“I don’t want Vivian’s money. I never did. I want her and our child. And if you have a problem with that, take it up with her, not me.” Margaret studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. “Very well. But know this, Mr. Cole, if you hurt her, you’ll have more than just me to answer to.” She got back in her car and drove away, leaving Adrian standing there shaking with adrenaline.
That night, he told Vivian about the encounter. She was furious. “She had no right.” Vivian said, pacing the living room. “No right to question you, to question us.” “She’s worried about you. I get it.” “I don’t care. This is my life, my choice.” “I know, but she’s not wrong about the optics. People are going to talk.
” Vivian stopped pacing and looked at him. “Do you care what people think?” “No, but I care about you. And I don’t want you to lose everything because of me.” “I’m not losing anything. I’m gaining everything.” She crossed the room and took his hands. “Adrian, I don’t care what Margaret thinks. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
You and Eli and this baby, you’re my family now. That’s all that matters.” Adrian pulled her close and she rested her head against his chest. “I love you.” he said. “I love you, too.” And for the first time in a long time, Adrian believed that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay. The pregnancy progressed through summer like a slow-building storm, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
Vivian’s body changed in ways that fascinated and frightened her. Her stomach rounded gradually, pushing against her tailored clothes until she gave up and bought maternity wear that she hated on principle. She got nauseous at strange times, craved food she’d never liked before, and cried at commercials. Adrian watched it all with a mixture of awe and helplessness, trying to support her through the discomfort while managing his own rising anxiety.
They moved into the new house in July, a chaotic week of boxes and furniture and Eli running through empty rooms claiming territories. Adrian took time off from work to handle the move and Vivian hired movers for the heavy lifting, though she insisted on unpacking her own things because she needed to feel useful.
They argued about it twice before Adrian gave up and let her do what she wanted. The house transformed slowly from empty shell to actual home. Adrian set up Eli’s room first, making sure his son had a familiar space in the midst of all the change. Then came the nursery, which Vivian approached with the intensity of a military campaign.
She spent hours researching cribs, changing tables, rocking chairs, debating paint colors with a seriousness that would have been funny if Adrian hadn’t seen the fear underneath it. “What if something goes wrong?” she asked one evening, standing in the doorway of the half-finished nursery. “What if we do all this and then “We’re not going to think like that.
” Adrian said firmly, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her expanding waist. “We’re going to finish this room and we’re going to bring our daughter home and she’s going to be fine.” “You don’t know that.” “No, but I’m choosing to believe it anyway.” Vivian leaned back against him, her hands resting on top of his.
“When did you get so optimistic?” “I’m not optimistic. I’m just tired of being scared all the time.” She turned in his arms to face him. “Are you scared?” “Terrified. Every single day.” “Then how do you keep going?” Adrian touched her face gently. “Cuz the alternative is giving up. And I’m not doing that. Not now.
Not ever.” She kissed him then, soft and slow, and for a moment the fear receded enough that they could breathe. But the fear never went away completely. It lived in every doctor’s appointment, every ultrasound, every milestone that passed without incident but carried the weight of what could go wrong. Vivian became obsessive about tracking everything, her weight, her blood pressure, the baby’s movements.
She kept a journal by the bed and wrote down every kick, every flutter, like she could keep the pregnancy safe through sheer documentation. Adrian tried to stay calm, but his own anxiety manifested in different ways. He threw himself into preparing the house, fixing every small problem he could find, as if making the space perfect would somehow protect them from disaster.
He repaired loose floorboards, repainted walls, installed new light fixtures, worked until his hands were raw and his back ached. Eli helped sometimes, handing him tools and asking questions about the baby that Adrian didn’t always know how to answer. “Is she going to look like me?” Eli asked one Saturday afternoon as they assembled the crib together.
“Maybe. She might have your nose.” “I hope not. My nose is weird.” “Your nose is perfect.” Adrian said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Just like the rest of you.” Eli grinned. “What if she doesn’t like me?” “She’s going to love you. You’re her big brother.” “But what if she cries all the time? Max’s baby sister cries constantly.
He says it’s super annoying.” “Yeah, she probably will cry a lot. Babies do that. But we’ll figure it out.” “And Vivian’s going to live here forever now, right? She’s not going to leave?” The question caught Adrian off guard. He set down the screwdriver and looked at his son. What makes you think she’d leave? Eli shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the instruction manual.
