Page 50 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

“Mama,” Sofia coos as I kiss her fluffy head.

“Soon, carino. Mama’s almost done,” I murmur, shifting her in her carrier as I read through patient records on my tablet.

At sixteen months old, our daughter is a perfect mix of both of us, with Gabe’s unruly curls and my eyes, her father’s natural charisma and what my mother likes to call my unbreakable willpower. Or just matigas na ulo . Hard-headed. Stubborn.

Sometimes when I watch Sofia sleep, I think about those years I missed with Tristy—all the moments my parents witnessed while I was drowning in medical textbooks and when I finally graduated med school, hospital rotations and residency.

There were so many firsts I only saw in photos: first steps, first words, first everything.

Now at twenty-nine and expecting her own baby, Tristy jokes that Sofia is my “do-over,” but it’s more than that. It’s a second chance to be the kind of mother I couldn’t be before—present, engaged, balancing career and family instead of having to choose.

When my parents decided to move back to New Mexico from the Philippines last year to be closer to our families, they offered to watch Sofia just like they had with Tristy.

But I couldn’t do it. Even with the demands of my practice, even with the three-hour commute that first year before we restructured the clinic’s leadership, I needed to be the one raising my daughter this time.

Gabe understood without me having to explain.

He saw how I struggled with guilt over those early years with Tristy, how determined I was to do things differently with Sofia.

He rearranged his schedule to accommodate mine, transformed his home into a family-friendly haven, and never once questioned why I insisted on being the one to handle midnight feedings and early morning cuddles, even when I was exhausted from juggling clinics.

“You’re not making up for anything,” he told me once, when he found me crying over old photos of Tristy’s childhood. “You did the best you could then, and you’re doing the best you can now. Both choices were made with love.”

Looking at Sofia now, secure against my chest while I work from home, I’m grateful for this chance to mother differently.

Not better—because having my parents live with me to raise Tristy while I pursued my dreams gave her opportunities I couldn’t have provided otherwise—but differently. More present. More intentional.

Simply more.

Like the positive pregnancy test that sits in my pocket like a talisman, still unbelievable even after three confirmations.

At forty-five, I hadn’t expected... well, I hadn’t expected a lot of things. Like how completely my life would change when my best friend offered to pretend to be my boyfriend at my daughter’s wedding.

And now we’ve got one more bun in the oven. I hope it’s a boy this time. After that, we’re done. Or at least, this body is.

Through the window of our Taos home—no longer that awful builder’s beige that made Dax wince—I can see the garden we’ve expanded.

My medicinal herbs now share space with Sofia’s play equipment and the vegetable beds Mama Vasquez insisted we needed “for proper New Mexican chilies, anak.” She’s taken to using Filipino terms of endearment, just as my mother now peppers her speech with Spanish.

My phone buzzes with a text from Maria, who’s transformed my Albuquerque clinic beyond my wildest dreams. These days, my role as Board Chair means quarterly meetings and big-picture decisions, leaving me free to focus on what I love most: practicing medicine and raising our family.

The satellite clinic has flourished too, becoming a model for rural healthcare access that’s drawn attention from medical schools across the country.

Sometimes I still can’t believe how perfectly everything fell into place—my practice thriving under new leadership, our innovative partnership expanding access to care, and most importantly, this family I never thought I’d have at this stage of my life.

“Mama?” Sofia stirs against my chest, little fingers curling into my shirt. “Papa?”

“Soon, baby girl.” I kiss her curls, marveling at how much she looks like Gabe when she’s sleepy. “Papa’s just finishing up with his last patient.”

As if summoned by our conversation, I hear his SUV in the driveway. Sofia perks up at the sound, suddenly wide awake.

“Papa!”

The front door opens, and there he is, still in his white coat but carrying a familiar box from Chokola. Some things never change, including how my heart still skips when he smiles at us.

“There’s my girls.” He sets down his medical bag and the chocolate box, reaching for Sofia who practically launches herself into his arms. “How are my favorite patients?”

“We’re not your patients,” I remind him, though we both know he checks our charts religiously. “And one of us just woke up from her nap.”

“Ah, but you’ll always be my favorite case study in love at first sight.” He leans in to kiss me, Sofia giggling between us. “Even if it took me ten years to admit it.”

My hand drifts to my pocket, where the test waits to be shared. “Speaking of case studies...”

“Hmm?” He’s distracted by Sofia showing him her newest word—’tetoscope’ for stethoscope.

“I might have an interesting one for you to review.” I pull out the test, holding it where Sofia can’t see. “Preliminary results just came in.”

Gabe freezes, then slowly looks from the test to my face. “Andie?”

I nod, tears threatening. “Surprise?”

“But I thought—” He shifts Sofia to his hip, reaching for the test with his free hand. “The doctors said?—”

“Apparently someone didn’t get that memo.” I laugh through my tears. “Are you happy?”

Instead of answering, he pulls me close, creating a family hug that has Sofia squealing with delight. “Happy doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“Papa cry?” Sofia pats his cheek where tears have escaped.

“Happy tears, mijita.” He kisses our daughter’s forehead, then my lips. “Very happy tears.”

“We should tell your parents first,” Gabe says as he puts Sofia down for her bedtime routine a few hours later. “Your mom’s still mad she found out about Sofia through Tristy’s Instagram announcement.”

I laugh, remembering the flood of messages in Tagalog that followed that particular post. “In my defense, Tristy wasn’t supposed to share those ultrasound photos until after we told everyone.”

