Page 125 of Once Upon A Second Chance

I don’t respond right away. I peel back the foil on the yogurt, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my stomach feels both full and hollow.

Lena crosses the room and sits beside me at the table, her voice softer now. “What if he’s not proposing because of the pregnancy? What if he’s proposing because he loves you, and the baby just makes him braver?”

I blink at the table for a moment, then shake my head. “We said we wouldn’t rush things. We agreed this would be slow, intentional. No pressure.”

“I think it still is,” she says. “Just maybe... the timeline moved. Not because of the baby. Because of how much you trust him now.”

I open my mouth to argue. Then close it.

Because she’s right.

I don’t flinch when my texts go unanswered for an hour. When I picture the future, it’s his hands on my belly, his name on emergency contact forms, his stupid laugh echoing in our kitchen.

I trusted him slowly, then all at once.

And I didn’t even notice the exact moment the wall came down.

By the time the workday ends, my nerves are buzzing and my hands keep fidgeting with my stethoscope cord. Lena winks at me as she clocks out, mouthinghave funin that way only best friends can get away with.

I’m packing up the last of my files when I hear a knock on the glass.

I look up to see him.

Richard.

He’s standing just outside the clinic doors, holding a worn canvas picnic basket in one hand, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and that half-smile he gets when he’s pretending not to be nervous.

My heart does that quiet squeeze thing that makes my breath catch.

I push open the door.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

I nod, lipscurving. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

And for the first time, I realize I mean it in more ways than one.

The evening air is cool and soft, the sun just beginning its slow descent behind the hills. A few gold-edged clouds drift lazily overhead, casting long, painterly shadows across the town as Richard and I walk toward the park.

The quiet between us is easy. Not strained. Just the kind of silence that forms when everything you need is already understood.

He’s carrying the picnic basket in one hand and has his other loosely tucked into his jacket pocket. I don’t know what’s in the basket—he wouldn’t let me peek—but whatever it is smells warm and faintly herb-y, like rosemary and butter and something slow-cooked with care.

We pass a few kids biking up the sidewalk, their laughter echoing between the low trees lining the street. I watch them fly past, hair wild in the breeze,and something about it stirs a thought I didn’t expect to voice aloud.

“I think I want to visit New York sometime,” I say, keeping my gaze forward.

Richard looks over, surprised. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Not to live there. But... eventually…to visit. I think I want to see where you lived. Where you worked. What your life looked like before all this.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and for a heartbeat I wonder if I pushed too far, too soon. But then he exhales and smiles—small, genuine.

“I’d like that,” he says. “I’ve always wanted you to see it. Just... didn’t know if you’d want to.”

“I didn’t,” I admit. “Not before. It felt like a place that took you away from me. But now... I think I want to meet that part of your story. If you’ll show me.”

He stops walking for just a second and leans down to kiss the top of my head. “Of course I’ll show you.”