Page 133 of Nineteen Letters

I chuckled. “You’re not dreaming Jem. This is all real. Now, are you going to answer me, or leave me hanging?”

You leaped towards me with such enthusiasm; you knocked me off balance and sent me tumbling to the floor. You landed on top of me and started raining kisses all over my face. “Of course I’ll marry you! There’s nobody else … there’ll never be anyone else but you.”

We spent our first night in the house together. I gave you a key but told you there was no pressure for you to move in straightaway.

“Are you going to live here?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Then so am I. I want to be wherever my fiancé is.”

My heart swelled at your words.

The next morning we sat on the back step drinking our coffees. “I can’t believe this will be my view for the rest of my life,” you said.

“When I have enough money, I’m going to put a big deck off the back. We can sit out here every morning and have breakfast together.”

“That sounds magical,” you replied, resting your head on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Jem.”

The eleventh of January 2013. I debated about whether to add this into the letter, but it’s a moment in your life that, although tragic, I’m pretty sure you’d want to know about.

It’s something you didn’t talk about a lot, but I found the image that I’ve enclosed with this letter taped inside the lid of the treasure box I made for you, so I know you looked at it often.

The previous six weeks had been perfect. We’d done more work to the interior and fixed up the yard. You’d added a small garden out the front. The place wasn’t much, but it was ours, and we loved it.

You still had another month before uni started back, and I’d finally landed a job—it was with a small architectural firm just outside of town—which I would start the following week.

I’d woken up this particular morning to find you vomiting in the bathroom. “Jem. Are you okay?”

“Ugh, I feel dreadful,” you replied.

You had a strong immune system and rarely got sick, so I was immediately concerned. When I found you like this, again, the following morning, I put you in the shower and once you were dressed, I took you straight to the doctor.

He said you’d probably picked up a virus, but took some blood just to be sure.

By the time we arrived back home, you said you were feeling a lot better, but I still made you go back to bed.

The next morning, I found you vomiting again. I called the doctor, and he said the results of your bloodwork should be back later that morning, and he would call us as soon as he had them.

The call came in just before midday. I sat on the side of the bed while you spoke with the doctor. I knew it wasn’t just a virus when I saw all the colour drain out of your face.

“What did he say?” I asked the minute you’d ended the call.

Your stunned eyes met mine. “He said I’m pregnant, Brax.”

I don’t know how long I sat there and stared at you, unable to speak, but I eventually reached out, pulling youinto my arms. “You’re pregnant?” I could hear the shock in my voice when I spoke.

“It appears so.”

I drew back so I could see your face. “How do you feel about that?”

“Shocked … happy … shocked.” When I saw a smile tug at your lips, I smiled too.

“We’re going to be parents,” I stated in disbelief. This news would change everything, but I knew we could find a way to make it work.

“Yes,” you whispered as your smile widened.