“At least this time we can control the narrative.” He joins me at the nursery window, where the sunset paints Sofia’s room in soft golds. “Though we might want to wait until after your first trimester, given...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. We both remember the early miscarriage six months ago—how devastated we were, how supportive our families had been. How Gabe held me through the grief while dealing with his own.

“I’m already nine weeks,” I confess. “I wanted to be sure this time before telling you.”

His arms tighten around me. “Nine weeks? But that means?—”

“That weekend at the satellite clinic? When we were doing the walk-through?” I feel his chest rumble with laughter. “Apparently those on-call room skills haven’t gotten rusty.”

“Dr. Martin, are you suggesting our child was conceived during a professional consultation?”

“More like after the consultation. In your office.” I turn in his arms. “Though I seem to recall you being very thorough in your examination.”

Before he can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Tristy:

Mom! Tyler felt the baby kick! Video calling you in 5!

“Speaking of examinations,” I say, showing him the message, “ready to be a grandfather?”

“Don’t even start,” he groans, but his smile is genuine. Watching him embrace his role as Sofia’s father and soon-to-be grandfather to Tristy’s baby has been one of life’s sweetest surprises.

The video call connects, showing Tristy and Tyler in their newly renovated nursery—another masterpiece from Dax’s workshop.

“Mom! Gabe! You’ll never believe—” Tristy stops, squinting at the screen. “Wait. Something’s different. Mom, are you glowing?”

I shoot Gabe a panicked look. Trust our daughter to spot it immediately.

“New skincare routine,” I try, but Tristy’s already squealing.

“OH MY GOD! Are you? Are we? Mom!”

“So much for waiting to tell people,” Gabe mutters, but he’s beaming. “Yes, your mom’s pregnant. No, don’t post it yet. We haven’t told the grandparents.”

“But my followers have been predicting this! They’ll freak out!” She turns to Tyler. “Babe, our baby’s going to have an aunt or uncle younger than them!”

As they chatter excitedly about joint birthday parties and matching outfits, I lean back against Gabe’s chest, overwhelmed by how full my life has become. Two years ago, I was terrified of letting him in, of risking my heart again. Now I can’t imagine any other path.

A soft cry from Sofia’s room interrupts the call. “Someone’s not happy about missing the excitement,” Gabe says, already moving toward the nursery. This is our dance now—the perfect partnership we’ve built, not just in our clinics but in our home.

“Go,” Tristy says. “We’ll call back tomorrow. Love you both!”

After settling Sofia, we end up on the porch swing, our favorite spot for evening conversations. The garden Gabe’s mother planted last spring is thriving, herbs and vegetables mingling with the flowers my mother insisted we needed “for the soul, anak.”

“A baby,” Gabe says softly, his hand resting on my stomach. “You know the odds at forty-five...”

“Are better than they were at sixteen,” I finish. “Besides, we’re doctors. We know all the risk factors.”

“And you’ll have the best prenatal care in New Mexico.” His doctor voice makes me smile. “Between your OB and me?—”

“You are not delivering this baby, Gabriel Vasquez.”

“I’m just saying, I have delivered babies before?—”

“Not happening.” But I squeeze his hand, knowing his overprotectiveness comes from love. “Though you can be in the delivery room this time. Unlike with Sofia’s emergency C-section.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I know he’s remembering that night—how a routine delivery turned complicated, how he had to wait outside while his colleague performed the surgery. “No more scares this time,” he says finally. “I’ve got a few more gray hairs since then.”

“They make you look distinguished,” I tease. “Very proper for a grandfather.”

“Stop.” He tickles my side, making me squirm. “I prefer ‘young hot dad.’”

Later, after Sofia’s asleep and we’re curled together on the porch swing, watching the sunset paint the mountains in shades of pink and gold, I ask, “Think we’re crazy? Starting over with a newborn at our age?”

His hand rests protectively over my still-flat stomach.

“I think we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

Besides,” he adds with a grin, “between your mother’s childcare expertise and my mother’s determination to fatten us all up with her cooking, this baby’s already got the best support system in New Mexico. ”

“True.” I snuggle closer, remembering another sunset two years ago when we first decided to build this life together. “Though we might need to expand the garden again. Your mother’s already planning which vegetables the baby will need.”

“And Tristy’s probably planning the social media announcement as we speak.”

I laugh, imagining our daughter’s excitement. “Poor Tyler. He’ll be filming reaction videos for weeks.”

“Poor us,” Gabe corrects. “You know she’ll want to document everything.”

“Everything worth having is worth documenting,” I quote Tristy’s favorite saying. “Speaking of which...”

I pull out my phone, opening the camera app. “Say ‘expanding the family practice!’”

The selfie catches us perfectly—Gabe’s hand on my stomach, both of us glowing with joy, the mountains a perfect backdrop to our growing love story.

Some endings are really beginnings in disguise. Some love stories get better with each new chapter.

And sometimes, the best medicine is letting yourself believe in second chances—and third ones, and fourth ones, and all the chances life offers when you’re brave enough to take them.

When I look at Gabe now, I see everything I never knew I wanted: a partner who supports both my dreams and his own, a father who adores our daughter, and a man who’s helped me believe in love again.

Our road might have been longer than most, but every step led us exactly where we belong.

Together.

Thank you so much for joining me back in Taos for Gabe and Andrea’s story! It’s been a long time coming and I am so grateful you’ve been patient with me all these years.