughter as much as I do,” he teases, snickering as he gently strokes her tiny hand.

He’s more playful now. More open. The grumpiness is still there, it’s part of him after all.

But a grumpy man like him has accepted me far better than cheerful people ever did.

He listens when I ramble. He never tells me I’m too loud or too sensitive or too much.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen this man roll his eyes.

With him I feel seen. Important. Safe to take up space.

And slowly, I’ve been learning to lower the volume on all the old voices in my head, the ones that told me I had to be less of myself to be loved. Rearranging mental blocks I put on to protect myself. He too had some hurdles to navigate. But together we’ve made it and grown.

Because sometimes, all it takes is one person in the world who believes you’re just right exactly as you are. And I’m looking right at him.